by Elonell Attah

The memory is clearer than crystals. The fateful Sunday (27th of January, 2002) marked the beginning in my life. I had sneaked out of the church to go home leaving my family bin the church during the evening Mass. Coming home around 17:30, I saw my neighbour, a kid like myself, distributing some handbills to passers by. I excitedly joined him and convinced him to help share some of them.

The first person I handed the handbill seemed to be who ignited the bomb.

We gazed at each other after we both must have been off ground for about 5 seconds. I saw cars jump, parked bikes fall and then a great reddish dark cloud arose. It seemed the earth turned in her sleep while all in it turned upside down.

The second blast sent me inside as my legs raced me in. Inside was worse –ceilings broke, ceiling fans fell, window nets tore, everything was in chaos. With the speed of light everyone was on the street.

My street was filled with everyone out wondering if the end time had come. Some fathomed it was Cameroon invading us for Bakasi land, some said that Osama Bin Ladin had just landed in Lagos while others said that some filling stations were on fire and that their banks of fuel had caught fire. Next minute, it seemed the only route out of the ruckus was my street as gazillions ran past, all of them coming from the direction of my church.

I looked to see if I’d see any of my family members but couldn’t see any. As the blast seemed to consume everything in its way, I joined the running multitude and started for where I had no idea I was going.

The “leggers” were held in a stand still while vehicle users risked their lives and wasted their time in their vehicles. The more we walked, the more it seemed all we’ve passed had turned to ashes. Where the strength came from I knew not but I didn’t cry as other kids and even as older people did. I wasn’t just afraid like others for I had become FEAR.

Then, we got to the point where many fell prey to the deceit of Oke-Afa swamp in Isolo but HIS GRACE miraculously saw me through. I ended up on a highway that was filled with people who felt it was safe enough there and I joined them to wait for the whole horror movie to end.

When the blood coloured sky changed to normal, I decided to head home. Streets away from mine, I saw my elder brother on the road apparently looking for me. He was only too glad to see me. As expected, I was really scolded when I got home and was warned against leaving the church before my family. That night everybody slept outside as a family.

The whole building shared a night prayer, the first and only that ever happened. Sadly, the next day, the news of my friend (whom I shared handbills with), schoolmates, neighbours, classmates, Lagosians and Nigerians evicting this world for a better world became known. I’m surprised I survived considering the fact that I passed through the same swamp people did and didn’t end up drowning like they did. I still can’t come up with any explanation as to how I managed it but I guess it is what miracles are about and where victories lie.

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This entry was submitted as part of the Nigerian Voices competition organized by YNaija.com.

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