"Pabo olotu pabo!! anda oya ehhhhhhh."
"Ahhhhh Zinzon!!"
"Ahhhhhhh Zinzon!!!"
"Wana!! Wana! Wana! Wana!"
I was chanting with Tari by the riverside of camp Imbila, in
Tuatua Creek, 11 Nautical Miles south of Barasin River.
General Tinton was our general, a friendly tall and darkly
handsome man in his early 40s. You will wonder how such a gentle and attractive
man, who had the qualities a lady would die to have in a man, will involve in
such. However, as the saying goes, a man should never be judged sometimes by
his appearance. Some are the lion in teddy bear form.
"Who will go…………?"
They came to our camp, convincing us to drop our arms for
amnesty and take a new turn.
The government representatives were still staring as our
commander was waiting for responses to the question he had asked earlier.
Tari and I were the least they expected to consent to the
commander's question. The rest of the boys were scared that the general would
behead them thinking they were chickens, but I understand that sometimes
somehow, you must have to speak up your mind and not die in silence.
I have always been known for bravery all through Imbila.
Unknown to us, the general had already consented to the representatives from
the government. They already had a deal. It was a vain opinion-seeking exercise
to make us feel we had choices. Most people were still waiting out of fear.
Their minds were still doubtful if that was what the general wanted them to do.
However, we all wanted a second life to be better humans and not live all our
lives in naivety and rascality.
Our families were also in danger because, in our absence,
the government would pick randomly from each home affiliated with the militants
and torture them to make us surrender. So I asked myself, "if my family is
not protected, then what am I doing here"?
Several questions ran through my mind that I could never
summon any courage to speak of. Not even the best motivational speaker would
make me say anything in such a manner.
This is an opportunity I have always dreamt of, to see a new
world with different views about life operations and be exposed to life
aesthetics.
Commandeer Bibi was still staring at us, waiting for the
first person, but he never looked in my direction because he knew I would be
the last person to come out.
Without any further delay, I stepped forward, and Tari
followed behind.
Our view was to see something different, as the entire camp
was now full of whispering.
I heard a voice faintly,
"See oga best boys nai march out first".
It was as if we read the General's mind. After we stepped
forward, a few boys joined us before the General showed up with smiles to
inform Camp Imbila that we were surrendering for the best reasons.
A week later, it was time to leave for the training camp at
Cordoba after the demands had been met.
The General had gotten some huge Ankara bags full of notes.
I didn't know if it were books, but all the same, the General was happy with
the contents, and we all got a few of the notes in excitement.
The journey to Cordoba was quite a distance. From Imbila to
the capital city of my state was three hours by boat. Arriving at my capital
city, Nagoa, a few security escorts were waiting for us and several white
coaster buses with various camp names written on them.
I believe the negotiations from the government and various
generals had been on the board for a long time because the arrangements and
notice for training were short, but who are we?
We can't decide for the Generals; we are just mere boys
acting on orders.
As we made our way to the coaster buses, we boldly found our
camp name written IMBILA. The names attached to the buses were facing the
direction of the jetty. Hence, the identification process was not complicated.
The journey to Cordoba was a journey to remember as we
travelled for about six hours. Security teams in front and rear escorted us
while the coaster buses were in the middle.
Arriving at Paradise Training Camp at 9 pm, one could see
the beautiful flood and street lights, estates and classrooms, long hostels and
various arenas. Different hostels had different camp names. The exercise was
adequately coordinated as we marched towards ours, still written in bold words
IMBILA.
After we refreshed, we were ushered to the dining, and we had
a great meal.
Lying on my bed after I had a handful of eba and ogbono soup
that evening, our first at Camp Paradise, was a different feeling from Imbila.
I never had any stress thinking of various names as long as it was a training
facility. I just had to pick the first name of a group and add camp to it.
I was reminiscing on the activities we were used to, the
gbele songs we played and danced, and those rugged chanting. I am a destructive
militant, and whenever we had operations, I mean special operations, I was
usually among the first five to be selected. Even though I was young, I was
brave.
Now, it is a different world, and I gradually start to think
about my aged mother and a younger sister whom I knew deserved better.
My younger sister had already given birth to three children
due to a lack of care and advice, and our father died several years ago when we
were young.
The thunder rumbled while I listened to the rustling leaves
and the whistling winds close to my window and felt the cool breeze. I had
already made up my mind that I was going to utilize every opportunity to become
better.
The following morning was orientation. It was a long session
with Mr Tonye, who was in charge of training at Camp Paradise. He spoke
extensively as I paid sharp detail. His words were captivating and
transforming.
The picture of the new life became more precise. We were
made to understand that there were different training areas. After much
explanation, I settled for underwater welding, knowing that I would do better with
effort and commitment.
The training began, and I followed every bit of it. I won't
forget the tenth day. I had a severe burn on my thumb from the welding machine
because I mistakenly removed my glove and was about to take my phone to check
if my girlfriend had called that day. I haven't spoken with Timi for a few
days, and I seriously missed her. I waited daily for her call, as I had no
units to call her. Only Timi had my number, as I frequently changed the lines.
Here I was, suffering from the pain of emotional carelessness.
As we advanced, I concentrated after the injury taught me a
vital lesson. If I continued like that, I would put myself into so much trouble
for a wasted opportunity.
The zeal to deal with the pain and continue the process was
felt deep inside of me.
About the fourteenth day, the pain had reduced. However, it
was still unbearable, making me unable to enjoy my favourite meal, 'eba', with
my right hand. Every attempt to try was futile. Those moments of pain I caused
for myself were hell, but I managed to eat with my left hand, only that I spent
more extended time eating. And eating at a slow pace wasn't something I liked.
The brave young bloody militant was now a soft boy who
detested violence.
How did the transformation happen?
A mystery I know not about. I found a friend in my new skill
that I love so much. I wish I could speak about the tales of the violent
transformation, but I can only see the vision and the new man I wanted to be.
After our training, I was among the best awardees. My
determination had given me a new zest for life.
We were given options; if we wanted to be employed or
continue with our monthly stipend to test our level of transformation. Many of
my colleagues were thinking differently from me, but Tari and I were thinking
in the same direction. This is the true definition of a good friend.
Some people opted for a monthly stipend that they couldn't
work in any office or travel anywhere else and expressed dissatisfaction. They
wanted to continue in the business of womanizing, excessive drinking, and
putting people in fear.
These people thought they would continue to bear arms if
they settled for monthly stipends. However, they never understood the meaning
of amnesty and never saw the light and the potential in them.
They never saw their dreams beyond the creeks simply because
they had limited mindsets.
I made up during our stay at Paradise. I knew I would never
return to my old self because I had discovered my potential.
During the orientation, the facilitator's words renewed my
thinking when he said,
"If you want to change something, try not to be like
the people who engage in it".
That was the turning point in my life. I was no longer a
militant of destruction but a minister for change just because of that word.
I wondered how I learnt so fast, but then I realized I had a
firm conviction. It wasn't easy at the beginning.
As the days went by, I began to love every moment, and those
moments became my rebirth.
I was the fix-it-guy right from childhood. When I followed
my father to the fishing camp at Isongu Creek, I usually fixed our boats and
engine because my father was a fisherman. That was how I became good at
repairs. I learnt so many things from him, which he made me practice daily.
It became clear that the skill for repairs and zeal for
learning had been in me for many years, but I was unaware until I got to Camp
Paradise. I am now exploring and living my dreams.
After a few months of quitting camp and returning to our
various families with our certificates and other subventions, we were contacted
by multiple companies. I then discovered that most instructors were
well-trained professionals in various fields.
I was contacted and offered a job at Brain Oil and Gas
Company (a famous global company operating in every oil-producing country) with
the opportunity of further training after performing exceptionally well at the
basic training in Camp Paradise.
I completed the advanced training and was posted to a
country I had always dreamt of visiting from childhood after watching their
Samba Dance. The beautiful Brazilian girls were on display at the Atlanta 1996
final match.
I looked in the mirror, getting set to resume work at a rig
in Brazil. And I said to myself, 'Today, my dreams have gone beyond the Creek.'
