Death Of A Hero (II)

IN the second part of this series, I wish to delve deeper into the moments that tested my will, the cultural intersections that highlighted the importance of un­derstanding, and the encounters that redefined my per­spective. From the eerie silence of the desert night to the unexpected camaraderie at checkpoints, this is a narrative of survival, learning, and the undying hope that sustains us through life’s most daunting challenges.

As I sat down to write this, it occurred to me that I had not checked my speedometer to see how much distance I had covered that day. I was dumbfounded with what stared at me from the dashboard. I had hoped to cover 300km that day. In reality, I had only covered a little more than 100km. At that moment, I became acutely aware of the dusty track ahead and behind me. I felt truly alone in the middle of nowhere, and another panic attack set in. I felt utterly drained of all strength in me and wondered if this was how l would die. I crawled back into my tent and tried to sleep, but in mystate of mind, I could not manage this assignment.

My thoughts drifted to life and death. I thought my time had come, and I was overwhelmed by fear. I was unable to either drink or eat. I had ten hours of nightfall ahead of me to worry about what would be my fate the next day. I begged sleep to come to me, but it would not. I became obsessed with the thought of the consequences of my car not starting the next morning. My thoughts raced every­where. I kept trying to sleep, but began dreaming with my eyes still open. I was hearing voices. Close to my tent, I could see them playing their mystical music, and I believed

the language I did not recognize was that of the natives of the desert, laughing, singing and murmuring and shout­ing as they danced around a fire without even noticing my presence. Then there were the darker voices, those of the ghosts of the corpses I had seen that day calling me to join them. “Now it is your turn”, they mourned and wailed in my head. “We are coming for you”, they whispered and hissed in my ears. I began to cry. I started to talk to my car, to my tent, to the darkness, to the sand and the wind. I realized what was happening to me, and I was terrified. If my time really had come, I wanted to be able to record my last moments clearly in my diary so that people would know how I spent them. I feared death, but most of all, I feared insanity first.

I cried and cried, heaving, sobbing and rocking like a child with no mother to comfort him and kiss him lovingly at a time when he needed her most. After what seemed like forever, as the last warm tears dried on my cheek, I felt strangely better. I started to think logically and knew that the only thing left for me to do was to find a way of resting properly, to get some sleep. I got up and made myself a hot chocolate drink. I drank it and fell asleep. I slept for an hour or so and woke up.

It was 2 a.m. My body ached all over and the pains of old age were punishing me. But now, at last my mind was fo­cused, and I made myself a light breakfast. I had promised my wife, my children and my friends that if I ever felt I was in danger, I would give up and come back. At home, where my supporters eagerly waited for news of my progress on Nigerian television news and the churches in my town held prayers for me on Sundays, there was nobody who would have wished any man to die for their cause. Yet, there I was, on the brink of death, and the horrible irony was that I could not go back if I tried. To do this, I would not survive another day of those corpses. I had no choice but to break my promise to them. All I could wish for was that I would one day be able to explain to them why.

As dawn broke, I tried the car. I turned the ignition key and it started first time. My appetite returned at once, and I ran back to my camp­ing stove to prepare a second breakfast to celebrate.

This was the fourteenth day, and I was still alive. Why not eat or feast on my provisions? I ate as much as I could and drove off through the desert surrounding me, hoping to get to some sort of

settlement before dusk and at least see some living

persons to chat with, but alas I got more than I bar­gained for, and I learned a few lessons.

In traveling through other lands, countries and across boundaries, one must try not to impose one’s way, culture and traditions on other people without trying to understand that there exist diversities and conflicts in culture and religion across nations. I take a lot of interest in humor and jokes, because I like to laugh or make people laugh.

It was a very long drive this particular day, and I came across this military and police check point. The place was well organized, and a few of them spoke fairly good English without pretending, unlike in some places where they made you speak French or Arabic, even when they could communicate with you in English. They asked some questions, and looked into a few of my bags.

Their questions centered on, why an accomplished man of my age should be risking my life undertaking a very dangerous and tiring adventure. AND THEY MADE TEA FOR ME. I told them stories about my ex­perience across the Sahara Desert. I told them that this time around, I saw more dead bodies than I had ever imagined. They joked by telling me that most of the dead bodies were those of Nigerians. They had picked up some news on my expedition and one of them had listened to an interview I granted a radio station some weeks before in Nigeria. So, they were well informed about my journey, and I felt at home with them.

At the end of the exchange, which I thought they needed, since I must have been the only one passing through their territory, maybe in weeks; I also needed someone to talk to. It is very difficult to go for several hours or days without opening your mouth, let alone discussing and joking with a fellow being as opposed to talking to yourself or thinking aloud. At the exchanges, they asked me to give one of them a ride to some town about 4 hours’ drive out of my route. I told them that

I did not have any seats left in my car, which was the truth; every space had been taken, including the passenger seat.

Then I made the biggest mistake of my life by saying to them that if the passenger had been a lady, I would have considered lapping her, but not a man. They took offence at that, which was meant to be a joke. The leader of the group demanded to see my passport again. The atmosphere changed from friendship to tension. He looked inside my passport, said something to one of his colleagues in Arabic, looked at me in a very pitiful manner and said “Sir, we respect your age, but for that,

we would have locked you up for some time for that unnecessary and expensive joke”.

I forgot I was in a totally Muslim part of Algeria, where ‘sharia’ is strictly observed, and their women are not seen and no joke must be made about them. I pleaded with them for several hours, after which they accepted my apologies and finally let me go. I drove on for about an hour, but felt too emotionally and physically drained after all the hullabaloo over my mistake.

The desert suddenly seemed too wide to cover. I stopped the car in the middle of nowhere, set up my tent and camped there for the night. As I lay in my tent that night, not feeling like food, I thought about the….

See you next week!