Don't Join

One morning, I woke up, said my prayers, took my bath, and went straight for lectures. We were having mathematics. On this particular day, I was privileged to get a seat. There were far more students than what the classroom could accommodate. The lecture was long and boring: Mr. Isacca, a wrinkle-faced man with a coarse voice, waffled continuously. In a low, gentle voice, my neighbour asked for a spare pen. She had an attractive aura around her. I searched my pockets for an extra pen but came up empty, so I shook my head. She nodded in return. An impulse came over me. It was so strong that I began to ask everyone within my reach for a spare pen, and as fate would have it, I found one to give her. I watched her write in her notebook, which was far more interesting than listening to Mr. Isacca. After the lecture, she returned the pen, which I later took it to its owner. I had a friendly chat with the woman who borrowed the pen and requested for her name. “Kemi,” she replied. “Oh, what a unique name you’ve got. Where do you live?” I quizzed. She replied that she also lived Uupgate , but in a different hostel than mine, so we decided to stroll out together. We reached the junction where we should have gone our separate ways, but she asked me to accompany her to a nearby shop so she could pick up some items. Once there, a tall boy with a scar on his head walked towards me and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned towards him, and he whispered, “My chairman wants you to bring this lady to him,” pointing to a nearby bar filled with seven dopey-looking individuals. I looked at the dude, smiled as if he were talking trash, and told him to pass the message to Kemi himself. He walked towards her and spoke to her. She went into a rage, raining curses on him, and walked away swiftly. I was still trying to come to terms with the scene when he turned towards me and ordered me to go to the bar. I glanced at the bar and would have resisted, but the sight of several hands signalling me to come there sent a chill down my spine. I walked towards them in fear, this being my first encounter with gang members. They threatened me, claiming to have been insulted because of me. I explained to them that it wasn’t my ,fault, but they wouldn’t listen. All they wanted was a crate of beer. I laughed and tried to become aggressive. One dude arose from his seat, took a deep puff from his cigarette, blew the smoke all over me, and attempted to burn my cheek with it. I began to plead. He left me after I handed him 300 naira, which was all I had. Before I left, though, he said to me, “I admire your courage. Come closer, and I will make you like me.” I walked away swiftly. I couldn’t imagine myself being anything like him. I got to my room, and joy filled my heart because it was neat and welcoming. It was indeed a place of peace. I took off my clothes and laid on my bed, thinking about what had happened. I flipped through the pages of my notebooks and mathematics textbook. It was known by all that Mr. Isacca sets his exam questions from the examples given in class, so all I needed to do to pass was to make sure I had a steady hand on those. I worked on a couple of them, and when I tired, I put on my T-shirt and jeans and left for lunch. Afterwards, I came back and had my siesta. For several months, I had managed to live with little or no stress, avoiding problems as much as I could while finding ways to solve the few I had gotten into. One morning, I woke up and my head was pounding. My memory clouded, and suddenly it flashed back. The day before had been a crazy day. I realized I had been woken by the sound of thunderous knocks on my door. I jumped up in panic and screamed, “Who goes there?” A little voice replied in panic, “It’s your guy, Joe. Please open.” I opened the door, and he rushed in, sweating and shivering, looking scared to death. Behind that fear, though, I could see anger and a lust for vengeance blazing through his eyes. Joe wasn’t any ordinary guy; he was a tall, huge man with a mean face and a hint of handsomeness. It was obvious that his participation in bravado activities exploits caused his face to look rugged. His skin was light brown with prominent scars left by knives, broken bottles, and other crude implements. He had a carriage that could be described as a mixture of style and pure military masculinity. He looked and said to me, “My brother! My friend! I just escaped death. I went to see my girlfriend, and unknown to me, an ambush had been set for me in front of her room. I could see nothing but pure darkness, and from this darkness emerged a figure I couldn’t make out. The bulge in his pocket made me realize he was armed to the teeth. I paused for a second, and I took to my heels. Instantly, several gunshots were fired as I was chased. I got far enough, and like a monkey, I hid in top of a tree. They looked for me like addicts who were looking for cocaine, but they searched in vain. They all left but one, who looked up and said to me, ‘Come down, my friend. I know you are there, and today is your lucky day.’ I jumped down, not knowing he didn’t initially see me. He looked me in the eye, and in fear, he shot and tried to escape. Thank God it was a Dane gun that needed to be loaded after each shot. Like a demon, I grabbed a tree branch and smashed his nose. He let out a sound that seemed like a squeal, but I wasn’t satisfied. I pounded his face until it looked like a nylon bag of tomatoes a train had run over. I could see he was in misery, so I decided to put an end to it, forgetting that the sound of his gun would have attracted his men. I pulled my little pen knife and went for his neck, but I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Again, I was in motion. My legs were tired, but fear and the will to live kept me going until I got to your door.” ....