Our Heroes Past

 

Dedicated to the families of fallen heroes

There they were. Some were sitting on the floor, others standing. Amongst the crowd were women gossiping gleefully, children dancing around dreaming of the huge meats in their mothers’ cooking pot. Even the mosquitoes had a banquet perching from one body to another, sucking to their fill. The sound of a vehicle approaching attracted the attention of the crowd at the parade ground and immediately shouts of “una welcome O” erupted, disturbing the peaceful night.

The soldiers from Sudan had just arrived.

Gallantly, their boots stumped the ground with pride for they had seen, fought and conquered. Officers and men alike flooded the parade ground, some walking straight, some limping but all alive and healthy to fight yet another battle.

Families re-united, duffel bags loaded and strapped on pre-arranged means of transportation to their various houses.

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“Mummy, I just saw Ade’s daddy. He was looking so fine in his uniform”.  My eleven year old son ran into the kitchen to inform me.

I smiled sadly at him and asked him to wash the dishes piling up.

“When would daddy be back?”

I had anticipated that question ever since the troops began to arrive, but the innocence in his voice shot an arrow into my heart.

“Samuel your dad is coming with the very last batch, in a very special way. He would even be wearing the National flag” I replied.

The silence that followed confirmed my fears that news of his father’s death may have filtered into his ears. In that same silence we prepared Wale’s favourite food of Amala and vegetable soup which I dished in my finest glass wares.

If only Wale was going to come back with the flag on his shoulders and not on his coffin. I was informed of his death the very day the first batch arrived at the barracks and ever since then my life became like a black tunnel.

I finally mustered the courage to tell Samuel the truth, and we agreed to celebrate like other families. We wore our best clothes, dusted his portrait, placed it on the table and lit a candle by it. Then we dined beside him and shed our sorrows away.

After a while, my son brought out a welcome home card he had constructed in school and placed beside the portrait. He gave me a tight hug and said, “Stop crying mum, I will take care of you”.

Suddenly I felt light seeping into the tunnel through a crack. Hope lurked around the corner. I may have become a widow but a widow to a hero.

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January 15 (Armed Forces Remembrance Day) is a date mapped out to celebrate fallen heroes, men who have gallantly fought for freedom, peace, and security. Men and women who lost their lives protecting our dear nation. Today is one of such days. There would be 21 gun shots and other honorary activities to celebrate them, however I wish to use this medium to celebrate the left behind. The ones who wept till their eyes became sore, the children who suddenly were told their father or mother were no more. It hasn’t been an easy ride but I am very sure the Supreme Being would comfort you.

 

In honour of the men and women of the Nigerian Army who lost their lives in the recent Boko Haram insurgency...
In honour of the men and women who fight with their blood to ensure we lay our heads on a pillow and sleep in peace... SALUTE! VICTORY IS FROM GOD ALONE.