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By Timothy Olanrewaju
Maiduguri, the capital of Borno State in Nigeria’s North-East, had begun bubbling again with human activities. Men and women were out in the streets, and people continued living their lives once again. Social and economic life returned, as if the city was not once under Boko Haram siege.
A gurgling sound enveloped my neighbourhood and I noticed an uneasy calmness. It might rain today, I reasoned. I then lifted my window blind to see through the backyard what nature had purposed for the day.
It was Tuesday, September 10 and the time was 7.05am. The sky was dull in contrast to the climatic condition of the past four days.
A cool breeze sneaked into my apartment through the window. It seemed soothing to me.
“Oh! Let the rain pour till God satisfies our thirst; after all, we haven’t seen rain for days,” I said to myself, smiling. Then came a call: “There is water around you. Nakowa Hospital, Army Commander’s Quarters flooded. Come out please. There is water everywhere,” the caller cut the call. And my smile vanished. The hospital and Army Commander’s house are just a few hundred metres away from my street.
“What kind of water? But there is no rain,” I said aloud, trying to figure out the logic in the information just provided.
In seconds, I went through few posts on my professional group platforms and saw photos of strategic locations at the city centre already submerged. I couldn’t make sense of the whole information. Could it be the symptom of malaria in me affecting my reasoning and news judgement? The time was 7:15am.
I came out of the apartment and met my neighbour at the courtyard. “There is water, flood, everywhere, here,” the apparently confused lady announced in a very tense tone. She had got no time to offer details. She rushed to her flat, grabbed few things, threw them in her car and drove out of the compound. The water in the premises was already at ankle level. It was gushing and rushing maniacally.
I rushed to my apartment, picked a few books, documents and other things and threw them in my car. By this time, the water has increased to knee level- just in five minutes. I then remembered two critical companions even if all perished in water: the Holy Book – my bible, the God’s inspired manual which keeps me going while trouble assails me. The second is my working bag; a bag containing my laptop, extra cords, note pads and emergency kits as learnt in my 2019 War Journalism Training in Turkey for conflict/war and emergency situation reportage.
Within five minutes, the water level had increased sharply. I realized it wouldn’t be safe for me to drive in the massive water. I hung my bag on my shoulder and held my Bible firmly, struggled to get to the sloppy gate. The earth was already muddy and slippery with water level climbing to my chest. I was just wondering what could be pushing up the water.
As I held the gate to exit the compound, I noticed an unusual quietness of the water. I turned back to see if an animal; snake or anything was crawling behind me.
Suddenly, the flood began to coil, forming circles and pushing up like python and then, hit the ground, splashing massive water on me with a strange sound. “Save me, dear God,” I shouted. I was scared. The man in me vanished. Will I get drowned? Is there a spirit in this water eager to take life? These few questions ran in my mind. Then, I remembered the words of God: “For I know that my redeemer liveth” Job 19:25. These words became my source of courage. I held the gate pillar firmly and a strong rod provided the needed support.
I heard someone shouting: “Please wait there sir! Don’t move!” A young man appeared from the main road. He turned out to be my neighbour. He pushed through the heavy water, held my hands and led me through the massive waters that have submerged the once beautiful houses on our streets.
We walked up the road and joined hundreds of people; elderly, young ones, children, big, top civil servants, academicians, expatriates working with international humanitarian agencies and ordinary citizens already displaced, sat on the bare floor at an open place. It was a new life of displaced persons as we shared water, bread and encouraged one another, grateful that we were not consumed by the angry floods.
We became companions sent to a camp by the flood disaster. There was nothing about social status, religious or political differences; no small or big man. The angry September visitor was a leveller. We watched water push through heavy gates of houses as well-furnished living rooms, cars and premises got submerged within minutes! This second tragedy, coming in the 14th year of Boko Haram bloodletting no doubt continued to push the pains of Borno people beyond limit.
