MIND THE JOURNEY_ before the destination.

He drove speedily along the reddish brown road probably to attend to one of life’s numerous exigencies. Bathed in a mixture of afternoon winds and sun rays as his motorcycle zoomed effortlessly on the loamy soil. The look on hyis bearded face all riddled with worrying urgency as if the world will end if he fails to reach his destination the next second. Time seemed not to be on his side.
As he sped on minding his journey with eyes only for his destination, a toddler bumped into his motorcycle’s fore wheel and lo! with as much instinctive expertize he could muster, the Fulani man managed to get the Igbo boy knocked off while the machine slid on the floor. He ran to the child who was at this time lying lifeless on his father’s land. He exclaimed a painful exclamation. The fear of this had been worn on his face as he may have been thinking, ‘what will happen to me if this child passes on as a result of this accident?’ He was shaken for he is in a land whose people’s hatred for the North knows no bound unless on issues bothering commerce__ profitability in business.
Quickly, he grabbed the child and held him to his chest like a mother stroking her only baby and ran to his bike. A small scanty crowd had emerged from what hitherto looked almost like a deserted village while the child’s mother started wailing and running to the man. Panic stricken, though not aware of the actual situation that brought about her child’s lifelessness. At this time, another young lady who seemed to be the mother’s relative collected the child from the Fulani man amidst wailing exclamations hopped into the same bike as the Fulani man changed course for the nearest clinic in Ozom Mgbagbu.
There I stood on the Mercedes 911 a.k.a. Tipper and fondly called ‘copa’s jeep’ _a free ride I got on my way from my PPA. The driver stopped and called on the child’s mother who by now seemed more confused than confusion, asked her to hop into the vehicle and sped the tipper along the trails of the bike. Whilst this journey ensued, I almost began to think ‘a Suzuki bike runs faster than a 911 Mercedes truck but again, that is the work of adrenaline when one is held in dire conditions that seem almost impossible to surmount_ he does the almost impossible, dismaying his own abilities for the time being.
By the time we got to the clinic the Northerner had been there and the child had been taking over by capable hands as I looked on from my advantaged position_ on the truck. I could see from there that the child has been rushed back to life like how babies are rushed out of church if they cry when the mass is on. The child’s mother rolled down the vehicle like raindrops on roofs and started running towards the child when the nurses cautioned that she together with her colleagues should calm down. The Fulani man had resorted to being calm and was talking on the phone by that time. His tone and mood was somber and calm though happy as the reassuring fact that the child did not die from the accident manifested in the baby’s cry.
The driver of the truck on which I stood, spoke harshly to the women though I didn’t understand the language, my instincts told me that he was angry that the mother got to know the child wasn’t with her only when death had missed him. He was disappointed that the toddler was not being catered for as a baby should be_ hence the occurrence that had transpired. Having said something in Igbo, he drove off to Afor-ugwu where I was heading.
Here are some critical things that emanated from the entire happening; as long as I know, the child ventured too far from home and bumped into death’s lurking fingers in the wheels of an innocent motorcycle thanks to the mother who had failed in her duty to mind her child’s movements as all parents should, but that’s life. Everyone cannot be sane at the same time all times. While I blame the Fulani who however happened to be rightly plying the road in all rights, he failed in his own part to focus on the path that leads to his destination. Getting to wherever he was going was more important to him than the road that lead to the place he was headed.
I learnt something today in the far hinterlands of our brethren across the Niger. Though we are not without flaws as we ply life’s numerous routes, it pays to mind the journey before us as it is more important than the destination we are headed.
__Prince Jeremiah Kadiri