They came upon a mid-night clear

We have two houses in the village family compound. A largish one storey house and a middle sized bungalow a few metres from it. When all the children and grand children come home for Christmas there is not enough space to house all of us in the huge house, so the grand children are kicked out and take up residence in the bungalow. As it is a village compund there is a lot of land. There used to be a semi-forest a few metres away from the front of the large house though most of the trees had been cut down at the time of these events, to make room for canopies. A dusty track runs alongside the forest and leads to the gate of the compound. It curves a little and is roughly about 300 metres long. At the gate there is a tiny gateman's hut next to the rusty gate. This is just a general picture of what the village compound looks like. I could go on to describe the mango trees or the ant holes that pock-mark the compound or even the goats that make noise behind the large house but space will not permit me to.

It was my grandmothers funeral and it was quite an august occasion. The whole world or at least quite a few people came to mourn her passing. There were canopies everywhere. Instead of the usual forest trees that lined the driveway the oversized red and white tents decorated the compound. Colourful dancers made extraordinary movements that either showed the depth of their mourning or their eagerness to be sprayed with Naira. On the other side of the compound people were talking about the funeral and the huge gathering. One thing that was common everywhere in the compound was that everyone was eating and drinking. The room where my grandmother had lain in state was now empty. Just that morning I had gone in to see her, I was afraid but then I realised it was just her shell, and I walked past and said farewell in my mind. By the time everyone had eaten, her body had been put into the ground and her grave was almost filled up. As is common in such a large funeral, gifts were given. Gifts of food, drink and most importantly money. A huge fan fare was made about all these presents. If a bulging white envelope could be given to one of the members of the family in front of as many people as possible then it was done. Of course thanks had to be given to the bearers of these gifts and the villagers who were close enough to hail the givers did. That's just how these things are done.

The day after the funeral was a quiet one. Everyone was drained and tired. Even though the children and grandchildren didn't actually do any cooking or serving the strains of being a host took its toll. Some headed back to Lagos that morning because they had to be in school. Those that were left slept for most of the day. It was a lazy day. In the night as our numbers had been greatly reduced, some people drifted off to the large house as there was really no need to sleep in the bungalow as quite a few people had left. At around ten o' clock in the night some of the grand children heard the gate man shouting in Igbo 'They have killed me o! They are killing me!" Only slightly alarmed they rushed at a sedate pace upstairs to inform the children (their parents) that somebody or some people were killing the gate man. They were not sure that they would be taken seriously and they debated on whether to disturb the prayer meeting that was being held. Finally fear won and they knocked and hastily told the uncle who opened the door that somebody or some people were trying to kill the gateman. This was quickly told to the gathering. On hearing the brief narrative the prayer meeting was temporarily suspended and action was quickly taken. The house was completely locked, doors sealed and bolts drawn; all the doors leading from the balconys were locked; the windows were closed and the generator was turned off so the compound was in complete darkness. All the men were sent to strategic points and told to wait there by the oldest male in the family. He had fought in the civil war and he came them all a quick briefing. They went to their posts armed with mop sticks and other such lethal domestic tools. One was sent to the kitchen, another to the parlour down stairs and a third to the entrance door. The women were bundled together and kept in a room. There was no calling for equal rights by the younger generation of females as none of them were particularly inclined to defending the house at that moment. When everything and everyone was in place a silence descended on the house and the waiting began.

The men who had supposedly been killing the gateman tired of it and decided to come to the house. As they walked towards the house, they fired gunshots into the air and threw 'bangers' (firecrackers which make a gunshot-like sound when they go off). The short blasts broke the silence.

Meanwhile in the bungalow a few stragglers remained. On hearing the gunshots they began the late pilgrimage to the large house but only one remained. She was experienced in such matters and she shouted to her departing cousins "Don't go. When you hear such things stop and think about what is happening before you start running like headless chickens" but they paid her no heed. Fear had dulled most of their higher intellect and the only message that was flashing in their brains was RUN. They hurriedly moved out of the bungalow and started crossing the few metres of land between the bungalow and the house as inconspicuously as possible. They crept stealthily along barely breathing but they were still seen. 'STOP RIGHT THERE" the man with the gun shouted. They froze, hoping it wasn't them he was talking to but some other people who had been caught. No such luck. The man walked towards them with his gun pointed steadily at them "GET DOWN!" he roared. There was a girl among them. She is my cousin and she has lived in England most of her life. She asked shakily "What", the other two still remained standing as well. The man raised his gun in reply and fired a shot in the air. They hit the ground and they did it fast. They lay there quivering on the ground. They were hostages.

To be continued