Pulse Blogger: Tomorrow never dies

How can i dig my own grave?

His bullets reduced the other two to maggots’ feed. The senator knew he had gotten a good bargain for his life: this was politics; all man for himself.

The other man put his hand on the mask. The senator closely watched in confusion as the other man’s mask came off. He wiped his face with his agbada –maybe he was suddenly going blind—he couldn’t believe what the night has brought his way.

A Walk in the Graveyard

The noisome pestilence of the graveyard which surrounded them wouldn’t stop meddling with their ears; they brought unpleasant imaginations to their minds. The full moon made the headstones more visible and frightening than ever. A thick mass of fog had followed them, right from the very entrance of the cemetery and about.

Senator Jumo had never come this close to death; he hated cemeteries and blood, and for him, the cemetery stank of nothing but death. A shovel landed on a bare spot, very close to Senator’s black Italian shoes –which were no longer too visible, due to the layers of dust encrusted all over them-- A voice commanded:

“Start digging, boys!”

Digging up Ashes

Senator Jumo could not believe his ears. He looked at the way his agabada radiated with the help of the moon. Senator moved back, far away from the shovel which now lay not too far from the dirty-looking Police Commissioner,he too was layered in dust,his black uniform which was socked with sweat, gave out an awful smell. The Police Commissioner scoffed at the fear in the Senator’s eyes.

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Dandison, the young man came forward,he knew that their fate had been decided. He cursed the day he met the Commissioner and the Senator. He was only eighteen and a school leaver. He remembered the first day he high-jacked a ballot box,the money they offered him got rid of the fear of death. Dandison reached for the shovel. At that same time, a second shovel landed on the ground from nowhere.

Dandison looked at the crooked looking metal,the edges were so sharp that they could draw blood. The thought of blood reminded him of the blood that splashed on him, the moment he stabbed Mallam Isa, Senator’s opponent, during a rally. Dandison knew he had too much blood on his hands, he should go first. He tried to pick the shovel off the floor, but a heavy boot descended on his hand and pressed so hard that he screamed out in pain and nearly lost consciousness.

“Hey! You two! Start digging!”

The Police Commissioner didn’t think twice, he removed his badge and his dusty beret, picked one of the shovels –the more crooked of the two, pushed it into the ground and pulled up some hard earth. The Senator still stood afar off; he couldn’t believe his eyes; he wasn’t good at taking command even while in the army, and by tomorrow, he would be declared the President of the Federal Republic of Nevaland. He looked at the masked gunmen and asked:

“Name your price.”

The Price

The three masked men looked at one another,what they heard was unbelievable. Dandison and the Police Commissioner had stopped digging when they heard their Oga’s voice, maybe he was on a rescue mission. The Senator came at them again:

“Yes, everyone has a price? I will offer something higher for my life. All man for himself. This is politics”

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The Commissioner eyed him,he and Dandison had already dug to a good extent. The level could comfortably serve as a shallow grave, and he wished to have the Senator in it, above any other thing. The commissioner had had thousands of innocent people convicted to serve the senator’s  thirst for power.

The Senator cared less about the dirty Commissioner and the useless groundnut boy. Tomorrow, when he is sworn into office, he could easily raise another hungry policeman to whatever level he wished. After all, the man had no certificate and didn’t deliver his state during the last election like they agreed.

“Come off it, men. I have more to offer than anyone who wants my head on a platter. Imagine working side-by-side with your future president: a house, a job, and a life that you always dreamt of?”

At that point, Dandison only thought of his poor mother; she had always warned him about getting into trouble. He never wanted to have anything to do with the Commissioner; he was tired of doing his dirty works, and he had promised that it was his last time, but the commissioner had called him to the senator’s office for a very important meeting.

It was there that three masked men disrupted their meeting and kidnapped them. The Police Commissioner boiled with rage, all he wanted was to get his hands on the fat Senator and shove his arm down his throat for good.

A third shovel appeared from nowhere and landed right on the senator’s feet; it nearly knocked off his long cap.

“Mr President, start digging!”

The Senator arranged his cap on his head and rearranged his sparkling agbada around his wide shoulders, and gathered everything under his distended stomach. He was certainly stiff-neck when it comes to negotiation and he was determined to get his way. This was not the first time an attempt was made on his life, even as an army officer, there were betrayed during a particular coup. This was politics: there are no permanent friends, but permanent interest.

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“How can I dig my own grave? Ah! Ah!”

One of the masked men moved closer to the one that gave the orders, and in a low tone, he said:

“Oga, wetin you think? I think say em dey offer us something good o. Me, I no get woki, but I go school.”

Ambition

The senator was happy when he saw that the other man seemed to be interested in his proposal,he knew that something good would definitely come out of their conversation. In politics, if one can’t get what he wants,he could easily put confusion in his enemy’s camp.

Everywhere was silent, even the dead drew closer. The main masked man smiled from ear to ear; one look at the third man, the Commissioner and Dandison were shot. The smiley masked man gradually removed his facial mask and the Senator gasped, out of fear.

“Son!”

As the man pointed the gun to face his father, he repented of his sins, knowing that by tomorrow, he would be fixing a martini in his new office while attending to an unending train of mourners.

Written by Oluoma Udemezue.

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