This story/write up was posted on Twitter by Gimba kakanda follow him using this link Check out Gimba Kakanda (@gimbakakanda): https://twitter.com/gimbakakanda?s=09
You know Abuja is no longer safe. And here’s my own paralyzing experience. Issa thread!
I left a friend’s place in Asokoro around 3 AM, and, quite unusually, noticed a car trailing. The driver honked, perhaps asking me to give way. I slowed down, expecting it to overtake. It didn’t. Then it began to accelerate the moment I did. That was the first sign of danger.
I had been a night crawler and often confused whenever I read narratives of Abuja as a place unsafe, quietly dismissing them as exaggeration or paranoia. But I wasn’t going to take chances this night. No be me una go carry trend hashtag! 😀
I would’ve been a Formula 1 athlete if I were born in a place with functional health facilities, and that you may agree with at the end of this horror. I was initially somewhat amused by this opportunity to show somebody’s child what the rear light of a certain car looked like.
Okay, it’s not a funny encounter. But I didn’t exactly panic until the stalker began to chase after me, going as fast as I was, and it’s the point I appreciated the presence of Police checkpoints I had likened to normalized begging in the city. Only this time I couldn’t find any.
I took the road heading to Central Area from AYA. I was driving fast, he chased. I searched for my phone to get our gate-man to leave the gate open and get people to wait outside, but there’s no phone in sight. It must’ve fallen under the seat I thought. I groped for it. Nothing.
Then my chaser began to honk the horn, leaving me even more confused. Was he expecting me to stop? Really? Nice try, kidnapper. But I sped on, thanking Abuja for at least its good network of roads in spite of the malfunctioning street-lamps.
Soon we were in a drag race along Shehu Yar’adua Way. I drove at a speed the car could somersault if I made a sudden turn, and yet our distance apart wasn’t much. Again there were no police at the check-points around Life Camp round-about and the traffic lights to the district.
My place is on a close, so I know it’s a trap to head there without any plan. I didn’t think hard for what crossed my mind. I drove to the house of a neigbour that had armed soldiers as guards, honked and parked. They rushed out bearing arms. And then came my chaser. What a fool!
Oh, wait a minute. I recognized the chaser’s car. It’s my host in Asokoro, and then the soldiers barked for the reason I was there. “There’s a mistake somewhere,” I said. “I thought I was being chased by...” I pointed to the chaser, my friend. 😭
He was laughing. Then another soldier joined while I was explaining, and recognized me as a neighbour. He asked his colleagues to let us go. My friend was actually coming to deliver my phone. I left it on the couch in his place. And he was laughing as he passed it to me. 😩.
You know Abuja is no longer safe. And here’s my own paralyzing experience. Issa thread!
I left a friend’s place in Asokoro around 3 AM, and, quite unusually, noticed a car trailing. The driver honked, perhaps asking me to give way. I slowed down, expecting it to overtake. It didn’t. Then it began to accelerate the moment I did. That was the first sign of danger.
I had been a night crawler and often confused whenever I read narratives of Abuja as a place unsafe, quietly dismissing them as exaggeration or paranoia. But I wasn’t going to take chances this night. No be me una go carry trend hashtag! 😀
I would’ve been a Formula 1 athlete if I were born in a place with functional health facilities, and that you may agree with at the end of this horror. I was initially somewhat amused by this opportunity to show somebody’s child what the rear light of a certain car looked like.
Okay, it’s not a funny encounter. But I didn’t exactly panic until the stalker began to chase after me, going as fast as I was, and it’s the point I appreciated the presence of Police checkpoints I had likened to normalized begging in the city. Only this time I couldn’t find any.
I took the road heading to Central Area from AYA. I was driving fast, he chased. I searched for my phone to get our gate-man to leave the gate open and get people to wait outside, but there’s no phone in sight. It must’ve fallen under the seat I thought. I groped for it. Nothing.
Then my chaser began to honk the horn, leaving me even more confused. Was he expecting me to stop? Really? Nice try, kidnapper. But I sped on, thanking Abuja for at least its good network of roads in spite of the malfunctioning street-lamps.
Soon we were in a drag race along Shehu Yar’adua Way. I drove at a speed the car could somersault if I made a sudden turn, and yet our distance apart wasn’t much. Again there were no police at the check-points around Life Camp round-about and the traffic lights to the district.
My place is on a close, so I know it’s a trap to head there without any plan. I didn’t think hard for what crossed my mind. I drove to the house of a neigbour that had armed soldiers as guards, honked and parked. They rushed out bearing arms. And then came my chaser. What a fool!
Oh, wait a minute. I recognized the chaser’s car. It’s my host in Asokoro, and then the soldiers barked for the reason I was there. “There’s a mistake somewhere,” I said. “I thought I was being chased by...” I pointed to the chaser, my friend. 😭
He was laughing. Then another soldier joined while I was explaining, and recognized me as a neighbour. He asked his colleagues to let us go. My friend was actually coming to deliver my phone. I left it on the couch in his place. And he was laughing as he passed it to me. 😩.
Comments
Post a Comment