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| File picture of pipeline explosion |
It seems like one of those scenes from Nollywood movie, but this time, it was reality. They met on Thursday morning at Iyana Ipaja bustop and saw they were bound for same place- to get a picture of the scene of the fire outbreak that occurred on Thursday in Arepo, Ogun State.
With tears in his eyes, and visibly shaken, he relived his ordeal to this reporter. Isaac called me on Wednesday night at about 9pm. He said there is fire in Arepo I should go around 8:30am. On getting to Arepo bustop, bike men, popularly known as okada riders led I and my friend from Sun to where the pipeline exploded.
We rode on separate bikes. On getting to the entrance to the place, we disembarked and paid N200. The place is
called ‘Beach land’. We were told the place had no street name because it is a newly developed area that that routes to the place. Then, a guy came to inquire from what our mission is there. I thought he was the one to paddle us to the place. I spoke and told him we were going to where there was a ‘fire outbreak’.
Then, more than four guys held me and my friend, collected our bag and whisked us away. There were many canoes with people in them. At this point, I hadn’t told them we are journalists, but they saw my ID and said I was working with the Federal Government and we were sent.
They began beating us. “Who sent you before we kill you?” asked one of the men who led us away. I told them I am a journalist, not knowing it was just the beginning of my ordeal. They took us to a place where women were lamenting for us from their houses; biting their fingers and clasping their hands over their heads. They were begging for us because no one they take away comes alive. The place is like a forest and the water is dirty. Bamboo and Ogoro trees cover that area.
At this point, the handle of my bag was used to cover my face. When I refused to cooperate with them, they brought out their guns and told us to be saying our last prayer, while they transferred us from one canoe to another.
From the reaction of people living in the area, nobody goes there and comes back alive. We got to a point where their bosses were on military wears with caps and heavy duty riffles. I was so scared. Their appearance killed me as they commanded the boys to take us to where they will kill us and bound my hands and legs. (displaying his scars with tears welled up in his eyes).
I began begging them and telling them that I am the only child of my parents. They said it was none of their business that we have gotten to a point of no return. We were beaten and slapped several times, inquiring who our boss is and if there
was any message given us for them. There was no escape. I tried jumping into the river but was hit with a gun. It was surprising because they conversed in Ijaw, no Yoruba language. When asked my state of origin, I told them am from Ikare Akoko in Ondo State. My explanation continued, telling that my language and that we share border with Delta State.
I even tried speaking the language which I don’t know well so that they will believe me. I was landed a dirty slap for my ‘long explanation’. By the time we got to where I don’t know, about 300 of the fierce looking men surrounded us. We were just standing in their midst.
These men kept asking questions and interrogating us. I told them I live at Iyana Ipaja and as an only child, I just got married that am a photo journalist, yet they insisted that I was lying and had no business covering the explosion. I died even before I died when they said our camera should be used to take a picture to show
that our execution was successful and that my prayers should stop as it won’t save me. Once again, our eyes were covered and I was asked to kneel in the water in my trousers and bare chest. My shirt was used to cover my eyes. Then a slim tall man on white shorts approached us. He told us we were to be spared, but has no explainable reason for doing so. We were unveiled and shown a place where they have killed many policemen and soldiers even with their own guns; Solomon said amid sobs.
I called Issac but I could not speak. They dragged the phone from me and hung up the call. The slim man promised to spare our lives if we could sing for him. I declined and told him I was too scared to sing any song.
He insisted and though I could make no sense of what I sang, I apologized, blessed him and called on God in the song. Other guys around said in pidgin- Anybody wey reach this point no dey come back. I no wan see you here again. Another one said that was
their only means of livelihood and government wants to take it from us. We were promised to be given some money to go back and another shirt bought for me with the promise I won’t partake in such deadly venture again.
My N600, 000 camera was not returned to me, even when I told them I was still paying for it installmentally. Our bags were given back to us and our ATMs and other things inside were intact. Immediately we touched land, one fair complexioned woman was paid to give us a shirt. The label was removed and they threw the shirt at me and gave us some money to go back. They reminded me that I should thank God for sparing our lives as we hurriedly left the area on a bike organised for us.
Aiyedun said his inner shirt was torn and used to cover his face. While he said his ‘last prayers’, he had a lot of flashbacks and regrets. The militants argued over if our phones will be released to us. Neither my Samsung nor itel branded phone I bought for N25, 000 of his N300, 000 camera was returned to him. I still gave them a thankful handshake as they warned us not to come here ever again.
They also revealed to us that such job they are doing was caused by Federal Government, adding that many army men have been killed and we are small to them.
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