Chapter 1: Flight I
January 2000
(Nigeria)
In a country ravaged by war, life had become a daily struggle for survival. The conflict claimed millions of lives, and the once-bustling streets now echoed with loss. In this harsh reality, people had to choose whether to fight for their nation, rebel against oppression, or escape in search of peace. My father, newly married to my mother just a year before the war, decided that the safest path was to flee the chaos. With heavy hearts and unwavering resolve, they left behind the land of turmoil in the hope of finding a safe haven. And it was in that moment—amid both despair and hope, that my journey began.
***
A deafening explosion shattered the fragile calm at Berger, sending shockwaves through the crowded streets. The air thickened with dust and fear as rebels launched a sudden, determined assault aimed at capturing Ikeja—the beating heart of Lagos. In the midst of this chaos, my father had just secured an escape plan from a cautious smuggler named Mr. John, arranging a passage for him and my mother to Ghana. As they hurriedly packed their few belongings, the ground trembled beneath them—a stark warning that time was running out.
"Stay low," my dad whispered urgently, his eyes darting across the precarious scene. "Do not move."
His voice was calm yet laced with an unspoken desperation. My mother, two months pregnant, nodded silently. In that charged moment, every second mattered, and even the slightest movement could shatter their fragile hope for safety.
***
The sharp, relentless crack of gunfire echoed through the air, growing dangerously close to their position. Mr. Sunday knew hesitation was a luxury they couldn't afford—either they moved now or risked being swallowed by the chaos.
He crawled toward his wife, urgency tightening his breath. Gently, yet firmly, he helped her to her feet, his touch both protective and insistent. "Quick, let's go," he urged, his voice edged with worry.
Wrapping an arm securely around her waist, he guided her toward the car, dragging a few hastily gathered bags along with him. "Get in!" he instructed, his grip tightening around the car keys. Without wasting a second, he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
***
The tires screeched as he sped down the driveway, instinct steering him left—an unconscious choice that flung them straight into the heart of danger. Unbeknownst to him, the rebels were closing in from that very direction.
Then—"Bang! Bang!" The deafening reports of gunfire shattered the air. Bullets whizzed past, some ricocheting off nearby surfaces.
His heart hammered against his ribs. "Oh no!" Mr. Sunday gasped.
A shriek of burning rubber followed as his reflexes kicked in—his foot slammed the brakes, halting the car in a violent jolt. In the span of a breath, he knew the only way out was back the way they came.
With a voice thick with urgency, he gave his wife a single command, his tone leaving no room for argument:
"Keep your head down!"
***
With a swift, desperate maneuver, he yanked the steering wheel hard, forcing the car into a sharp U-turn. His heart slammed against his ribs as he fought to keep control, the tires screeching in protest. That single move was the only thing keeping them from charging straight into the massacre ahead.
Just as they realigned, a red Jeep tore past, skidding wildly as it surged toward the chaos. There was no hesitation—whoever was inside had either lost all hope or was ready to face the onslaught head-on. Gunfire erupted, deafening, relentless. Explosions rattled the ground beneath them. Smoke and dust thickened the air, swallowing screams, drowning out everything but survival.
This was pure pandemonium—blood, fire, fear, and the undeniable truth that only the lucky few would make it out alive.
***
Joseph's POV (Mr. Sunday)
The moment the car sped past us, a primal instinct surged through me—I needed to escape this nightmare. I turned sharply to my left, my eyes landing on Lola. She was hunched over, her body trembling uncontrollably. Fear had completely overtaken her.
Without hesitation, I slammed my foot on the gas, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Chaos unfolded all around us—people running, screaming, their faces twisted in sheer terror. Some collapsed instantly, a single shot ending their flight. Others were torn apart, obliterated by monstrous weapons that showed no mercy. Blood painted the streets, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and destruction.
I veered hard to the left, heart pounding, desperate to put as much distance between us and the carnage as possible. Ikeja was behind us now. I aimed for the road toward Iyana-ipaja,praying—pleading—that it would lead us to safety.
But up ahead, just beyond the next bend, lay the most horrifying sight I had ever witnessed.