It Begins at the End – (part two)

Previously on – It Begins at the End – (part one)

When the old man answered his last question sometime after, the effect on him was devastating. Even if his questions were answered, it left him in a worse state of quandary than before. He was told that he was presently in the Right Region. This region was one of the four regions of this country – the others being the Left Region, Uppermost Region and Lowpost Region. Obviously, this novel nomenclature led him to ask if this was not Nigeria. And that was where the real story kicked in. It chilled his blood. Literally.

It Begins at the End – (part two)

Nigeria had ceased to exist.

The country had witnessed her worst state of affairs since her Civil War. Corruption was rife. Embezzlement was commonplace. Accountability was alien. Responsibility, nonexistent. The people failed to recognise their power and were driven roughshod by the government. Near total lack of infrastructural development, absence of social welfare and amenities and a general breakdown of law and order gave way to terrorism and political powerplay masquerading as religious extremism while the people looked on as helpless hapless victims of this scenario. Singing alleluias and hosannas to the point of orgy did not stop the death statistics arriving with each news broadcast. However, at each arrival, the people of the country that was Nigeria grew a thicker skin, developed for one purpose – to endure and endure and endure it all the more. Rather than stand and fight, they prayed on in Long Suffering.

A few groups and unions tried to galvanise action for their benefits. Their actions yielded some fruits but only ephemerally. Strike actions only led to more strike actions. It was in the thick of the strike called by the Nigerian Medical Association that the dreaded Ebola virus, which had been on a tour of several African nations hit Nigeria. One will be pardoned for thinking that the gods had conspired to wreck such havoc on the country so blessed yet so pulverised by everything negative. The weakened economic, political, social and moral fabric of the nation couldn’t withstand such epidemic of pandemic proportions especially in a country not renowned for her hygiene. Some tried to mobilise themselves quickly into action to fight this common enemy, but it was too late. Having never been united enough to stand for anything, it fell out quickly.

The spread was viral. Devastating understated its havoc. In the month that followed, only a fraction of the population wasn’t feverish with telltale symptoms of the virus. It was only a matter of time before it brought about the end to the country. However, those yet uninfected successfully organised themselves into a colony with a survival instinct that was un-Nigerian – they were united in their resolve to stay uninfected. They hacked to death anything living that came within the security perimeter of the colony.

When joined by some others escaping the virus from other parts of the continent and realising they they decided to congregate into a new entity under a representative system but with autonomous component units called Regions (Right, Left, Upper and Low). As one entity, it is called The Coastal Colony.
It was at this point that it struck him what had evaded his grasp thus far. The road on his bus trip was smooth. Not as bumpy a ride as he was used to on “normal” Nigerian roads. Even the bus was neat (“tear-rubber-ish”). Everything seemed new and the environment, neat. It dawned on him now. There was something cleaner and more civil than what he was used to. Yet, questions remained. What happened to him? How did he miss all these? He wanted to ask that question but many more were forming in his head, tumbling over each other, like what year was this (having remembered only 2014) and his family…

Then, he heard, as if from an abyss, his friend’s voice calling his name. He was being poked on the ribs with a sharp elbow. He opened his eyes with a start and was immediately greeted with recognition. Yes, it was the staff bus and as he looked around, he observed that the driver was negotiating the bend that will lead straight to the office on the Island. His mind registered it clearly, almost movie-like – Lagos, Present Day. The bus swerved viciously, first to the right and then to the left, as the driver adeptly dodged two gaping holes on the street, both of which were now puddles of rain water and might have been tricky for a lesser driver. Yes, he nodded in acknowledgment of the swerving, this was more like it. He looked around and saw all the usual suspects – all co-workers at their normal sitting positions. Then, he looked at this friend who had poked him and who was now quizzically staring at his movements and reactions.

He laughed. Cheerily. And having gained some of this composure, he exhaled. Deeply.

As he sat back in a more relaxed mood, he couldn’t help but notice his friend who was still at sixes and sevens. He tried convincing his friend that everything was alright but that did nothing to stop the strange look he was getting from his friend. He told the friend that it was a long story which they may have to go over later since they were now alighting from the staff bus. He then enquired as to why his friend had poked him initially. Without speaking, his friend handed him the day’s newspaper. On it’s front page was the bold headline:

EBOLA KILLS FIRST VICTIM…in Lagos as NMA strike continues.