Alabi never allowed Idowu to go out without telling him. He never allowed him to leave home without praying, or what were they Christians for? They needed prayer since they were still in Ikorodu. And he told Idowu, ‘ Until you gain admission, you are not to have a girlfriend’.
They fought about that almost every time especially those days he would call Idowu into the house, away from a girl. There was a very rude way he dispersed the girls, that would make the girls never considered being friends with his son, ever again.
Nothing must deter him from being great in life, from making it to heaven.
Even before Alabi’s wife and the twins died a gruesome death in the hands of the badoos of Ikorodu, he had been Idowu’s mother and father. Tomorrow, he and Idowu would relocate to Sagamu. It was near his workplace and seemed safer than the place he lost half of his family.
Normally, he wouldn’t have allowed him to keep his dread, but Prophet Seye of their own parish of the Celestial Church of Christ insisted that he left the dread.
‘ God has plans for him’.
At first, Alabi counted it as one of the mumbo jumbo those drunk, womanizing Prophets uttered. However, when he lost his job the first time he tried to cut the dreadlocks and the hair mysteriously grew again, Alabi knew he had to heed the Prophet’s warning.
So when Baba Jimi called him that that the vigilante just caught someone that looked like Idowu, he told him it was a lie. Why would anyone nab Idowu. He was easy going and he even refused to go to CCC with him. He went to Deeper Life, the church of the SU. Alabi loved and recommended that. Pastor Kumuyi was a great man of God. He wanted his son to emulate him. Idowu moved to Deeper Life from Redeemed Church and they planned that after his baptism on Saturday, he would cut the dread. Anything they did was right with Alabi.
‘ I know my son. He still called me some moments ago. He said their car broke down at Ogolonto’.
‘ I’m looking at him here. The vigilantes want to kill some people. They want to kill Baddos. See the dread… It’s Idowu’.
‘ That was impossible. Where are you?’
‘ Agric busstop’.
Alabi jumped from the chair he sat and scurried outside, missing steps at some points. But he didn’t mind having a little injury. He wore only his singlet and his black short but he wasn’t concerned. Agric bus stop was just adjacent his own street.
Idowu visited his Aunt’s place at Kola, Lagos. And he called him that he was leaving around 5:00pm.
However, he was stuck in the traffic jam of Lagos road. More so, he had called repeatedly that their bus was malfunctioning on the way.
‘ Get down’, Alabi had commanded.
‘ I don’t have money again sir. I misplaced my wallet’.
‘ You this boy. You misplaced your wallet. Why didn’t you misplace yourself? I’m very sure you misplaced it because you were probably pressing your phone… Chatting with a girl. J…’
‘ Shut that hole. You will meet me at home’.
As Alabi rushed to the place, he wondered what it would feel like to lose his whole family within three months. God gave him Idowu. If he wanted to kill him, he should have done so when he was still a kid. Alabi ran off. The time was just 11:35pm. They shouldn’t have done any raiding at that time.
When he got to bus stop, most of the shops were closed, and since PHCN had refused to restore the light for days now, the street was devoid of any light. The darkness overshadowed the street except for few houses where noises of horrible, screaming generators came from.
Up ahead, he saw something blazing and he could see the place was buzzing with people. He ran faster, panting heavily. He was sure if they saw him, if truly they had his son, they would stop when he got there. A crowd had gathered round the fire and were buzzing like bees would do when they come in contact with honey.
When he got there, he jumped and tried to see anyone of them were still alive. He was too late. The people had carried out their sentence on them. The people burnt wailed in pain.
‘ Burn them’, people screamed with ecstasy as if they were within the Colosseum and were watching gladiators fight, watching swords and axe slice men down.
‘ Add more petrol’.
‘ God has catch them’.
People watched as a hefty man organised the burning of 8 young men. Tyres were burning on the necks of those burnt and they screamed in pain, rolling from side to side. They were tied with something fire couldn’t easily burn. If not, they might have tried to escape. The human body has so much endurance against external torture than from the one within. Alabi was sure his pain was more than that of those in the fire as he watched his son’s dreadlocks dance in the fire.
‘ I’m not a baddo. I’m not a thief. I’m a Dada..I have Dada.. It’s not dread.. It’s Dada…’
With mouth his mouth agap and tears streaming down his face, Alabi meandered to the front to watch his son burn. Maybe his heart stopped beating for a while. Maybe he just became dumb because the only thing he could do was to gasp and inhale sharply, repeatedly.
‘ That’s good for them. They think they can kill and live like that..’ A young woman shouted above the cackles of the burning tyres.
Alabi turned around to watch her mouth dance, as he sobbed. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one crying, so no one would ever stop him or accuse him of trying to stop this jungle justice. He had been part of many others. Just like that woman, he had also being a part of the ordeal and the process. Some people stared at them with watery eyes and piteous look and sniffing noses. A police man watched from the end of the crowd. And a girl, a young girl, who shouldn’t be more than 13 years, was laughing as she watched them burn in the fire.
Baddos were murderers, and should be punished in the court of law, but they’ve faced jungle justice. He also would have his revenge. If he waited for justice, nobody would be punished. He would be their judge and executioner.
‘ Ah! You killed my son’ , he muttered as he turned towards his house. They must have their own reward. They were all murderers. Alabi ran off, crying into the night. When he got home, he carried his 10 kg cylinder of gas and ran off again into the night, to the gathering of the hungry bees. They had stung him till they took his last lifeline. Before he gave up the ghost, before they drained his life out of him, he would give them what they gave him. They gave him death and death, they would have. When he got there, he was happy to meet a large number of people there. With the cylinder dangling from his weary hand, he scrambled near the fire, before anyone could stop, and opened the gas. The first cry came from him and from the man organising their death.
‘ You killed my son’, he screamed as the fire rushed like the bees and began to sting everyone that was cruel enough to watch the death of his son. They were all murderers and deserved to die. They were bees and he was giving them their favourite food: death.