Micro-seconds from death (II)

Chapter Two

The Encounter

* The car in my Ijebu Ife country home on the Sunday morning after the attack showing the bullet hole to the windscreen. Photo: Wale Adedayo

* The second bullet hole, which penetrated the bonnet of the car. Photo: Wale Adedayo

* The road in Ilishan where the attack took place. Photo: Wale Adedayo

An SUV, most likely a Toyota Landcruiser, slowed down as it almost got to my right side on the bad sector of the Ago Iwoye/Ilishan Road. The road was being dualised at the time, with a section of it bad. I was about to enter Ilishan on leaving the last portion of Irolu on my way back home in Abeokuta, the Ogun State capital. I was alone in the car, having left Ijebu Ife through Atan, Ijebu Igbo and Ago Iwoye earlier.

As in previous nights, the glass windows were wound down. And music from a Cherubim & Seraphim Church Ayo Ni O! Compact Disc was fairly loud and blasting from my car. But unlike previous nights, I did not have the usual bottle of Hennessy to sip from in the car. Not that the usual stockist at Total Petrol Station, Ijebu Igbo roundabout, did not have one. But the voice which often warned me in dreams and other situations was at it again.

As I approached the petrol station opposite the roundabout where the major market in Ijebu Igbo is situated and almost made the right turn into the place, the voice was very firm as almost shouting in its usual inaudible manner for me to move on without taking any alcohol that night.  What is this? There are times you hardly can distinguish between that voice and your own. But each time I disobey what it tells me, something negative often result to my regret. As I slowed down, it came forcefully again, making me realise that indeed, the voice was at it again. I took off and dutifully made the normal left turn at the roundabout to face Ago Iwoye.

The interesting thing was that I had a half filled bottle of Hennessy in the car with me from Ijebu Ife when I left my country home in Okeliwo. The bottle was taken by Otunba Leke Adekoya whose Oke Agbo, Ijebu Igbo country home I had left earlier as he had a number of people with him. I was there to briefly say hello before continuing with my journey to Abeokuta. He gave me a bottle of red wine, which I kept in the car, in exchange for the Hennessy.

But in keeping with my social tradition, I did not drink the wine in order not to offend the ‘purer’ Hennessy. It was a rule among my close friends that diluting Hennessy or Remy Martin, our favourite drink, with any other kind of alcohol should not be encouraged. Once you taste either of the drinks in any particular day that should just be it until the next day when you can take another different type of alcoholic drink. So, when the voice insisted on my not buying another bottle of Hennessy, it was not as if I had not taken a few sips earlier or that it was a plan to ‘pollute’ the ‘pure’ drink with another. In any case, I obeyed the voice and moved on towards Ago Iwoye and from there towards Ilishan.

The jeep that slowed down was going in the opposite direction towards Ago Iwoye. I was not too certain, but it was as if the vehicle had made a sudden U-turn earlier as I observed in front of me. It was a ‘one-way’ driving for me because the other side was still under construction. Driving slowly on that bad portion was often advisable given the bumpy nature of the road, which could mess up one’s car if care was not taken. Even if the shock absorbers of the car are good, deflation of the tyres remains a possibility all through. But at about 10pm during a period many were scared to travel at night because of night marauders, driving slowly could be an invitation to armed robbers to block your car, except you are driving a four wheel like the jeep in question which can move over that kind of surface with ease without discomfort to the occupants of the vehicle or the automobile itself.

Initially, I was curious. Why should a jeep, which appeared to have turned back earlier, slow down the way this one was behaving? On getting to my right side, it slowed down the more, almost to the point of stopping, as I observed two faces from the jeep peering into my car as if to confirm who was there. I know that armed robbers along that portion of the road and the adjourning Shagamu/Benin Expressway often use such exotic vehicles to snatch other cars. But in my encounters with them, I’ve always been confident that as long it was only one vehicle, I could hold my ground against them. My licensed Pump Action Rifle was in the car with me. Certain native ‘insurance’ were also in the car and on my person making it certain that one could not be overpowered. These had worked in previous encounters, and I was always ready to test it to its limits given my sceptical nature as a journalist.

Driving past the jeep that was slowing down, I covered the short distance that took me to the already tarred and dualised portion of the road right inside Ilishan town in a matter of about two to three minutes. The asphalt felt good compared to the bumpy jumpy portion which I had passed through that was under construction. The jeep continued on its journey towards Irolu, and possibly towards Ago Iwoye, because I did not notice its lights in my rear view mirror again. But shortly before getting to an opening in the median that took me to the right side of the dualised carriage way, the sixth telephone call from a friend came through.

Biodun Odusanya and I were students of the Zoology Department in Ogun State University about the same period. He is also a member of the National Association of Seadogs (NAS), which we joined on the same day. But he is an official of the Reformed Ogboni Fraternity (ROF), which till date I have refused to join given my late maternal grandfather’s admonition against such a move. I had ignored previous calls from him, which began shortly after I left Adekoya’s country home in Oke Agbo that night. Picking it, my friend’s first words were, “Are you still in Ijebu (Ife) or you’ve left?” He dropped the phone after I had told him I was on my way to Abeokuta already without saying anything again. As I made to move to the right side of the road through the opening in the median, I dropped the mobile phone.

On getting to the other side of the asphalted portion of the road, two vehicles were in front of me. I normally wind down my window at night because I wear glasses. Experience has taught me that if you put the car air-condition on at night, when you wind down or open the door, the first 30 seconds might be your last in case of trouble. Mist would cover the glasses. And in situations like these in Nigeria, your first response matters a lot, because it could very well be the last.

I sought to overtake the vehicles, only for the one directly in front of me to move to the free lane, thus blocking my passage. Initially, I naively believed he was about to overtake the car in front. But it soon drew level with the first car, which I discovered had an Ogun State Government licensed plate number. I am not good at cars. But I also noticed that the car was fairly new and looked like one of the cars we (Ogun State Government) just bought for our officials. I relaxed a bit, thinking both drivers wanted to discuss briefly without stopping, which is a regular thing in this part of the world as long as you are side by side. But doing so at this time of the night was not comfortable for me.

So, the safety instinct in me flared up when both cars slowed down. I instinctively removed my seat belt. I have a simple rule for friends, who often get robbed while in traffic in Lagos. The seat belt is a hindrance to quick reaction in case of danger. I wear a belt ONLY when traffic is free flowing. Once cars slow down in front of me, I remove the belt.

All of a sudden, the car bearing the government plate number, which was directly in front of me, stopped. The second one stopped about a second or two later. Almost immediately, the left passenger door of the government vehicle was flung open with a man clutching an AK47 rifle coming out. Of course, immediately the car stopped, I had moved my pump action rifle from the floor by my left to the right on the passenger seat beside me. Immediately I saw the AK47 with him, I switched the PAF from safety to firing position. But I left it where it was so that the man and his colleagues still feel they have the element of surprise.

As this man moved towards my left, two others with the same type of gun got down from the right passenger side of the vehicle in the back and started taking positions. One moved to the front of my car in between their vehicle and mine, while the third guy moved to my right. He was to later face me from the driver’s passenger side window. In the interim, I just told myself that if this was it, then it will be nice to, at least, get one of them so that they can be easily traced. These thoughts calmed my nerves, because it would have been painful to end up like the founding Editor-In-Chief of Newswatch magazine, Mr. Dele Giwa; former Attorney General and Minister for Justice, Chief Bola Ige; Afenifere/NADECO Leader, Papa Alfred Rewane; wife of the presumed winner of Nigeria’s June 12, 1993 presidential election, Alhaja Kudirat Abiola; Ogun State PDP gubernatorial aspirant, Mr. Dele Arojo; and Lagos State’s Engr. Funso Williams, who were cut down in cold blood without any trace of the killers.

The first guy, who had by now positioned himself did not utter a word as he tried to lift up his rifle to level with me on the driver's seat. Initially, when he was coming, the prayers that came with my thoughts were that he should be close enough for my rifle. Pump Action Rifles are notoriously weak on impact with increasing distance between the gun and the target. If the target is not close enough, PAF cannot knock it down for an outright kill. But as the gunman to my left tried to get a level, my prayers were already answered because I got him straight to the face. In agony, he shouted in Yoruba with a hand to the face and the other hand clumsily clutching his rifle as he went down: “O ti yin ‘bon fun mi l’oju! (He has shot me in the face!).”

The second would-be-assassin was well positioned directly in front my Toyota Camry LE 2008 Model car. As in the case of not wearing seat belt in places I consider dangerous in Lagos while in traffic, it has been my driving habit in any suspected crime prone area to leave enough room between my car the one in front of me. This rule of mine was effected when both cars stopped in front of me. Another rule that has always paid of for me apart from enough space between our cars is that I do not put the engine off. My car was an automatic. So, I just put the gear in parking mode, with the head lamps fully on and the engine running. Even without a gun, once you establish the vehicle in front is that of robbers or assassins as in my own case, you can hit their car in a way that will draw serious attention from people around before they strike. Or if you are lucky, like me, you can still manage with or without injuries to escape by bashing your car against anything around. Without enough room, there is no way you can manoeuvre your car.

Almost simultaneously the first gunman got his face filled with bullets from my gun, the assailant in front who was well positioned took two shots at me. I felt a very sharp pain as if one was bitten by a large soldier ant between my chest and right shoulder. I thought the bullet had torn through to make its mark. But there was nothing like that. The bullet tore through the windscreen, no doubt. And it was very well aimed like a professional assassin targeting my heart. But it appeared I bent slightly to face the first assailant on the left through the window while taking my shot at him. It was almost like a fresh driver making a round through a steep bend in the road. You often bend with the car. I laughed at myself several months later since one is not a professional soldier or policeman for bending with the gun to take aim at the man that was about to kill me. If I had not bend slightly at the time, the bullet as it were was meant for my heart! The guy in front was a professional, no doubt about it.

But why did the bullet not penetrate my body? Could it be true that all the traditional ‘insurance’ against bullets and the like that one had been taking since childhood really works? The account (traditional diary of how to prepare ‘insurance’) inherited from my maternal grandfather, Obojo, contained different items like that, which I also benefitted directly from him before his passage to join our ancestors in 1988. But I burnt it after my conversion to Christianity in 1994. In my relationship with the Oodua Peoples Congress (Gani Adams faction), one also got a number of such ‘insurance’, despite the fact that I refused to join the organisation till date. Or was it the fasting, prayers and igbele in the last three days of December 2008, which the Pastor of a Celestial Church of Christ (CCC) recommended for me?

So, immediately after scoring on the first guy, I drew myself up on the car window and gave the guy in front a shot, which happened shortly before the report of his second shot at me. He too shouted and took cover. But I could not make out the language he spoke. Till today, I do not know where the strength to sit on the driver side window came from or how it was that possible for my hands to be steady in taking the shots one after the other calmly, but fast enough, before my would-be-assailants could do any damage to my body or kill me outright. I was not injured at all. My cloth was not torn in any way, despite the fact that the first bullet hit me. We could not trace its path in the car as well, because unlike the second one that hit the bonnet and lodged in the hydraulic pipe which was damaged, we could not trace the first bullet.

As I climbed down to my seat, I was convinced of death, because the guy to my right had all the opportunities in this world for a clean and clear shot(s). Pictures of my wife and the children flashed through my mind. How will her pregnancy be? (She has since given birth to Akintomiwa on 2 July 2009). How would she cope, knowing fully well our precarious financial position? How will my mum, Iya Seri, take it? It is a fact that of her five children (Doyin, Ibrahim (Aye Baba), Dayo, Myself and Seri), she dotes on Dayo and I most. It would have been a terrible blow after losing her husband in her early 30s. But how the children would take the story of my confrontation with the assassins was very important to me because the charge I’ve always given to them was never to be afraid of anyone. In an ironic way, not that I smiled, but something close to that came to my heart as I waited for death to come through the gun of the third assassin. I was pleased that they will be happy that their father was able to take out two of those sent to kill him. Till now, I still shiver when I remember what could have happened.

After a few seconds that seemed like eternity that I did not hear or feel the report of any gunshot, I stole a very careful glance using only my eyes towards the driver’s passenger side to the right of my car. What I saw made me turn my head to that side and a small portion of my shoulder to take a good look at the miracle showing itself right before my eyes! The assassin was bent over and instead of facing upwards seemed too busy struggling with his gun, which appeared to have jammed. He was really struggling with it. Meanwhile, in turning the head, my right hand had instinctively began to lift the PAF on my laps before the left one joined after seeing the spectacle before me. As I marvelled at the works of the Almighty wondering how on earth the assassin’s gun could have jammed, I lifted the gun and took a direct shot at the centre of his head which was presented to me through the window. He emitted an animal cry as he went down, finally.

Naively, I had believed the worst was over because the second car had been motionless without any activity or anyone coming out of it throughout the encounter I had with the three men from the first car with the Ogun State Government licensed plate numbers. In that instant of taking out the third assassin, a crazy thought came to me. I’ve often toyed with the idea of taking an AK47 from any dead armed robber who’s had an encounter with me. But in that very instant between the third assassin being hit and my thanking God it was all over, the two back doors of the second car flew open almost at the same time with a force that seemed as if the devil himself was in that car. Three men clutching the same AK47s alighted from the car and made straight for me. I knew it was like a back up team. In that micro-seconds, the voice that had spoken to me earlier in Ijebu Igbo insisting I should not buy another bottle of Hennessy that night came in the same firm manner saying, “Wale, move!!!” The voice has never mentioned my name before in all previous experiences with it. It was the first time, and my body responded instinctively as if a spirit was in charge of me.

I don't know how the decision came. But in that split instant, something moved in me that it was time to escape. All this while, my car engine was still running. But it was stationary with the two headlamps on. Only that the automatic Camry 2008 model had its gear in parking mode. I changed to D (drive) from P (parking) and squeezed between the median of the dualised road and the government plated car in front of me with a momentum that seemed as if one was involved in car racing. It was a flight for dear life! Almost within the same instant, the second car that had just disgorged its merchants of death roared to life and sought to block my passage by moving to cross my path right across the Ogun State Government licensed car which was by now at my right side. Pressing down very hard on the accelerator, I hit the assassins’ second car viciously. The driver desperately sought to pin me to the median. But despite his efforts, I broke loose and headed straight for the Shagamu/Benin Expressway, instead of passing through Iperu town to the right as I would have done if there had not been any incident.

It was the car that was trying to block my passage I first saw in my rear view mirror coming after me in hot pursuit. The second car soon followed. God was really at work that night because I would have had an automobile accident on linking up with the Shagamu/Benin Expressway. A lorry on its way from the Ijebu Ode end of the road was almost at the Ilishan/Ikenne Junction when I approached. My first instinct was to wait for it to go in order to avoid an accident that would have also claimed my life. But the same voice insisted that I should move. By now the lorry was even closer. Well, in that split second, I told myself, maybe God does not want me to die in the hands of these assassins as He seems to prefer an automobile accident instead. It seemed good to me too that the killers should not claim the credit for my death, and I hit the road with that top speed and turned towards Shagamu. It was really God at work. I almost lost control of the car in that instant. In getting back towards Shagamu, the car made straight for the end of the concrete median on the expressway. If my hand had tarried for a second in changing course towards Shagamu properly, it would have been a head on approach straight into the concrete. The car changed course in a zig zag manner towards Shagamu as the lorry screeched to almost a stop because it was about to hit my car from the back.

It was this very dangerous manoeuvre that was the second and final act of grace for me. The heavy lorry formed a barrier between the assassins’ vehicles and mine. They were almost upon me. As I regained control and stepped up the gas to make a final get away from the killers, a frantic search for my official mobile phone was a disappointment. It had dropped to the floor of the car during the dangerous manoeuvres I made earlier. But a Blackberry Storm model I used with a Globacom sim card was still in the cup holder where I normally place it when there is no drink in the car. A cursory glance in the rear view mirror revealed my assailants were back on the trail.

But the lorry, which they had by now overtaken, had created enough space between my car and their’s. Irrespective of this seeming advantage, I pressed harder on the gas as I used one hand to place a call to the Chief Detail to the Governor, who is a staff of the State Security Service. I am sure my voice was shaking as I spoke with him, explaining in unmistakable terms that I have just escaped an assassination. As a student of security and strategic studies, I described in clear details where it happened, the vehicles involved and where I was and also headed. The man was with Daniel at the Awujale’s palace in Ijebu Ode at the time. The Governor was having a meeting with the Awujale of Ijebuland, Oba Sikiru Adetona. His phone was apparently on speaker, because some other security personnel with him heard my frantic call. In addition, he also told me that himself after the incident and I have no reason to doubt him.

The second call was to my wife, Ajoke, because it was something we had been expecting since 2008 (more on this later). A friend, Mr. Femi Davies, whose Pastor had assisted (more on this also later) late last year, was the third person I called. But shortly before I got to the first turning into Shagamu through Isale Oko, I did not notice the cars again. Shortly before I got to Shagamu, a call came through my BlackBerry from Alhaji Moibi Olufodun asking which Press Secretary of the Governor was under attack. I confirmed it was myself, and he immediately offered to move from his Ago Iwoye base to assist me. I was taken aback. How did he know, because I was yet to get to Shagamu? He said one of the ‘boys’ who heard the conversation among the security men in the Governor’s convoy alerted him. My brain went into a spin. If Moibi, who was in Ago Iwoye knew within five minutes of the incident and was willing to move with boys, what happened to the Police and SSS? Till date, I still felt like being set up again because he was asking for my precise position.

Moibi, who is the current Secretary to the Ijebu North Local Government Council, worked with me as Field Officer of the same local government during my service as Director of Organisation, PDP Ogun State. The Field Officer system was an initiative one borrowed from the defunct Soviet Union and the Chinese Communist Party in terms of micro-managing a volatile and complex political system or society during my sojourn in the party secretariat (more on this in a forthcoming book, “In the line of fire: Party organisation in a young democracy”). My response to Moibi was to ask certain basic security questions in terms of those coming with him and what they were coming with. His response was queer. But being a person I trust, a space for a benefit of the doubt was still left for him. I promised to call him back.

My telephone call to Imole, the Oodua Peoples Congress (OPC) (Gani Adams faction) Chairman in Shagamu Local Government at the time, who is also the defacto leader of the organisation in Ogun East Senatorial District did not yield the assistance required. He responded to my request for assistance with an excuse that he was celebrating his recent release from detention at a party in his place and that the boys who were not there had gone on out night patrol. And quite rightly, I could hear the noise of music in the background. Imole was in charge of security for pipelines of the Nigerian National Petroleum Company from Shagamu to Ore in Ondo State. It was a blow to me, because Imole is someone who had intervened in several armed robbery cases along the Shagamu/Benin Expressway before. He has had several encounters with the police as well for what they, funny enough, claimed was not his job, but which they were not willing at the time to do, especially when people were under attack. Once I call him, pronto he would be on the way with his men to assist those in distress. But on this night, I could not be assisted.

As in any battle, when a reprieve or ceasefire happens, you need to take stock immediately and weigh the options. This made me to reduce my speed as I made my way towards the last major junction along the expressway in Shagamu as one heads towards the old toll gate in the direction of Abeokuta. First, there was no attempt whatsoever from the Governor to send help despite the fact that my first call while the killers were still on my heels was to his Chief Detail. The only move to assist came from Moibi. As I was weighing my options, Julius, called back to ask if all was well and where I was. My answer was in the affirmative, but without an answer to his second question. I simply ended the conversation because I was angry. Why should this happen to me? Why was help not sent? In situations like these one often would not want to believe the obvious. Deep down in me, I knew an attack from within had taken place. But as if in a trance, my question remained, who dared to undertake this kind of assignment against me? My mind went to a warning given to me in private by a senior security official attached to the Governor in November 2008. We were in the Governor’s Shagamu residence on the day in question as he pulled me aside and spoke in a very low but concerned voice; “Babalawo, I know you are a very strong man. But my brother, watch your back. I like you and I wont tell you more than that.” Coming from a senior figure among the law enforcement officials around the Governor, it should have shaken me. But my friend was shocked to hear my response: “I know wetin dey. Make you no worry. God dey.” Briefly, I told him my suspicions and made him aware I was also planning my exit before anything untoward happened.

It was after these thoughts that I made a final decision. And shortly arriving at that decision, I called my wife who went hysterical pleading that I change my mind. My decision, as I informed her, was to go after the assassins who came for me. If they succeed in killing me, so be it. I will never run away from persons who seem to want to quietly put me down for an offence I did not commit after four years of selfless service to the system. As she was interrupting me, my firm instruction was what I had often told her: To be buried beside my dad in Ijebu Ife. And that no matter what, the children should be encouraged to know the place as home in case I did not make it. I subsequently cut her off. She tried calling back, disturbing an important call I wanted to make. She, apparently, alerted my immediate elder brother, Dayo, because his calls, which I ignored also came through. I just pressed the end button without accepting any of the calls. Eventually, I got through to the person I was trying to reach. But it was a very big disappointment.

The major blow of the events of that night of January 10, 2009 came from the state OPC Chairman, Mr. Musediq Jimoh, who is currently the Vice Chairman of Abeokuta South Local Government Council. I did not have his number on my BlackBerry. It was a senior cadre of the organisation in Abeokuta, who also doubled as my CSO when I was the Director of Organisation of the Peoples Democratic Party Ogun State, Tyson (nom de guere), that my call went to for onward transmission to Muse, as we call him. His response was to the effect that Muse claimed he was in Sango Otta for a family meeting, and not in Abeokuta.

Haba!, I complained to Tyson over the phone. “When did not being in town became a hindrance to sending some assistance my way given the explanations I had made about the attempt on my life.!” What I requested for was simple: Four tested cadres with the right equipment to join me in going after the assassins. I wanted to hunt them down that night. And since Imole was not favourably disposed to giving me assistance, Abeokuta should not be a problem. Ijebu Ode, where Akeem (Igwe) held sway as Chairman was out of it, not just because of distance. I suspect he was too close to the Commissioner for Water Resources & Rural Development, Akogun Kola Onadipe (more on the man later). In my haste to get assistance from Abeokuta, I forgot that Muse had been brought under Onadipe’s wing. Muse closed the discussion with Tyson henceforth, and I had to park the car by the roadside in frustration and anger.

If my driver, Kayode, had been in the car, I felt sure we would have tackled the six men or even if they had been more. He is from Ijebu Ife like myself and was a tested hand. A former driver, Rasak, and I had successfully tackled some armed robbers on the Lagos/Ibadan Expressway before. And it was about a few minutes to 10pm. A colleague, Siji Oyesile, was returning to Lagos for the weekend and my usual voice insisted I escort him up to the Redemption Camp before turning back. Despite the barricades put on the road by the robbers, I created enough room for Siji to escape with his car, while myself and Rasak got down and engaged the robbers. Similar scenes had taken place on the Shagamu/Benin Expressway between the men of the underworld and my car in the past too. It was not a big deal once you are prepared and the number against you is not up to 20. To me, only persons bent on suicide would wait after at least eight out of 20 of them would have died in an encounter. In addition, it is very doubtful if help would not have come in such a situation because it would have taken more time.

In the current case, what I needed was an additional hand like that. I simply needed one or two more people to get to the root of the matter. My plan was simple. Take all of them out to recover one or more dead bodies with which to trace who coordinated the attack and from there to get definitive evidence of the person that gave the order for my death. In arriving at a decision to call Tyson again, I had told myself that if the man should agree to come, I’ll drive toward the interchange on the way to Abeokuta to wait for him. Tyson agreed to come alone. There was nobody else willing to come. He also did not have anything on him, not even access to a vehicle that could fast track his movement to where I was so that the assassins would not get away. It was with a heavy heart I agreed to drive down to Abeokuta in Ake to pick him up from the state OPC secretariat. I drove like a mad person to make it back on time as my elder brother, Dayo also called persistently. But I did not answer the phone knowing fully well that my wife would have alerted him to the decision to go after the assassins.

Despite the late hour, Ake was busy. I had to turn and park by the local government secretariat instead of going to the OPC base to pick Tyson up. While waiting for him, a young acquaintance, who is a political appointee in Abeokuta South Local Government saw my vehicle and stopped. He wanted to share plesantries but was shocked to see the bullet holes: one through the windscreen and the other through the bonnet of the car. Initially, I was very rude to him because of my state of mind. But I apologised and refused to answer questions from him again. Tyson soon joined me. But there was no extra gun. However, we had two cutlasses, which he could use in case of a close encounter that one was trying to avoid. On getting back to the Shagamu/Benin Expressway, my instruction to Tyson was to concentrate on the traffic coming from the Ijebu Ode end in watching out for any vehicle with Ogun State Government plate numbers. I did same on our side of the road as well as we headed towards Ilishan junction. By this time, I had called Moibi back to ask that he joined us at Ilishan with his men.

Unfortunately, maybe we missed ourselves, but we did not see Moibi or his people till we drove back to Ijebu Ife through the same route I had taken earlier to pass the night. When we got to where I believed was the spot of the attack, we looked around without any physical sign whatsoever that anything happened there earlier. But I counted up to five local people who were watching from a safe distance in front of their houses along the road that night. Tyson pleaded we return to Abeokuta. But I responded with a firm no. I needed to complete the trail and also assure the young men of my home town who had heard about the attack from my driver to calm down.

As if Tyson’s premonition would come true, shortly before the first bridge after Irolu Town towards Ago Iwoye, the car engine suddenly stopped. It was the kind of scenario that happens when the engine is shut down by a remote system. A brand new car, which was less than a year old just packing up like that? Initially, I felt that a bullet may have pierced the engine. But no matter what, the promise I had from God was to see me through what was coming. Since He has given me the grace to do the needful, I felt certain the car would roar back to life. I turned the key in the ignition and it roared back to life. But Tyson was shaken and I pitied him. It was mostly in silence we rode back to Ijebu Ife, while keeping an eye out for the assassins who I believed might have deployed others to monitor my movements from the town earlier. Upon getting to my village, Okeliwo, I composed a text message which I sent to the Governor. He called back shortly after that, about a few minutes past 12 midnight. He asked if I was okay and I responded in the affirmative. That was all. It was in my house in Okeliwo we discovered the bullet lodged in the hydraulic system. In fact, it was God’s grace again because the steering of the car became stiff from Ago Iwoye onwards till we got to Ijebu Ife that night.