Ehis gulped down his last drop of water resignedly and sat there for a while. He peered one last time into his plastic bottle with a deep sense of loss before flinging it into the Mediterranean. It was so empty there wasn’t even a splash on impact. Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink. No truer words, written or uttered, were ever more profound, more resounding, more ironic than these by Coleridge. At least, none under the present circumstances. Ehis cackled manically to himself. As he bobbed up and down on the deck, watching the bottle surf the waves and move away towards the horizon, these poetic words kept bobbing in his head.
How did it get to this, abeg? Where did I get it all wrong? When will this suffering end?
By the time they were smuggled into Libya from Algeria, only twenty-two of them were still alive out of an original forty-six. The others had not made it. Out of the survivors, some were in dire need of medical attention. Some were traumatized from rape and other horrors they had witnessed or experienced in the desert. Only a few were in the right frame of mind to continue the journey. Ehis was one of them. However, while he could still persevere mentally, financially was another matter altogether as the desert had taken all he had. It would have another go at him yet– this time as they journeyed northwards to Sebha. There, another sea of sand lay in wait to further sap him of strength. But Ehis was no quitter. He could not turn back – not even if he wanted to. There was so much at stake.
Ehis had been rusticated in his third year at Yaba College of Technology, Lagos, for ‘negative student unionism’. He continued to plead his innocence, insisting he was the victim of a system that had little tolerance for criticism. He was never recalled, however; neither were his transcripts ever released for him to seek education elsewhere. Disillusioned, he had abandoned tertiary education altogether and tried his hand at his father’s lumber business in Edo State. This did not go quite well so he returned to Lagos to seek more ‘cerebral’ challenges. He recalled how his school ordeal had affected his relationship with his long-time sweetheart who no longer wanted anything to do with him. He remembered how, one day, he had paid her a visit on campus and was told by her roommates that she had travelled to see her folks only to find her in the hands of a rich old man, or ‘aristo’ as they were called, in a beige Ford Explorer parked outside the hostel. He could see her laughing as the plump man behind the wheel fondled her. On seeing him, she had turned her face away hurriedly, leaving him feeling like trash along the road. The only thing left was for a garbage truck to drive by, pick him up and crush him because that was just how Ehis felt- crushed. He could not believe that he had once had plans to marry this lady. All through school, he had eyes for no other girl but she, and she knew it. So how could she do this to him? No! he had said, fighting back tears. It would not end this way! He was going to show her and all those who laughed at him behind his back. He, Ehimigbai Osagie, would rise from these ashes like a phoenix.
But the rise was too slow. Ehis worked as a clearing agent at Apapa Wharf for the next three years. Frustrated at his slow progress, he decided to hasten his rise by migrating to Spain. If necessary, he would run three jobs over there to make ends meet and save enough to return home triumphant. No matter how menial, he would do it. After all, who knew him in Spain?
Ehis was no quitter. No. He had a lot at stake. Another shameful setback would kill him. He had to cross over to Europe or die trying. After one week in a dingy Sebha prison on a loitering charge, he was sold by the Tebu militia to one El-Haj Suleiman who lived in Tripoli. They bundled him, along with thirteen other illegal immigrants from sub-Saharan Africa, over to their new master who lived seven hundred kilometres away. They had no money to bribe their way out of it so when they arrived in the capital that evening, they were driven to El-Haj’s house not too far from the sea, by Martyrs’ Square. Despite his predicament, Ehis heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw the great blue. Spain was not too far off now, he thought. As the silver tide crashed against the shore in the moonlight, he couldn’t help but feel vindicated. There and then, he stripped himself of all self-doubt.
The guards stripped him and the others down to their boxers and bras in El-Haj’s courtyard that night and assessed them for sea-worthiness, amongst other things. They also took advantage of some of the women, groping them savagely for a start. Those who were vociferous in their protestations were dragged into an inner room and raped. Some of them were sold off to other Libyan masters as house slaves. Who could they report to? They were illegal immigrants- they did not exist to the government. Besides, the Libyan government already had its hands full with internal conflict. Ehis closed his eyes and tried to shut out the screams, pleas, grunts, and laughter. This too shall pass, he said to himself. This too shall pass. Later by 2 am, Ehis and his group were taken down to the ports where a trawler was waiting. He was amazed to see hundreds of migrants standing there in the moonlight desperate to get on board and being whipped back like flies. He felt reassured by their number that he had made the right decision. All these people couldn’t be wrong. Their desperation to board only attests to many successful trips via Tripoli to Europe. There was nothing to fear, he surmised. By 4 am, they were all on board and had set out for Spain.
“Eh Chaly! Is that the remaining water you finish so? Didn’t I tell you to keep some for me?”
Ehis tore his weary eyes away from the bobbing plastic bottle. It was a mere speck now- nothing of interest. He turned slowly to look at his dark Ghanaian friend, Acheampong, who was sandwiched between two Sudanese refugees. Acheampong was from Kumasi. They had met in the Sebha prison.
“Chaly, you turn deaf and dumb so? Answer me o. Was that the last drop?”
Ehis didn’t respond. He looked over Acheampong’s shoulder at the crowd of people seated on board. There must have been no less than three hundred and fifty people in the fishing vessel, all crammed together with no elbow room. Out of these, at least a hundred were down in the trawler’s freezer holds. He wondered how they were breathing there when it was stifling hot on deck. The boat was an old, medium-sized freezer trawler with faulty facilities. As a result of her poor state, the owners had switched from trawling fish to trafficking humans. They couldn’t care less for the comfort of their cargo now. Fish, on the other hand, had to be kept fresh and frozen or they would be worthless. Nowadays, theirs was just to fetch, store and deliver- nothing more. So far, Ehis had counted five dead bodies they had thrown overboard since yesterday.
The majority of those on board were Arabs escaping war in their country while the rest were blacks from sub-Saharan Africa seeking a better future. All were from different works of life. There were families here with infants and breastfeeding babies. How they managed to get to Tripoli, Ehis could not fathom. He watched as a cute toddler smiled up at his mother, oblivious of the danger around him and his uncertain future. For him, there was nothing to worry about with his mum there to protect him. Ignorance, truly, is bliss. His mother tried to smile back reassuringly as she hugged him tightly. Ehis saw the anxiety on her face. It was written on all their faces- every single one of them- young and old. The nauseous ones among them were positioned at the boat’s sides and stern using the sea as their puke bag. They were all suffering for the same dream.
Ehis and crew had been at sea for four days now. His limbs were sore from inactivity and dehydration. So far, they had faced two terrifying thunderstorms, survived a leak scare, and bribed four navy patrol ships who had threatened to turn them back. Ehis had seen it all.
“Chaly!” Acheampong was furious now. “I said was that our last drop?”
As ‘Chaly’ failed to respond again, the Ghanaian lunged at him with such ferocity that Ehis was almost knocked overboard. If not for the swift reflexes of those seated beside him, both friends would have found themselves in Davy Jones’ locker. A startled Ehis quickly recovered from the sudden attack and reeled himself in with some assistance, as the Ghanaian was a heavy man. Both men grappled in two inches of space, unmoved by the pleas and protestations of people around them. Another fight broke out to their left. No doubt about water or food or infringement of personal space. They could not be bothered. Others tried to intervene in the scuffle but eventually, it became a free-for-all. Women and children were crying. Men were cursing and swearing. Some were flung overboard. Some drowned. The heatstroke was taking its toll on everybody and they needed to vent. Two gunshots were fired. Everyone froze, people screamed in fear. Traffickers swore at them and threatened to kill anyone who moved. Sanity was restored.
Once again, he stared at the clear blue sea with its foamy white streaks and wondered why God had made it all brine. Ehis was exhausted from the fighting and in urgent need of rehydration but he had just finished his daily ration of water. He looked up at the seagulls in the sunny sky above and wished he could fly away with them. Under the sweltering Mediterranean sun, the whole world around him had begun to spin. His eyes were slowly closing.
Dear Chukwuma, I’m sorry! I hope you didn’t embark on this cursed trip as well. I hope you had more sense than I. It’s too late for me now.
***
Claude Opara
Claude is a Nigerian author, artist, architect and project manager. An avid movie watcher, history buff and football fan, he also has a penchant for travel and adventure. Claude has authored a few books ...And the Night Hissed being his first novel, a historical thriller about a slave raid gone awry. He has also written and published two lighthearted comics and a children's storybook under his An African Legend series. Claude is also the co-founder of Teambooktu.com.
