JULY 7th 1998
Dike
Ndukwe, sat up in the prison cell reading the Quran, it was the only book made
available for him to read in the four years of his detention. In less than ten
hours he will be meeting with a team of US delegates, the culminate of an
international effort to secure his release. His vision began to blur as he read
the holy book forcing him to keep it down. He noticed an unusual sweating on
his palms and fore head. He felt too dizzy to stand up but managed to, walked
to the door and beckoned on the warden but got no answer. A sharp pain coursed
through his back, up to his head; he swooned and fell to the ground.
The
only consciousness he had at the point was an astringent taste in his mouth and
a peculiar rancid smell from his body. A certain chemical reaction had taken
place in his liver and was insidiously spreading across his body. His blood,
his life-liquid will now serve the devils purpose of transporting the virulent
substance from the ailed organ across his body to his brain, overrunning the
functioning of the kidney on its course.
The
last image on his mind was Adora his wife, who was shot dead two years earlier
on the streets of Lagos. She had rallied an immense local and international
support for the release of her husband and was at the verge of lunching the
campaign when she was assassinated. The ethereal apparition of his wife was
more beautiful than he had ever seen as she beckons on him to come. He saw
himself floating away from his body into the open and consoling arms of his
wife. As they embrace, they are enveloped by pain, Adora’s face changes into a
grievous rage, spiraling upwards, they varnish into the air, screaming.
Dike’s
brain stopped working; his damaged kidney empties itself of the percolation of
toxins from his blood as he urinates on himself and dies. He died on the day he
was due to be released. The prison warden was there all the while watching him.
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