by Tomiwa Yusuff

Like a bad record, the thought kept reverberating in my head that unforgettable morning in the town of Song. I had been posted to the town to observe my one year mandatory National Youth Service and had resolved to make every minute there count.

The day appeared auspicious for it hinted promises of great things. The sun was warm and in a pleasant mood judging by how it lapped the mountain peaks with greeting kisses. The trees shook their green tresses from side to side in understanding. The wind was vocal as usual; the ethereal aura of auspice further perpetuated by its intermittent serenades. Dogs barked; goats bleated and cocks crowed, everything was well with the world or so it seemed.

The challenge I had undertaken that morning was to jog up and down the mountain opposite my lodge. I had put on my favourite blue Nike tracksuit with a different brand of play-pants and gone off in pursuit of yet another personal conquest. The side I followed up was the steepest part of the mountain but I wasn’t deterred. I made it up the mountain in no time. Hardly did I pause to consider what I was doing before I took the same route down, still jogging…

How foolish I was!

The steep side I had followed up was now a downhill slope in reverse. My jog gained momentum halfway into a run and like a wrecking ball having a free fall, I couldn’t control neither could I stop it!

If I did, I ran the risk of jostling and reeling down the lofty but impertubable mountain. That would mean lots of broken bones, endless bruises, and months in the hospital if I was lucky enough to be alive after the fall.

All this brain was able to process in my precarious, downhill, terrifying flight-like run down the mountain. I’d started jumping and leaping sometime during the run when I could no longer control acceleration.

All that time, I was thinking;

 

‘Is this how I die?’

 

‘But this mountain didn’t ask me to climb it o…’

 

‘Why have I done this stupid thing now?’

 

‘Will they ever find my body?’

 

‘This is almost the same way Mufasa died in Lion King…’

 

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit with the last thought but I did think of my widowed mother and my sisters. I thought of how I was the last of my name, the rightful heir to the 3 bedroom flat my deceased father left behind, ruler of the Andals and the First Men…I’m sorry, but this is what too much Game of Thrones does to a human being.

Raw, electric fear suffused my entire being and experiencing a moment of ambedo, images of my bruised, broken and battered body flashed through my subconscious. It was at that precise moment that I broke free of the fear terrifying my essence and resolved to do everything in my power to make it out alive.

Seconds later, after a few leaps, my legs gave out under me and I tumbled down the rest of the unfortunate descent.

I had a few bruises, no broken bones and a slightly pronounced surface wound near my hip bone. The scar remains to this day a memento of my mountaineering and survival quest and I wear it as proudly as an Olympian wears a gold medal. I would normally share visuals but it’s too near my buttocks─ that’s a restricted area, plus this piece is rated G. Trust you understand.

Out of embarrassment, I didn’t share my experience with fellow lodgers except my room-mate. For close to 2 months, I had a healthy fear of that apathetic mountain and didn’t dare attempt to climb it. I lost my beloved blue Nike tracksuit to that mishap. I loved it a lot but I’m forever grateful for making it out of that misadventure alive and whole.

I remember how after the fall I’d looked up to the mountain from its base and thought in veneration;

             ‘Here I lie. I, who desired to move a mountain, moved instead by it’.

This entry was submitted as part of the Nigerian Voices competition organized by YNaija.com.

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