by Mark Babatunde
”Watching it happen and bearing witness to it, was about as indelible as watching the final of a FIFA world cup match from a stadium front row seat. ”
Okene is burning! X-bank is burning!! Thick black smoke puffed into the January 2010 harmattan sky to serve as an invitation to gawkers and prove to all doubting-Thomas’ that Okene town was indeed burning.
The news itself spread faster than the fire it reported. The full version of the story went thus: the brakes of a petrol tanker had failed, its driver lost control and crashed into some parked vehicles. The impact of the crash overturned the tanker on its side, effectively spilling its contents and then bursting into flames.
“Okene is burning” was both a metaphoric and literal expression in itself. The fire was of course raging in Okene town, at the very centre of the town, and infact right on a cross junction of a federal road that, believe it or not, connected travellers between the east, west and north of Nigeria. So without surprise, all the major business concerns in the town that could find a spot, congregated around this junction. Within a 500 meters radius were situated countless business concerns, important landmarks and not less than six major commercial banks including the infamous X-bank (Such that the news was alternately told as X-bank is burning instead of Okene is burning), to have all of these razed to the ground in one day would be a tragedy, Striking at the very core of the town.
The banks were the biggest cause for worry. They helped transfer funds, employed some of the town’s people, and more importantly kept the towns savings. The banks were insured no doubt and depositors could always return to claim their monies-if they had proof. But, all of that could be a long time coming, bringing untold hardship, crippling businesses and increasing tension.
In all the versions that went on to be told of the unfortunate fire incident, three ‘facts’ stood out as very untrue; first, the half empty tanker carried kerosene and not petrol as was widely reported so the chances of things unravelling was not as high as previously feared or hoped. Consequently, the fire did not spread half as much as was expected and reported. Most of the damage to the nearest surrounding properties was a result of the intense heat from the burning tanker. Lastly, of course neither Okene nor any of the banks were burning.
Why then was it reported that Okene or X-bank was burning? There are two possible theories to explain the story’s hyperbole dimensions. One was, since it so happened that mobile phones were the major means of propagating the news of the tragedy either by SMS or actual voice calls, the headline “Okene is burning” achieved maximum effect with minimal airtime. Another was that in a town which had seen so many violent upheavals in the recent past, residents were hardly going to be impressed by any tale of a mishap that didn’t bother on the fantastic.
Indeed, the rapturous interest generated by the story could partly be traced to the new found peace in a town that was yet to regain any of its social life, lost to the violence of the preceding months. Everyone was perhaps now bored with the inactivity and monotony that peaceful times had brought, for it had created a vacuum that yawned to be filled by something, anything. The tanker fire looked as good a chance as any, to again drive the adrenaline sky high for a people who had probably gotten accustomed to some degree of chaos.
I think for many, the news that the obnoxious X-bank was burning was the big catch in a story, that had them running out of their homes to the scene of what promised to be an exceptional spectacle. The thought of something that tragic ever happening had probably crossed the malevolent sub conscious of a few sometime before, but the prospects of watching it burn down before their very eye was incredible, almost surreal and well, just too astonishing to be true. For instance, it would be interesting to see how the bank’s terribly uncourteous staff would respond when the fire engulfs their building. Would they throw their hands in the air like market women and run for their lives like everyone else? Would the usually unfriendly security men, stubbornly stand guard over a burning bank or would they also show their human side and flee to safety? And if they did turn their back on their property it would be interesting to see how far people would go to dare a raging fire to loot some cash.
People from every corner of the town converged at the scene of the accident to watch an unfolding spectacle. And what a gathering it was. At the scene were the usual gawkers watching unabashedly, excited women talking animatedly. Others more discerning took to walking around with an extra grave countenance accompanied by a steady shaking of the head, still a few conspicuously wailed above the din to express their deepest grief. The gawking of course boasted the 21st century twist; the horde of smart phone wielding citizens eager to make ‘great’ pictures from ugly scenes.
No one could deny that it was definitely an exceptional spectacle, however bizarre and pathetic it seemed. Watching it happen and bearing witness to it, was about as indelible as watching the final of a FIFA world cup match from a stadium front row seat. It is presumed that the greater majority of humanity expires without really doing anything remarkable with their lives. So perhaps here was an opportunity for this substantial number to do something with theirs. For if we fail so woefully at creating history, we could at least bear witness to it – even if ‘history’ was some monumental carnage – and years later sit back and retell with so much relish, an embellished account of the events of that fateful day and say with grave authority “I was there when that happened”.
Perhaps it was this nudging desire to do something genuinely worthy of a recount with their lives, that propelled a band of young men to take a shot at trying to control the fire at the risk of life and limb. In their small number, they fought the fire running around bare footed on the fire heated asphalt road, with nothing but buckets full of water and little detergent.
Their efforts, as valiant as it seemed, was sporadic and uncoordinated and achieved little. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of calling out to them above the din of the mayhem, marshalling their efforts and in the process recruiting more volunteers to fight off the fire with a more purposeful approach. But good reason prevailed and I did no such thing – because I could do no such thing. The crowd would see through my attempt at becoming a hero and let it fall flat on its face. That’s if they forget to lynch me or even worse, resoundingly ignore me.
So I looked on like the rest, struggling to subdue my excitement at the prospect of putting all that I saw into writing. It doesn’t even make me feel better now, as then when I admit that all of us (gawkers) were guilty of murder and arson for doing nothing. As a matter of fact, we would have shown more concern and certainly more sombreness to those who lost life and property in the inferno if we stayed at home, kept quiet and buried our head in the sand while the fire raged.
In the end, hours later, the fire was put out unceremoniously with the arrival of two fire trucks, the second arriving just minutes behind the first. That was all it took. An exuberant private radio station which had gone on air to announce that X-bank was burning had to bear the half indignity of retracting its previous statement, and had to apologize for its misleading information. It is provoking to suggest that not a few people would have been disappointed that the story of the trailer fire fell short of a befitting climax, a cliff-hanger or any of the other necessary ingredients of a great story. This shortcoming was sure to reduce the glint in the story when it was to be retold sometime in the future. And the future didn’t have to be a distant many years to come, as precedence would suggest that on the next Sunday following the incidence, the story of the great fire was bound to be retold with fresh insight from several colourful angles, by earnest thankful testifiers in various prayer houses eager to ‘identify’ with the tragedy.
It would also go on to be retold by several witnesses and quasi-witnesses, some of whom wield pen over paper and typically hold a claim to telling-it-like-it-is and not like they want but nevertheless go right on doing the exact opposite. Even if they think it sort of ennobles them when they admit this. Many would retell the story as they choose to, in several flavours. But for those who were swiftly and painfully deprived of their loved ones and a life time’s worth of property, the details would remain a never changing truth they would be in a hurry to forget.
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Mark Babatunde is a good story-teller with an interesting personality.
30 Days 30 Voices series is an opportunity for young Nigerians from across the world to share their stories and experiences – creating a meeting point where our common humanity is explored.
Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija
