HOTEL SUZY II

In a panic I picked up my phone and tried Ismael's Canadian number, he answered at the first ring and I said "Ismael, you've got to come and help me, there are some men trying to break into my room." He muffled something I couldn't quite catch in reply, so I said "Speak up, what did you say?" Thats when he said "Idowu, some people are trying to break into my room."

I was too shocked to cry, I just croaked "Ismael, this is your country please help me, do something, call someone.." that was all I could say before I heard a loud bang at the other end of the line. Then the line went dead. All kinds of thoughts began racing through my mind. "Ha! they've killed him," "What if they want to rape me?" "I'm finished" "So this is how people die?" " God! so I left Nigeria to go and die in another man's country?" I was drawn out of my lamentations by a hard knock on the door. I immediately dove into the wardrobe. Then I dived right back out, grabbed my passport from underneath the mattress where I had hidden it earlier and stuffed it in the waist-band of my pyjamas trouser, pulled the top over it and went back to hide in the wardrobe. "At least if I get to escape I can travel back to my country", I thought.

I had scarcely closed the wardrobe door when the hotel room door burst open. I heard noisy movements like a battalion of soldiers had entered the room. I heard them cocking their guns, ready to shoot. They were tearing the room apart searching for me. I heard one of them say "où est-elle?" meaning where is she? and then another voice said "vérifier la salle de bain" that is, check the bathroom. I was holding my breathe so much that I was barely breathing. I have always heard of silent tears but that was the first time it ever happened to me. Tears of fright rolled down my cheeks and soaked my pyjamas top. When I looked through the cracks in the wardrobe door, I saw a battered army boot and a rifle pointed at my face. Cold fear ran down my spine where I was sweating profusely. And when someone opened the door to the larger  compartment of the wardrobe, I almost yelped but covered my mouth just in time, my bladder suddenly threatening to burst open. In my mind I was praying all kinds of prayers "God if you save me this time I will never do anything bad in my life again. I will start going to church, I will not be rude or proud any more, I will give to the needy and help the poor, I will preach the gospel. Just save me."

Stanmer Court, University of Sussex UK, 2009

I was waiting for them to open the smaller compartment of the wardrobe where I was hiding thinking I'll just feign death or perhaps just surrender. However, in a weird twist of fate, they didn't open the smaller compartment, all I heard was the other wardrobe door slammed shut. I heard someone taking a pee in the bathroom, he made such a loud noise it almost seemed like it was a cow peeing. At this point it seemed like the men had given up looking for me but they were still in the room this time speaking in rapid French that I couldn't quite grasp but I heard "mademoiselle" and "Nigerian".  The one who was standing by the wardrobe door near me said something that must have meant "lets go" because they all started leaving the room. I was about to heave a sigh of relief when my phone started ringing. 

The loudest fire alarm I've ever heard is the one that seemed to blare every other day at my hostel in Stanmer Court at the University of Sussex. The alarm was so loud and shrilly that your ears kept ringing for twenty minutes after the alarm has been turned off. For one to fully grasp just how loud the shrill of my phone ringer was at that moment, one has to go stand by a cathedral bell when it is being rung at prayer time, then you will know just how loud my iphone's old telephone ringtone sounded. I died a million times in that one second before the wardrobe door was yanked open, almost clear off its hinges. I was roughly pulled out of the wardrobe by a fierce looking soldier dressed in obviously dirty army fatigues. His grimmy fingers digging into my arm where he held me as I squirmed in pain and fear. All I could say was "s'il vous plaît, s'il vous plaît" meaning "please".

The man looked me up and down and smiled cruelly showing reddish black teeth, testament of a zillion years of chewing raw tobacco. I almost puked but I looked into his cold black beady eyes and knew that this man will not hesitate to kill me if I threw-up on his dirty boots. He shoved me to face another soldier who appeared to be their superior, I noticed he was over six feet tall, slightly better dressed than the rest of the other soldiers who were even worse looking than Mr. Tobacco Teeth.  But he had a scowl on his surprisingly handsome face. He said in broken English "Are you madam for minisree?" The first ray of hope, I said "Yes! oui, ministère de l'agriculture..." (I pronounced it d'lagrikulchui). The man laughed suddenly, his face creasing into friendly lines, and said "don worri I speaks English, your French bad. Welcome to Guinea Conakry. I yam Officer Abdou Coulibay." I stood there looking in surprise then he said " Minisree sen us."  I shouted "You came to save me." I hugged him, body odour and all, while his men laughed and whistled. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I was united with Ismael a few minutes later, he told me he had called his contact at the ministry before I called him and they had sent the soldiers to rescue us. The burglars had run off when they heard the soldiers coming. He was asked to stay in his room where two soldiers kept guard while the rest of the soldiers went in search of me. We were moved to another hotel that dawn, Hotel Le'Rocher, where I slept peacefully for the rest of the morning. 

It was when I woke up and looked outside my windows that I realised that my room at Hotel Le'Rocher directly overlooked a mortuary!

HOTEL SUZY

It was a hot night in September 2010 when I landed in Conakry, Guinea. It had been a long wait at the airport in Senegal and by the time I arrived Conakry at 11:50pm I felt dirty, sticky and tired. To make matters worse my luggage when it arrived from the hold, was torn and had what seemed like a bra dangling from the edge. I quickly stuffed it back into the box looking around to make sure no one had seen it. I wasn't going to be so lucky, a laughing custom officer beckoned to me to come over for checking. I dragged my box over thinking it will be over in a few seconds. I was wrong. After what seemed like forever, with me trying to explain to a now growing number of custom officers that I was there on Official Assignment to meet with the Chief Director at the Ministry of Agriculture, I was reluctantly let go.

Omon's apartment, Bovey Court Warrington, UK 2009

I thought the airport was hot till I stepped out to a blast of heat only comparable to heat waves in Northern Nigeria. On getting out I met a crowd of currency mongers thrusting bundles of CFA in my face asking in French if I wanted to exchange currency. I was in no mood to be touched, shoved or pushed by anyone so when Ismael caught hold of my wrist and pulled me to him I instantly started struggling and shouting "je ne parle pas français". Above the jeering caused by my shout he shouted in reply "calm down. Madam Ejere?" I said "yes, who are you?" "Ismael from Canada" he replied. Then it dawned on me. He was one of the guys in the team who I was going to be working with in the coming week. He had only just arrived from Canada himself. I took a good look at him, "not bad at all", I concluded.

It was a long drive from the airport to the hotel with military check points almost every fifteen minutes. Between the dirty windows of the truck and the unavailability of street lights I was unable to make out houses or any structure. If it was possible, the car was hotter and stuffier than the airport. Ismael and I chatted for a while, mostly about the fact that he was originally from Guinea now based in Canada. I told him I was Nigerian and we exchanged business cards. By the time we arrived the our hotel we were exhausted. 

Hotel Suzy looked like it was under some kind of reconstruction or renovations with bags of cement and wooden planks blocking the entrance. Dragging my box into the reception with the help of the driver, I could only pray not to step on nails or sharp objects. What I could make of the hotel was a three story building situated in the midst of low rising houses. The hotel lobby was bare except for a concrete slab that hid two sleeping receptionists who seemed personally affronted when they were woken up to attend to us. We were quickly registered in a tattered note book, handed room keys and settled into our rooms. My room was located on the third floor with a large window and a door leading to the corridors. Ismael's room was just a few feet away. The tap didn't run and since there was no telephone in the room I resigned myself to sleeping without taking a bath. 

I am quite sure I had not been asleep for more than an hour when I heard some noise outside my room door. I pulled my mobile phone from under the pillows and checked the time, it was shortly after 3:40 am. The noise at the door drew my attention once more, it seemed like someone was trying to break into my room. I was so scared, my heart was pounding so fast and loud I could literally hear it. I was quietly reciting Psalm 23. I dared not make a sound so they wouldn't know I was awake. I tiptoed to the wardrobe where I used my phone light to search for Ismael's card in  my wallet, silently praying the wardrobe door will not whine. Upon finding the card to my frustration it was his Canadian numbers stated in there. I muffled a sob in my palm while I tried to figure out what to do next. All the while it seemed the burglars were trying to pick the door lock. 

In a panic I picked up my phone and tried Ismael's Canadian number, he answered immediately and I said "Ismael you've got to come and help me, there are some men trying to break into my room." He muffled something I couldn't quite catch in reply so I asked "what did you say?" That is when he said "Idowu, some people are trying to break into my room."

To be continued...