A Soldier’s Heart

When I got my letter of discharge it was all I could do to wait to get home. My mind

raced as I thought of many things. I was about starting a really swell job when I was

compelled to serve my father land, as if the Youth Service Scheme I just completed in the

north did not count for anything.

My parents were disappointed, to put it mildly when I had to go away. I was going to be

the first of their brood to start a job after my elder sister unexpectedly died in her final

year in the university. I planned to take over the expenses of my siblings’ education to

take their mind off the death of their first child. They were a hardworking couple, making

many sacrifices so that their children would have the education they did not have. And

now the government was taking their son away with no guarantee that he would be back.

The thought of that alone almost killed them.

There were no wars to fight nor insurrections to suppress within the nation. However the

government’s desire to have its hand in everything going on in the continent led it to

shipping out its young men to serve in peace keeping missions during their compulsory

three year military service. Prior to this heightened involvement in continental affairs,

young male citizens were merely given three months military training and put on reserve

for the rest of the three years. They went about their business, starting jobs, getting

married and making babies since the possibility of their seeing actual combat was next to

nil. But by the time I reached the age of compulsory service as it was generally referred

to, a new dictator had risen to power and he came with the desire to make a name for the
nation in military circles. He was constantly on the alert for places where civil unrests or

government resistance broke out. In several cases his troops arrived in trouble spots

ahead of the soldiers of the nation concerned! Before long he was servicing enough

countries to keep his young men very busy.

Nevertheless the name we were making for ourselves came at the prize of the blood of

our young men. The name peace mission did not tone down the reality that some soldiers

would not return. Death from the guns of hostile citizens of the host nation or from

friendly fire were not uncommon and some that made it home met their shocked families

in wheelchairs or crutches, having parted with limbs.

After the compulsory service and yet no end to the insurrection in the land I was posted

to, we were given the options of being absorbed fully into the military or returning home.

Every soldier under my commander chose to reenter Civvy Street. The boss did not even

try to change our mind. He simply reminded us we would be on reserve for another year

and loaded us into the aircraft that would take us home, he being a career soldier.

We were promised a medal each and some bonuses, the former was touted to enhance our

‘employability’ and the later to help us start life. These were hardly on my mind as our

plane hurtled through the sky in the direction of home. All I thought of was my reunion

with Eugenia, my sweetheart. There was practically no delay at customs since we were

soldiers returning from the scene of doing our nation proud yet I noticed the ticking of

each second because my heart beat cleanly matched the rhythm. Eugenia was the only

girl I found worthy of being extended a permanent fixture in my life and we had been
separated against our wishes for two and a half years. Would I recognize her? What

would she say to me first? What would she wear? I could imagine her standing between

my parents, clinging to their arms as she struggled to keep calm. My girl was easily

excited and today was a big day for us.

I charged through Arrivals making a lot of noise as I announced to everyone that I was

home. To my greatest surprise there was nobody between my parents, which meant

Eugenia was not waiting for me. My bag dropped to the ground with a thud as I froze,

trying to deny that what I was seeing was true. Through the daze of the shock I saw my

parents, siblings and others I knew rushing toward me as they jostled to be the first to

touch me.

I went through the hugs and kisses as an observer. These were my people but why was

Eugenia not within the range of my vision as she should be? When would they tell me

whether she was sick or dead?

Nobody volunteered to give any information so I took my mother by the shoulders and

asked why Eugenia had been left behind. About five different throats cleared at the same

time but it was my father that eventually said, too smoothly for my liking “Come, let’s

get you home. There are more people at home than here”

With that I was bustled into a waiting bus. All through the drive home I was peppered

with questions, questions that did nothing to reveal the geographical location of the love

of my life.
Dad was right. The crowd at home would make any groom proud on his wedding day. I

thought my nuptials had been arranged as a surprise. There were cakes, noise, fine

clothes, food and drinks but there was no Eugenia to make it a wedding.

Again I did not get an opportunity to ask about Eugenia. Food and drinks were rushed at

me and after years of survival rations, I must admit rice and fried chicken went right

down to reach my soul. The questions continued to pour in and even those that never

went to war produced combat stories. However after some time the whole thing became

ridiculous and it was clear that I was being prevented from asking about Eugenia.

Gradually I was left alone and I went straight after my mother. I led her to a corner and

fearing to hear the worst, asked her for the young woman I put in her personal care before

leaving the country.

My mother started to say something which obviously was not easy for her to say. At this

point I was near shouting and demanding of everyone where my Eugenia was. What was

it these people were hiding? Had Eugenia died? Did she have an accident and she was

disfigured they thought I would not want her anymore?

Now, I never thought that Eugenia had left me for another man or she had tired of waiting

for me. I just knew I was the only one for her, same as for she was for me. That was why

I only feared for her safety and health.

“You have not asked of Steve. He really missed you”

I looked behind to see Maggie, one of my aunts scolding me. I was fond of Steve her son

whom she had thrust into my arms. The boy that was supposed to have missed me did not

hide his reluctance at being separated from his mother. I felt like explaining the

difference between Steve and Eugenia. I had affection for both of them but one was close

to my heart and the other was right in my heart. But I kept my cool and started to dandle

the child as I asked questions that would bring me up to date on the development of my

cousin. Steve, according to his mother led the class in everything, including beating up

the other kids and making life hell for the teacher and I remarked I had always knew the

lad would take after me. From the corner of my eyes I observed my mother sliding away.

The next thing was the young contingent of my welcome party converging on me. The

first toddler leaped clear off the ground, expecting to share the coziness of big uncle’s

bosom with Steve. To compensate the less pacey ones I went down on the rug. Maggie

too quietly took her leave.

By now I knew a conspiracy was going on. Something had happened and it was being

kept away from me. Nobody, not even the young and careless ones had spoken Eugenia’s

name even though they knew my mind would never be at rest until I saw her.

I was allowed thirty minutes of satisfying childish curiosities- how did my plane get up in

the sky, what did I eat and who cooked it, when would I go back, where did I keep my

gun- before being plucked and whisked off to the kitchen.

I found myself completely surrounded by women; my mother, her friends, my own

friends, several aunts including Maggie. The look on their faces showed the news was not
going to be pleasant. Some of them could not even look at me in the eye and were

smoothening their skirts and trousers or opening and closing windows. Trust men to

abandon the dirty jobs to the women. In this room they washed the dirty dishes and now

they were going to deliver the unpleasant message. I thought here was the moment of

truth and strained my ears so that I wouldn’t miss any part.

‘’You must have been wondering why Eugenia is not here”

I nodded. You did not need the skill of a psychic to determine that.

“She is ……”

The woman speaking suddenly lost her boldness and melted into the rest. I was trying to

pick out the face when another voice completed the sentence.

“She is not happy with you”

Even after the sentence was completed it still did not make sense. Since when did I have

to worry about whether Eugenia was happy with me or not? This ranked high among the

strangest things I ever heard.

“What happened? Did anybody offend her?”

I asked this question because it never occurred to me that I could be the root or cause of

Eugenia’s unhappiness even though I was far away from her. I contacted her as often as I

could. Speaking with her or home was always a highlight of my day because it was

always a lot of effort and she knew it. The country occupied one of the lowest slots in IT
rankings, which I believed was even biased in their favor because they shouldn’t have

been ranked at all. I had to get to the capital to get a phone and then contend with one of

the longest queues on this side of the planet. You were not even promised good service.

No call to cell phones ever completed. Even patching through to land phones depended

more on chance than on science. To make matters worse, as a soldier, I had no control

over my own time. My commander not only told me what to do, but also how and when

to do it. I stopped mailing letters when there was no proof they got beyond the border of

the country.

But I carried the photo of Eugenia in my breast pocket so that I could look at it anytime I

wanted to. I had been teased and kicked awake by angry fellow combatants because I was

shouting “Eugenia” in my sleep. Nobody could accuse me of neglecting her. So why

wasn’t she part of my home coming celebration?

“Nobody annoyed her. She said she could not live with … a soldier”

“But I am no longer a soldier!” I pointed out, like the reason for the party sounds filtering

into the kitchen was lost on my audience.

The women began to exchange glances again, uncomfortable glances. They went through

the motions of smoothening their dresses and worrying windows.

The door suddenly opened and a head poked in, probably to replenish on food or drinks.

The person however beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door when he sighted the somber

conference going on.

I turned back to the ladies and begged “Something is going on. Please tell me what it is”

It was then that a quiet voice, made even more ominous by the silence of the rest

informed me that Eugenia claimed she could not live with a man that had shed blood.

“But that was when I was a soldier. And who told her that I killed anybody?”

My mother spoke this time, eyes fastened on her feet “We all saw it. It was on the

television in our sitting room”

It was ridiculous to argue with my mother but I couldn’t remember any member of the

press tagging along into the thick of things so as to feed our fiancées with footages of war

slayings. The most enterprising ones hung around the headquarters and took pictures of

the building from different camera angles and that of officials as they walked out of the

door.

“You were part of a firing squad. CNN carried the news and your face was on the screen”

My heart sank. Because my knees seemed to vaporize, I leaned against the counter.

Several soft hands reached out to support me. Was I going to faint?

I could not deny that. I had executed a war monger, a vermin to his people. Apparently

Eugenia saw a man tied to the stake, not a villain.

The criminal in question was one of a number of heavy weights in a popular resistance

army that my command was able to capture. We dutifully handed them over to the

government, thinking we had heard the last of it. But the government, happy for the
emergence of fall guys made a circus of it. They made it appear that with the capture of

these men the end of the rebel forces was in sight. The trial or what passed for it lasted

only two days and anybody with a camera was welcome to be part of the show, including

the actual execution. It was actually part of their strategy to demonstrate to potential aid

donors that they took the matter of domestic peace and security seriously.

The top brass then decided that it was only fitting that my command carried out the death

sentences. But we knew the government was only protecting its battered image and

preserve their popularity by avoiding to actually kill the condemned because the populace

had more faith in the resistance armies than in the embattled government. My commander

did not turn down the offer, following correspondence with home and since I had

impressed in my role in the capture, I got a man to dispatch, out of about two dozen.

Needless to say, I was obeying orders from above as I oiled my gun and marched down to

the arena which attracted enough spectators and cameras to befit a soccer world cup final

match.

One of the cameras apparently focused on me with gun poised before training on the

condemned and proceeded to make me famous by beaming the images all over the world,

allowing my folks back home to observe me in the line of duty. The professionally

neutral voice of the reporter would then calmly inform the audience of the involvement of

Nigerian troops, thereby making my identification easy for anyone with a knowledge of

my whereabouts.
I couldn’t pretend to be unaware of Eugenia’s sensitivity. In fact I liked her for it because

it stirred my protective instincts and gave me the satisfaction of knowing I was

emotionally stronger than her. She cried during movies and news broadcasts, anything

that broke her heart. Something of this magnitude would just make her snap. It was

disturbing that someone was killed, whether legally or not. It was even more traumatic

that her man did the killing. I supposed it was a miracle that she escaped an heart attack

or a nervous breakdown. Even I was shaken by the experience. My previous personal best

was maiming stubborn guerilla fighters. We were peace keepers, not resistance crushers

so even though we might come under enemy fire, firing back with the intent to kill was

the last resort. My hands shook not a little as I squeezed the trigger and I hurried away

from the scene after making sure the job was well done.

How the party ended I never knew. I just noticed the sounds died out. I brooded around

the house for several days before convincing myself that it was not impossible to patch

things up. After all Eugenia never said it to my face that what we shared was over or that

she hated me.

I avoided the TV in the sitting room. I wanted to throw it out. I bought the silly thing with

my own money and all it could do was rob me of the most invaluable possession in my

life. When the rest of my family sat down to watch it I stayed put in my room.

Surprisingly, my job was waiting for me. I had got it through one of my dad’s former

bosses in his career as a company driver. The chief had risen in profile and now sat on the

board of trustees of several prestigious companies, one of which had employed me. He
pulled strings and my letter of appointment remained in the pending file until I returned

from my compulsory service. I was to assume duty in a forth night, which afforded me

plenty of time to sort things out with Eugenia.

Naturally I wanted to see Eugenia but I dreaded coming face to face with her because her

handling of the whole thing made me feel guilty in a certain way. It was like the

enormity of what I had spent the last thirty months doing was hitting and compressing

me. I knew I had not murdered in cold blood and there was nothing I could do about it

but taking human life made me too shudder. I still saw men hanging lifelessly on stakes

in my dreams. Facing Eugenia was like starring at my guilt.

Even calling her on the phone unnerved me. What would she say? Would she even say

anything when she knew who was calling? Would my voice- the voice of a killer- chill

her and make her scream?

I gathered she had got a job on the help desk of an emerging telecoms company. I pitied

her. Eugenia had wanted to be a radio show anchor. But she was not very far off from the

mark; people would still get to hear her voice, if not as an entertainer then as a helper.

When I eventually phoned her it was in the company of my brothers and sisters. They

literally held my hands and listened. My girlfriend was polite but cool; there was no

gaiety in her voice and she sounded like she was going to choke. When I told her I was

calling her because I just hit town she replied she already knew. Here I ran into a brick

wall despite that I had rehearsed with a dozen possible replies. The problem was simply
that I wasn’t used to this side of her at all. When she was upset and I had to cheer her up

it was easy to do because I was not responsible for her mood. But how do I pull her out of

her blues when I plunged her into it?

My younger sister, the one that looked like my deceased sister the most, scribbled on a

pad and held it up for me to see. She was instructing me to inform, not ask, Eugenia that I

would come over to their place on Saturday. She replied that she wasn’t sure she had

nowhere to go that weekend. But I told her I would come nevertheless. She was silent and

I had a feeling she was making her mind. But she said nothing in the end.

We let out a whoop when I dropped the phone. The storm was not exactly over yet but I

wanted to believe we were making progress in the path of recovery. Eugenia had not

refused to see me.

Neither was she eagerly looking forward to seeing me. I understood Saturday could solve

our problem, worsen it or leave us unchanged, still estranged. But I refused to let

pessimistic thoughts blacken my mood. Nothing in my power would prevent me from

getting back my girl.

Come Saturday I would be the first to knock on her parent’s door. I was not going to give

her a chance to flee the house before I got there. I would do anything she wanted, save

killing either or both of us. If she got another brother I would compete for her affection

with the last drop of my blood. If it was time she needed to get over it, I would give her
plenty of it. If by chance she escaped before I got to her house I would camp out by her

door for as long as it would take her to return.

Something told me this could work.

When my mother came home from her shop it was her smiling ex-soldier son that let her

in. She teasingly asked if Eugenia had been by the house. I told her no and then explained

why I felt it wouldn’t be long before I would be holding the young woman in my arms,

where she belonged.