The Bar, The Bench and The Cows(Fiction)

  Written by Etinosa Egharevba 

The “annex” campus is bigger than we think.

Photo Credit: Generic|Pinterest

The Faculty of Law building was refurbished: the power outlets were changed, the walls were repainted custard yellow, the toilets were tiled, windows were fixed, pipes were installed. 

The nouveau toilets were locked to prevent some students from vandalizing its properties. This forced some students to take a trip to “Barth Ebong” or some other accessible convenience to ease themselves. 

When law students stepped out en masse amongst the field riddled with milky cows and bulls accented with black spots, you could look from law students, to cows, to law students, to cows, and all of a sudden, the black and white would blur into a fine symmetry and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

Seeing these cows within a learning milieu annoyed me and most of my colleagues. Suffering to understand the complexities of law courses, you had to marinate in the “fragrance” of cow dung amongst the smell of halitosis and adolescent/ youth "man odour."

Street children would love the campus though, they didn’t need to draw gridlines on the sand, the cow dung was surplus to form the lines, all they had to do was throw their stones and hop on one leg, from box to box, mimicking their famous game of “suwe”- hopscotch. The gridlines were graciously formed by the cows: the ad hoc law students.

The cows were proud, just like law students. They would interject your serious conversations and lessons with their lacklustre "moos," very similar to how lawyers would stand in court and blurt out "objection, my lord."

Then there was night class. A place to look serious when actually all you did was think about the life choices you had made, why you chose the course you were reading, and where you would be in the next few years. 

The sudden reality that your exams are only a month away and you are grappling with understanding terms while your course mates are spitting the laws to support it, makes you bury your head in the voluminous textbook. 

With tears in your eyes, you have no choice, you must understand these terms. People always asked me, “why did you choose this course? Do you know you have to read a lot?” my response was the smile that never reached my eyes.

One of these nights, I had to pee, badly. However, no matter how badly I needed to pee, I was not part of those uncouth men that flung out their virile meat at the sight of a gutter or a wall designed with juicy algae. I always used the convenience.

I was happier when I realized I wasn’t the only “guy” that felt the same way about it. A friend of mine, Aniebiet, shared the same feeling. We were part of the students that walked to Barth Ebong to use the Law Clinic's toilet.

It was past 12am — during a certain night class — the apex of reading and the beginning of the endless battle between staying awake and sleeping, when the urge came. I told Aniebiet and he agreed to follow me to Barth Ebong to use the convenience too. The trip wasn't as scary as I thought it would be, we had eachother and our flashlights. Our light conversations were cocooned by the irritating crickets and the reverberating thuds of our shoes on the coal tar.

Aniebiet and I reached the convenience and we took turns to relieve ourselves. As we stepped out, we noticed the cows far away. The white ones stood out in the middle of the night. The crescent cascaded its seductive rays on their skin giving them an ethereal glow. Glow baby, glow.

Aniebiet tried casting his light on the strange scene but I knew better, I switched mine off and told him to follow suit. We didn't want to attract the attention of whoever was there. The cows were afar off and our flash light would do nothing but expose our presence.

They were moving in a line toward the forest a distance away from Barth Ebong. There was a forest behind Barth Ebong, it was separated from the rest of the school by a vast field where the cows were barricaded by rinks and safeguarded by Fulani farmers. The forest had a likeness to the Africa Magic “evil forest."

Seeing it in the dark was scarier than seeing it during the day. As you stared at the forest, tears would gradually form in your eyes when you imagined people staring back at you, waiting for you to turn your back before they lynched you and dragged you into the forest to become one of the "watchers."

The tall trees would sway in the dark mimicking the Harry Potter's vile dementors who would suck the soul out of anyone without mercy. 

I wanted to go back to class, I had felt enough fear to last for a lifetime. Aniebiet asked me a question I had been dreading. I was already taking steady steps backward:

“Have you ever thought about where the forest leads to?”

I froze, what is he talking about? Yes, I had wondered but currently, I was not wondering. I wanted to be like Shrek and be Far Far Away from here.

I knew Aniebiet was a bit of a daredevil, he never backed down from dares. He was a flawless litigator, a gladiator in the court room during moot competitions, and he was the holder of the highest Cumulative Grade Point Average (CGPA) in the Sophomore class (year 2). 

I knew Aniebiet would want to venture into the forest, that is why I wanted to rush back to class so that he wouldn't have the chance to "think it."

“Let’s go.” 

Aniebiet jerked his head in the direction of the forest, he stared at me with a creepy smile. No, this is how people died in movies. We aren’t whites, we don’t investigate, we are blacks, we run! 

These thoughts ran through my head, but Aniebiet would still go without me. He would forever taunt me with the fact that I was a horror writer, a horror fanatic, yet I wasn’t bold enough to see where the forest led to. My empty bladder refilled as my legs quivered.

He told me that students usually entered the forest to pluck leaves and plant fruits. He assured me that he had seen them go in and come out safe. I was still not convinced.

“Ok.” 

The word came out of my mouth before I had the chance to stop myself. What have I done?  Aniebiet sprinted across the field, heading toward the forest, his comrade-in-arms (the cows), led. I whispered his name asking him to stop, he didn’t. He disappeared behind the tall thick trees of the forest.

I began to panic as I briskly crossed the field with the blades of grass rubbing against my grey joggers. I alternated the direction of my eyes, was anyone watching? 

I whispered "God please" so fast that I must have beaten Eminem's record, as tears began to freefall. I stopped at the edge, breathing heavily, what was I doing? I shouldn't do this, I should be back in class reading, being safe.

Aniebiet came out from the forest, grabbed my hands and pulled me in, violently. It was too late now.

We followed the milky cows slowly, careful not to make any noise. As we walked on, my skin was suddenly filled with goosebumps, fear or cold? I don’t know. I felt that sensation that I was being watched. 

“Ani? I think we should go back, please.” 

Who needs salt when you have tears? My tears haf filled the sides of my mouth satiating my taste buds with the saline wonder. I was a horror writer not an adventurer. I tugged at him again. I heard the audible sigh of disapproval.

“Fine, let’s go.”

We turned and we saw two figures blocking the road from which we came. The crescent's power was not strong enough to reveal the identities of the masked gentlemen.

My hands shook as I pressed my phone, I switched on the flashlight and pointed it at them. They were dressed in black with cloaks over their faces. They held long canes by their sides. My breath seized. 

It was a blur, one second they stood motionless against the light breeze that ruffled the shrubs, the next second they were running toward us.

I couldn't scream, my throat was clogged with mucus I had sucked in after my tear glands had run dry. My feet were planted to the clayey soil by fear. Aniebiet was quick, I felt his cold hands grip my wrist, again, he dragged me and I tripped over my foot. 

When we stood to run, the men had pressed us to the ground and pulled bags over our heads and wrapped it. I had started whimpering, begging them. I could hear Aniebiet's desperate pleas, I guess he wasn't such a daredevil after all.

We had been walking for what felt like hours with intermittent shoves from the men behind. I could see through the miniature holes in the bag, I felt this warmth as we walked toward an orange glow. Was it sunrise already? Was that the sun?

Chambers of the radiant sun. It was a stupid time for a pun but my brain wasn't registering the fear that was coursing through my nerves. We heard a steady scraping sound, like metal was repeatedly dragged across concrete.

The bag was pulled off our heads and I stared into fire. The sticks were stacked high against one another and the fire radiated it’s warmth to embrace anyone close to it. It was a surprise how we hadn’t seen the flame from Barth Ebong.

“Take the taller one first.”

The grater-like voice of whom I suppose was the leader pierced through my heart like darts. Aniebiet was taller that I was right? Oh God. I didn't want to die. I imagined every single thing they could do to me.

Slit my throat with a knife, slowly, so I'll choke on my blood; slam a hammer repeatedly into my teeth; stab my throat with broken bottles; puncture my eyes with a firewood from the fire. I had died a million times before the men reached me.

I felt hands pull me. I heard the soprano range erupt from my throat, even Mariah Carey would be jealous of the notes I had hit out of fear. I felt a slap, hard enough that my head snapped to the left. I kept quiet. I was forced to quieten when the familiar taste of metal touched my tongue.

As I was dragged, I felt warm liquid run through my trousers. Another man, darkened by the glow of the flames, stared at me. He stood up from the spot where he had been sharpening his knife on a whetstone. He walked toward me maintaining eye contact.

They dragged Aniebiet closer to him to watch clearly. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to pass out from a heart attack. The dark man stood in front of me with his knife. 

He placed it in my hand and without wasting time, I turned, aimed, and stabbed Aniebiet in his belly button, the shock was evident in his eyes. Then I pushed him into the fire. Aniebiet's screams rent the night air but we were too deep in the forest for anyone to hear. The smell of burning meat made my stomach wamble, he smelled good.

The ritual was complete. 

I touched my jaw were my brother had hit me, I glared at him. He chuckled and hugged me.

You see, I needed to pass this course and I knew what to do. My brothers had told me about a ritual that was conducted in our hometown of Edo state: 

“Johnson Johnson, read for me.”

We had to sacrifice the person whose brain we wanted. 

I had been so scared of entering the forest because of the reality of killing Aniebiet. My brothers had planned everything without me in order for the fear to seem real. 

They had only told me where the ritual would occur because Aniebiet was always in school and it would be easy to lure him. The cows would do the job perfectly. Take one and the rest would follow.

To answer the very question people love to ask, I didn’t choose law to defend the weak, or be a pro bono lawyer for penniless people, or to give "voice" to the voiceless, or a to become a beacon of hope. No.

I chose law so I can know how to get away with murder.