Broken mirror: My heart bleeds one year after, by McJones Obinna

“Hey guy, park well shebi na u dey follow me they raise bottle. You dey follow me they cap abi. You remember me? Today, agbada don hang for wire.”

“Forgiveness is a sin,” he said.

These words still ring a bell to my ears.

It is said, “You never can tell what a man can do until the point of death”.

It all started as a dream that very Sunday. It was June 14. I prayed to wake up from it but it is now a year and I’m yet to wake from the nightmare.

It was a blissful day as I woke up with so much expectation to celebrate a year anniversary with someone special.

But I never knew the unexpected would take place.

I was about to lose one of my fingers to some useless boys who parade themselves as gods over the innocent; who they categories as JU MAN.

Sometimes I feel it’s all my fault. A day before the scenario, my pastor called me and said something bad was about to happen to me, that I should call him the next day before I left the house. But I guess I was clouded with only the thoughts of love. So, I forgot to call my pastor.

After the long run of putting smiles on her face that Sunday evening, I decided to take her home because It was getting dark .

“Mcjones go and get me something at the back of our street” was the first word my mother welcomed me with. But I was not concerned as I happily ran with immediate alacrity smiling sheepishly going to get what she asked for.

I wish I someone stopped me from leaving the house that moment.

It was not up to 30 minutes, the drama unfolded. I was attacked by six young men between the ages of 19 and 23 years. The gang assault led to the amputation of my finger.

The question is, why was I attacked?

In January 2018, I took my younger brothers to a viewing center to watch a game between Chelsea and Bournemouth. I enjoyed the football as I watched my The Blues fall. During the game, something odd took centre stage. I heard a strange conversation between youngest brother and another guy. He said to my brother, “who goes you?”

I was in the university during that period and I heard that almost everyday on campus.

The question “who goes you?” is an identification of your identity. Meaning, what colour are you flying or what fraternity do you belong?

I was shocked.

“Bro calm down, we came to watch football. It’s just ₦100 we paid for the game, so let’s just enjoy and not fight over irrelevant things,” I said.

The next sound I heard right inside my brain or should I say, ear, was a bell sound. Buzzer! He slapped me! I retaliated immediately.

I saw what happened as a normal thing because his team was losing. So, it was justifiable to be angry. But to slap me was entirely unnecessary.

I then noticed funny movements around the environment. A new set of guys entered and angrily looked my way. I then told my siblings to go home. On our way home, I was attacked and handed a cut in the head. But definitely, I didn’t hesitate to get one of them injured.

The annoying part of it all is that the person I had issues with was not the one that attacked me after two years. But it was the one that I injured that came back for revenge.