THE SEARCH FOR IK

He was 5 years old when he got missing and my family was torn apart.

My immediate younger brother, Ikechukwu (the screwdriver) was a good spirited, gentle and smart lad. Still is. Although he was an introvert like dad, he talked more when he was around us than when he was around strangers. We fondly call him IK.

I had three siblings and we all lived together with our parents in Jos as one big happy family. Everything in our lives was hunky-dory until one cold Saturday morning after my mum fed us hot akara, bread and hot akamu. While eating the classic family breakfast, my siblings and I chattered away, laughing and telling several jokes like we normally do which always annoyed dad. He would always caution us that one should not be seen talking while eating, "nni ga agbado kwa unu" he would say. He had gone to work that

morning and mum did not mind, so we laughed at IK about shouting “frog frog frog frog” when he woke up that morning. Apparently, he and his friends caught a frog the day before and his subconscious messed him up in our presence, thereby arming us with a weapon to yab and laugh at him.

After breakfast that morning, we all got involved with our usual Saturday sanitation which included washing the bathroom, sweeping and mopping the rooms, dusting the furniture and electrical appliances, washing cloths, the dishes and every other thing that needed cleaning. Due to the fact that IK was small (smaller than his age, in fact he looked three and half) and couldn’t do anything to help with the house chores, he stayed in the kitchen with mum while she prepared lunch (Ji na Stew).

Sometime at about 11:30am when we had finished our chores and had our bath, mum asked us to bring IK so he could eat early lunch. My cousin Uka, who stayed with us, went into the sitting room but could not find him, she searched the other room, IK was not there. That was how the search for IK began.

We lived in a compound with many other families and we assumed he had gone into one of the houses to play with their kids. Uka went from house to house asking neighbours “IK ano eba?”, “Unu afu IK?”, “Ifu IK?” No one had seen him. One family said he was in their house briefly but left when he got bored because his friend, their little child he played with, was asleep. Alarmed, mum searched our house again, no IK. “Where could he have gone?” she asked herself. “He was just here with me in the kitchen a while ago eh, ke ebe this boy tinye isi now?” she continued while untying and retying her wrapper.

The search moved to the next compound with every family member of mine (except dad) fully involved. “IK ee”... “IK eee”... “IK eeee”... “IK eeeee” we were screaming and calling out. We didn’t find him there so we moved to the next compound and the next compound and the next compound. We knocked on every door asking the same questions in different languages “Is IK here?”, “Have you seen my brother IK?”, “Unu afu IK?”, “Don allah kun ga IK?” “Se oti ri aburo mi okun ri IK? because we lived among Igbos, Hausas and Yorubas, we were able to enquire in the three languages. From our street, we moved to the two other streets that neighboured ours. We didn’t find him.

Due to the fact that we (IK and I) were closer than any other members of the family as we played together a lot and he was my immediate younger brother (though I'm older by many years), my brain churned all the likely places he could be but everywhere I thought of was already searched.

12:30pm

Mum began to cry hysterically, wailing and calling our neighbours who came in their numbers to help in the search including people living in the compounds we searched. One of them drove to dad’s work place to alert him. Zooooooooom, dad drove home immediately and started querying mum in the usual igbo man manner - “Mama Emeka where is my son?” in Igbo. Mum tried amid tears to explain that IK was just around and disappeared when everyone was busy with house chores.

My siblings and I had been severally conscientized about how children got missing regularly and how miserably we would be if we found ourselves in the hands of kidnappers. “Don’t go outside the compound”, “don’t follow anyone you don’t know”, “don’t accept anything from anyone you don’t know” ... Due to this sensitization, we were always conscious and talked about these issues even as kids which made us wonder where IK could be, but he was 5 and so could not be blamed.

Dad and some neighbours drove round and round the areas that had already been searched, looking in every street corner, alleys and everywhere that could accommodate a 3½-year-old-looking boy. Finally they reported the matter to the Police at the Police Outpost in our area. The two stoned-looking policemen that followed the search party home asked questions about the last time he was seen, how old he was, his picture and what he wore.

We were all outside around our disheveled mum who was sitting on the ground in front of the compound, sapped of energy from crying. Other women, with their children tightly strapped on their backs or held by the hand in tight grips, consoled her “Mama Emeka ebezina o, aga fuya” but mum was not buying it. It was like saying sorry to a hungry person, he doesn’t need your sorry, food will do just fine. Mum needed her son back.

The policemen left with a picture of IK from when he was 2 and my dad fumed away to inform the Chairman of our village Development Union of his missing son.

1:55pm

While holding mum around the neck to give her comfort, I turned towards our house and saw IK.

Umunnem na Umunnam I have decided not to complete this story. Come for me.

Ogechukwu Ikwueme

(Nwanne unu Nwanyi)