The airport, dilapidated and hot, reeked of sweaty passengers jostling one another to reach their boarding gates. Any rundown airport was uncomfortable, but as the wheels of luggage spun in every direction, Angela thought there was more than discomfort in Lagos airport. People seemed eager to depart just as soon as they arrived. She took a seat in an empty row next to her departure gate. When she thought of her destination, a remote camp imposed on her by her government, she concluded she was in no hurry.

It wasn’t all bad, Angela thought, she had the longest novel in the world to keep her company, and she was determined to be the first among her book club peers to finish it. The words of the long-winded author turned into imagery, and she was transported into another century. Angela loved the idyllic beauty of that time, a slowness in life unbeknown to her generation. So, when a lean man appeared at a standstill before her, her first thought was that he had to belong in the book she was reading.
“I have some screws loose,” he said.
She leaned forward as it was impossible to hear him from behind his dirt-stained mask and the constant chatter over the microphone speakers,“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m insane,” he said. “I was wondering if I could sit by you and wait until the boarding announcement is made.”
“I’m sorry. I can barely understand you between your mask and the speaker.”
He gestured with his hands, “Sit back. You’re a lady. Be calm. I will speak louder.”

Angela understood this bit. She wondered who he was to tell her what to be, and besides, she was calm, given she had seen his tattered shoes, the mucus at the corner of his eyes, and the thick black lines underneath his long fingernails. Aside from the passport and boarding pass in his hand, he resembled a vagrant who had snuck past airport security.
“I’ve been diagnosed with persecutory delusion,” the man said as though reading her mind.
She was intrigued. She recalled her brief rotation at the mental ward and how easily a display of fear or judgment triggered a violent response. Despite that, no case of persecutory delusion came to mind. “Is that a self-diagnosis?” It was not uncommon for people to label themselves with disorders to feel included.
He scowled, “No, I was diagnosed by a doctor. I take my medications. Why do you think I have on a mask? I am afraid of being judged. You look like a rich kid. How often do you travel by air?”
“It’s my second time this year,” Angela had nearly an hour until boarding time. She wondered if there was any harm in conversing with a self-proclaimed madman while she waited.
“Rich kid! Do you know how much it cost?”
“I’m not a rich kid,” For someone afraid of judgment, he passed it easily.
“You are. I saw you upstairs. You paid for a lounge, and ordered food from the most expensive restaurant there, and are those shoes not a luxury brand?”
Angela swallowed and hid her legs under the chair. “You were watching me? That’s not creepy at all.”
“No, no,” he began, “I wasn’t stalking you. I like to create social profiles of people around me, so I observe.”
“So, what have you observed?”
“That you’re a nice person.” At that moment, a tall, handsome man approached to ask Angela for directions. Angela thought that this man, not her, was the rich kid. She pointed him in the direction, and he walked away. “See, nice person,” the man with the madness accused.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“That’s true. I’ve been stabbed in the back multiple times before.” She did not pry, even though she was curious.

When the tall, handsome man returned, he smiled at Angela.
“Did you find your boarding gate?” Angela asked him.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied.
“Nice person,” the madman muttered, but Angela did not hear him. The madman asked after a pause, “What’s your seat number? We are on the same flight.” When she did not respond, he announced, “I’m in 33A, three dimensional. Why are you going to Port Harcourt?”
“I live there,” she lied. She had been too careless with her boarding pass.
“Oh, is it safe? I’m an old man, but my father takes care of me. I’m trying to convince him to let me live there. No judgment, but I’ve heard about the kidnappings.”
Angela scoffed, “You’re not a rich kid. So, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, but how many times have you heard gunshots?” She had long ago, one frightful night in her childhood when some men had gained access into their home in a bid to rob them. She remembered her tiny body lying prostrate in their dark living room, one of her mother’s arms wrapped firmly around her. While her father, like a hero, walked to the front door. That was a long time ago.
“Never,” she replied.

Their flight was announced over the microphone speakers, and Angela turned to the madman. “Look,” she said to him, “that was our flight.” Without another word, she walked briskly to the boarding gate. Once she had found her seat on the plane, she watched as other travelers walked down the aisle, stopping occasionally as one or two people in front placed their bags in the overhead cabin. Then just as she was settling into her book, a bony finger pointed at her face. “You,” the owner of the finger said and chuckled. It was the masked madman making his way down with the other travelers.

About an hour after take-off, the flight descended. And with the feeling of being observed, Angela walked out of the plane and into the terminal. It was raining outside, and fortunately, her ride arrived on time. Soon, she sat at the back of the damp car and looked out the window. She was back in her childhood city where it rained haphazardly and nearly every day. Port Harcourt was always wet from the constant drizzle. Because of the continuous rain, the paint on houses washed off earlier than advertised and plants grew on walls and roofs. Unlike its sister in the West, Lagos, there was no rowdiness. While it appeared to offer its occupants some sense of peace, it could never fully rid itself of threat. Angela’s family believed the oil the land produced was a cursed blessing as every ill event was somehow related to it. Kidnapping rose when the government gave the order for well-armed security guards to protect the oil pipes from bunkering, and when the security became lax, kidnapping fell.

Angela was dropped in front of a large gate surrounded by forests. Because of the rain, night fell early. She’d received a message from the camp instructor on how to get inside. She knew many of the campers would opt to come early tomorrow morning instead, but she wanted to be among the first to arrive and this was not because she liked the pinch of mosquito bites. There were few luxuries the camp had to offer and she knew she had to be there early if she wanted the nicest bedframe and mattress or even a spot beneath the ceiling fan. She had taken only a few steps inside when she saw the small rickety bus. The message had instructed her to get on the bus. She was apprehensive, but as soon as the driver saw her, he beckoned her and started the engine.

They drove through a narrow, untarred road with many sharp turns until they arrived at the spot designated for the youth campers. Under the dim lights, Angela saw the tiny bungalows in the middle of the forest. There was an accompanying sound from the surrounding forest, announcing the presence of insects and terrestrial animals. The camp leader stood tall among the new arrivals as he took a roll call of everyone who had arrived that night. Afterward, he gestured to the low bungalows and said, “Make yourselves at home. The bell goes off at 6 am tomorrow.”

The campers scurried into the bungalows, eager to find the best bed frames, mattresses, and corners. Inside one of the bungalows, Angela found herself a bed underneath the ceiling fan. She went to look at the other bungalows, only to realize they were identical replicas, except for a few having more lockers and chairs than the others. The shower and restroom were in a separate hall, further from the bungalows. There were no lights on the way there. The young women who arrived that night went to the bathroom together and returned together. It was only her first night, and Angela already looked forward to the end.

That evening, during dinner, her eyes scanned the young men at the camp, and none looked remotely interesting. After dinner, she called her mother. She was tucked inside her bed when she lied about the camp being conducive for the next two weeks. That first night she struggled to fall asleep, but when the bell rang at 6 am the next day, she rose easily. The first thing she saw with the appearance of the morning sun was the ceiling covered in cobwebs, spiders, and clay homes for insects. There was no time to dwell on it, as the other young women gathered their items to head to the bathroom.

More campers arrived and filled the bungalows before noon and all of the empty beds now appeared occupied. There were all kinds of smells: pleasant, putrid, and downright foul. There was also a lot of noise as people greeted each other. Angela hoped she would make an interesting friend, but realized the odds were slim if she kept her head buried in a book. So, she walked through the bungalows, saying hello to everyone she encountered with a smile, and then she saw the masked madman. She froze but what she wanted to do was turn around and take on her heels, and she wouldn’t know why if she did, but she hadn’t. He had seen her.
“Hey, you,” he said, “what are the odds we will see each other again? You are also at camp. What a surprise!”
“Hmm,” she replied.
“You know I was beating myself up because I never got your name.”
“I’m Angela.”
“I’m Prince,” he said, “I’m not a real prince though. It would be great if I were, wouldn’t it?” Angela harrumphed and looked around. “Are you okay?” he asked, “You seem to be conscious of yourself. Is it me? Do I smell?”
“Yes,” she answered without thinking, “and I’ll like it if you stay away from me.”
Angela walked away without looking back at him. She was ashamed to admit it even to herself, but not only was she afraid to be seen with him, but she was also afraid of him; how he appeared everywhere and anywhere. Besides, there was an alienation towards madmen and their friends. It would be abominable if she were mistaken for his friend.

The first week of the National Youth Service Camp was filled with mandatory activities. There were lectures lasting hours, boot camps with limited resources, and community outreaches. On her way back from a community outreach, Angela spotted the young man from the airport. He stood out because, unlike the rest of them who, after walking miles under the hot afternoon sun, were spent, he looked refreshed and ready to seize the day.

Angela turned to the woman waiting beside her. They were all waiting for the bus that would take them back to the camp. “Was he with us this morning? I don’t remember seeing him.”
“Oh no,” the woman replied, “I know his type though. He is most likely a camp deviant. These people only show up for all the cool events. They’ve paid enough money to avoid suffering like the rest of us.” Angela would be happy to be considered a camp deviant or a term far worse if it would spare her needless suffering in the name of serving the country. She had been right about the stranger being a rich kid. She walked up to him.
“You look familiar,” he said.
“Airport, you asked for directions. It’s day three of camp. Are you just arriving?” she asked, looking at the small luggage resting on his knee.
“Yes, I won’t stay long though. I’m here for the experience. Well, the only good one… the welcome party.”
Despite her mother’s concerns for her well-being, she knew there was no way she could escape camp. Her mother thought it was a one-of-a-kind experience vital to every Nigerian youth. “So, do you have a bed at camp?” She knew every bed was occupied.
He looked disgusted, “I won’t be sleeping here. I have a hotel in town.”
“My bad,” she said.
“Sorry, it’s been a hectic day. This place is more rural than I thought. What’s your name?”
“Angela.”
“Angela, I’m Emmanuel. It’s nice to see a beautiful face at least.”
“It’s nice to meet again,” she said.
“I’ll be seeing you around?” he asked as she turned to her group waiting under the shade of a tree.

Angela learned more about the fast-approaching welcome party at dinner. It was the only reason the camp deviants were making an appearance. Emmanuel found her and wasted no time telling her about the legendary welcome party. At first, she wasn’t excited; she needed more time for her reading given the camp’s many activities. She was usually a fast reader, but this book was taking her longer than she expected. But Emmanuel had not only told her about the party, he had also asked her to be his date. She laughed at first because it wasn’t that type of party. Besides, she couldn’t imagine him or any of the young men in attendance wanting to stick by one woman all night. The national camp welcome parties, from the stories, were like a short summer trip abroad. Everyone drank, partied, had sex, and acted like the camp would never come to an end. Angela, aware of her prudish nature, wanted to be out of their way, but as soon as Emmanuel had asked her to be his date, she became unsure. Maybe she had judged the party too soon?

That evening, Angela gathered her bath paraphernalia and walked with the other girls to the bathroom. They spoke about the party with equal parts excitement and fear. Some girls couldn’t wait, while others shared cautionary tales, warning each other to watch their drinks. They filed to the bathroom, one of the girls in front leading them with a hand torch. Angela did not see the open gutter in her way. She fell into it, scraping her knees. When she screamed from the pain, the girls came to her aid. There was no clinic within ten miles of the camp, and the camp nurse had retired for the day. Back in her bungalow, the young women gathered first aid items; one brought methylated spirits and balls of cotton fibers, another brought bandages and gauze, and another brought scissors. In this way, Angela’s injury was tended to, but she was now certain she would no longer join them for the party. She changed her clothes, settled into bed, and returned to her book.

She read for hours until a sluggish but raspy voice interrupted. “There you are,” the voice echoed. A tremble climbed the small of her back at the sound of a man’s voice. She wondered who it was as everyone was at the party. Emmanuel approached her with a smile, and she relaxed. “I heard about your fall,” he said.
“From whom? I was going to apologize to you tomorrow morning. I didn’t want to stop you from having a good time tonight.”
“Very thoughtful of you, but I wanted to spend the night talking to you. I don’t care about the party.”
She didn’t believe him. After all, he traveled for it. She smiled, and pointed to the spot next to her, “Sit.”
Emmanuel sat next to her, “What are you reading?” Angela noted a whiff of alcohol on his breath.
“The longest novel in the world. I intend to be the first in my book club to finish it. Are you sure you want to miss the first and only welcome party?” she asked with a brow raised.
“I am,” he said, “being here with you is better.” He rested his head on her shoulder, and after a while leaned in for a kiss on the lips. Angela was quick to turn it to her cheek.
She shifted in her bed. “What was that for?”
“I like you,” he said.
“You barely know me,” she replied, and her eyes darted around the deserted room quickly. They were the only ones in the bungalow.
“That’s going to change tonight, right?” he asked, placing a hand on her bruised leg.
“Stop,” Sara said, “You need to leave.”
He laughed, “I saw you at the airport. You wanted me then and even now.”

He held her by the neck and began kissing her. Angela tried pulling away, but his grip was firm so she let him. He began to tug at her clothes. She pleaded and screamed, but he was quick to place a firm hand over her mouth. It was only then that Angela became afraid. She knew what was going to happen. She had read many stories about it. Suddenly, he stopped. She no longer felt his weight pressing on her.
Emmanuel fell to the floor and yelped. Angela looked up and saw the madman. He stood at a standstill like he had done at the airport, only this time with a bloodied stone in his hand. Her eyes returned to Emmanuel, who lay on the floor, blood oozing from his head. So much blood in one night, Angela thought. Instinctively, she checked his pulse. Her eyes returned to the man with the madness, but he was just as frozen in place as Emmanuel.
“What have you done?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean to.”

Without another word, Angela pulled a blanket from one of the beds, and with the madman’s help, she wrapped the blanket around Emmanuel’s body. Together, they carried him away into the forest. Angela thought it was a good thing there were no lights, and she wondered if any of this would have happened if she had never conversed with a madman.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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