AN ARMY OFFICER TELLS HIS STORY.(Benjamin Ijenu) As a young soldier,it was a happy moment for me to learn that I had just been selected as one of those few proud soldiers to represent my country in a peace-keeping mission. I joined the military because I love the act of war and the discipline of the military; military training is indeed difficult and demanding. However, with a great deal of effort and dedication, I succeeded through perseverance and hard work.

It was after training as a combatant solider when I was assigned for the peace-keeping mission. I was excited about going to a foreign country. The mission soon proved to be what we expected it to be – I will leave out the military details.
We were ambushed by children – popularly called child soldiers – in one of our military exercises with other soldiers. We actually saw those boys first but were totally unconcerned that children were capable of any harm. Well, to a certain degree. That was before the tiny-tot regime proved our assertion wrong. Before we could take cover, they sent tumbling projectiles soring in our direction and we lost scores of men.

It was a bitter experience but we were to blame. Part of our briefing for the mission was the issue of child soldiers. We would have known that in the camp as well as on the field, vigilance is the watch word. What followed was over-carefulness, coupled with the desire for vengeance; we became over-careful that it was almost difficult to differentiate between the quest for vengeance and the desire to get it right.

On another one of our outings we saw more young children. Because of the previous incidence we did not want to take any chances. But this time they were harmless. These children passed by peacefully, signaling the usual greetings. Still a bit unease from our aforementioned encounter, we didn’t answer. At that instance, they knew something was wrong; we were overly serious. Five minutes after those children walked pass us, we suddenly heard movements, which were unusual. And we were signaled to be alert.

Minutes later, we could hear shooting; the sound of bullets at the other end. It turned out to be rebels harassing some villagers, taking their children – girls and boys – to recruit them as child soldiers and wives for the soldiers. Because of the incident that happened earlier we thought the young boys that had passed us were among the rebels. Maybe they were stool pigeons for the rebels and shot them immediately.

The rebels at the other end heard our gunshots. They shot back at us and ran. We chased after them but before we could get at them it was over. They escaped and we came back to the sight were we had shot those children to stumble upon some cryingwomen. We tried to gather our thoughts and assumptions as to why the women were crying. They eventually told us the dead bodies were those oftheir children, running to escape being abducted by the rebels but ended up becoming the victims of a malicious onslaught.

Quietly, in my mind, I felt the kind of silence that would fill the heart of a young man when he realizes he made a wrong decision. We were losers at both ends. First, we lost comrades to young children, and then we forced young, innocent children out of this world. To ease our depression that night, we did the usual things soldiers do in the camp to fight depression.

The day we ended our mission was joyful. One could feel the wondrous, thunderous clapping and rejoicing from many of our comrades. As we were flying out of the airport, I looked out of the window, relieved that the mission was over and I survived. Little did I know, though I left OPL, OPL did not leave me.
What transpired was a series of dreams or nightmares. Some were obscured scenes of poor, suffering and wounded women and their children; others were memories of dead bodies of young boys and girls whom oftentimes are left decaying on the roadside. These images would keep playing in my mind, especially when I’m alone. No one knew what I was going through. Even the military psychiatrist I confided in tried to figure it out; but nothing. It was as if all hell was let loose and covered me incompletegloom.

I went for other missions within the country but continued to suffer bouts of depression. I started visiting brothels and camping girls in my post. One day, a friend of mine wired me a huge amount of money from Europe. I cashed the money but left it at home. I didn’t exactly have plans; I was struggling with my emotions and self. I received a call that day from the women who head the brothel where many of the girls I camp with had come from. She told me there were fresh arrivals that would interest me.

As a useless soldier then, I was more than excited. However, the girls were cover-ups. I used them just to ease the darkness in my heart. What happened was that Madamhad brought in a young, beautiful and innocent-looking girl. From the very first moment there was something different about her. She was a special stock. So I was told. I had to pay a special price for her.

That night – as usual – I drank a lot of whisky and went home with my stock. We had a little discussion while driving home, the sort of conversation one would have been engaged in while sitting next to a woman in a car. She told me about her family, her brother’s ailing condition, and the reason why she offered to accept the madam's offer.
“Offer,” I asked.
She said, “Yes.”
It turned out that she was not a prostitute. Her brother was in need and she was in debt. A friend brought her to Madam. Madam promised to solve all of her problems. If only she could accept her offer of sleeping with me. She needed a license which I was in the position to provide. She was not really a special stock but a trade by barter, the license for the girl. She wanted to impress me so she could get the license from me.

All the young girl had to do was make me happy. And promise her the license. If she could achieve this, she would be given a huge sum of money to solve her problems. There was a kind of genuine in her spirit. I had gone for many psychological tests and could tell when someone was telling the truth. She was clearly telling the truth.

She told me everything about herself and Madam because she was not only afraid of the action she was about to take, but she was also nervous. She exhibited the kind of reaction you see in children when they are lying; her hand and fist shaking while she conversed. It was clear that she was nervous. I thought to myself, all along. This woman had been treating me fine because she wanted something from me.People are people-after-all.I also wanted something from her. That was the reason for me going to her. So, in a way, we were even.
I became silent as we left the car, up to my apartment. I noticed the girl’s tension had increased, but she wouldn’t show it. Like me, she was struggling between two opposing actions. Later, she said that night she was asking herself which was right, to trust that God would save her family or to save her family the way she felt fit.

I, for my part, it was easy; very easy. I paid for a first class stock, thanks to Madam. I, therefore, deserve to have it. Besides, it is not every day you have this kind of decent girl around. I was convinced she was a regular girl. This is my lucky day.However, slowly, something began to trouble me on the inside.
It was the voice of conscience; a still, small voice. I tried to neglect it but it continued to speak gently and distractively. Let her go. Do the right thing. Give her the moneyand let her go. To stop that voice I drank more whisky and wine which I brought to impress her in my four-bedroom apartment. But the voice was too strong for the whisky to silence.

Then appeared the images I had seen in my peace-keeping mission. As I looked at that girl I saw those images. A voice said to me, “You may not have been able to save those children, but you can save this girl and save yourself.”
I finally asked her to feel at home.“Use the kitchen and sleep in any of the rooms.” I said. “I’m not going to touch you.”Because of the stories she told me in the car.

After that, I felt a mixture of anger and happiness within. I was angry for the lost opportunity, but happy that I had done something right. I drank more whisky and passed out on my couch.
I woke up the following morning and discovered that thisyoung lady not only took me to my bedroom, but she also stole my money. The money I left in the house, sent from Europe. However, she took the exact amount of money she told me she needed to solve her dire family problems and debt.

I knew she was genuine.I wanted to give her that money the following day, that morning rather. Nevertheless, I was angry. Not at her but at the woman who was forcing young girls into prostitution. And myself for the kind of existence I was living. Madam and I are to take the blame for everything. She was using young girls to make money for herself. But without people like me how would she ply her trade?

I searched for that girl. Found her after about two weeks; dragged her to the barracks, locked her down for a day and only promised to release her after she had promised she would have to pay me my money by working for me. Not prostitute, but household chores and things of that nature. I was doing this because I knew she had the potential to be my future wife. And she was definitely wife material.

One year after we were married, I was still struggling with my hellish nightmares; the little devils that troubled me. One afternoon, after consuming a lot of whisky, I wrote my last wish and was about to end the nightmare. I heard a knock at the door; it was my wife. She came to tell me she was pregnant. And it was only then when I had suddenly felt that I had a reason to live – though I was incredibly drunk to see that reason.

Today, that pregnancy resulted in two good boys I would have deprived of a loving father. Through the help of God and the support of my family, I would overcome my emotional nightmares. God somehow stage-managed events for my conversion.

You are reading this story because many years later, during my sons’ graduation, I was asked to present a speech at their graduation ceremony. I simply told my story. And not a soul was without tears. I was overwhelmed to find my young boys crying. At least they now know both their parents were once at their prime and had a fair share of youthful regrets. More than anything, I wanted them to know that on the road to be the man I am today, I encountered twists and turns and fought many hard battles. However, in the process, I have also accumulated a tremendous amount of valuable experience and knowledge. And they too, in their lives would, if they fail to walk each step with God.

I am thankful to God. He saved me and gave me a second chance at life and love. And to this day, I wonder how many other soldiers were given the same opportunity.

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