—
---
Back to 3 Weeks Ago
Mrs. Martins' POV
January 2000– Badagry Barracks, Nigeria
It had been just two days since Joseph and Lola left me behind in the care of Major General Faruk Mijinyawa, at the Badagry border. They had slipped across the lines, headed toward Ghana—desperate, hopeful, and full of purpose.
I remembered the look on Joseph's face that morning: firm, focused, hiding fear behind conviction. And Lola, quiet but radiant, her hand resting on her stomach. We all knew she was carrying something far more than just a child.
She carried our future.
They left me in trusted hands. And so far, the General had done more than I expected. I had been housed in the secure quarters of the barracks and treated kindly—pregnancy, I learned, had a way of unlocking people's best behavior. Soldiers made space for me. Medics ensured I was healthy. I had food, water, and even something close to sleep.
But the air was changing.
You could feel it.
The calm wasn't real. It was that eerie stillness before a sky breaks open.
We had just received word: the rebels had taken Iyana-iba. Their conquest had been swift, merciless, and calculated. It was now clear they were headed to Badagry—trying to cut off the remaining military resistance and isolate Lagos from any federal reinforcement. Their strategy was cold and surgical: capture Badagry, sever command chains, and then press in on Lagos from the west.
To lose Badagry meant losing the southern corridor. And that meant chaos.
Every soldier in the barracks knew what was coming.
Their goodbyes were quiet but heavy. Some were rushed, sending wives and children out through back channels toward Seme or the Ghanaian border. Those who couldn't arrange passage stood by their loved ones, whispering prayers no war could answer.
I sat in a corner office with the General, reviewing last-minute clearance for my own transition. He insisted I would be flown out before the next wave of violence reached us. The military expected the attack tomorrow, based on intercepted communications and intelligence briefings.
But I had seen enough war to know one thing:
You can't time destruction.
It arrives when it wants to.
And that's exactly what it did.
—
"Boom… BOOM… BOOM!! 💥💥"
The explosions ripped through the compound without warning—blunt, violent, deafening. The ground trembled beneath us as a wall of heat and panic surged into the room.
Soldiers shouted. Boots thundered across pavement. Glass shattered nearby. A siren wailed—the harsh, unmistakable SOS blare that turned blood cold.
I turned toward the General, but he was already up.
"This isn't tomorrow," he snapped, eyes fierce. "They tricked us."
The rebels had staged false movements—feint intelligence to lull us into miscalculation. The real strike was now. Right now.
Badagry was under siege.
"Ma'am," he barked, grabbing his cap and sidearm. "We have to go. Now."
"Where?" I asked, struggling to my feet, panic rushing into my chest.
"To the chopper. You're getting out of here."
"But—"
"No 'but'," he growled, pulling open the door. "You were entrusted to me. That means your safety is non-negotiable."
The halls outside were chaos. Dust choked the air. Soldiers ran in every direction—some to hold the perimeter, others to evacuate civilians.
Gunfire popped in the distance. Then closer.
Then again.
Someone shouted "They've breached the west wall!"
The Major General kept his body in front of mine as we pushed through the disarray. The helipad was at the far end of the barracks, and each second felt like a gamble. Another explosion sounded—closer. Dirt and debris flew overhead.
Finally, the chopper came into view.
The pilot was already in the cockpit. The rotors began spinning faster as we approached. Soldiers waved us forward.
"Get in!" the General ordered, helping me into the seat, strapping me in.
Another explosion—this time behind us. My heart nearly stopped. A rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) streaked past us, missing by only yards.
Then another.
The second whistled past the tail of the helicopter.
The pilot took off just in time.
We were airborne.
I watched from the open side door as Badagry shrank beneath us—a city under fire, ablaze with chaos. The once-secure military stronghold now looked like a battlefield.
I turned to look at the General below, still on the ground.
He had stayed behind.
To fight. To protect. To die, maybe.
I whispered a silent prayer for him and for those he commanded.
—
Later — U.S. Embassy, Ghana
When we touched down in Ghana, the skies were clearer—both in weather and spirit. I had made it out alive.
The drive to the U.S. Embassy was swift. Two guards escorted me in, asking minimal questions. I was led to a private suite prepared in advance by diplomatic protocol.
"Mrs. Martins, welcome. We're relieved to have you here safely," the attaché said with a calm, practiced smile. "Please settle in. Tomorrow morning, we'll prepare your passage to the U.S."
I nodded. Gratitude bloomed in my chest—but it was soon drowned by a single thought:
Joseph.
Lola.
The people who had risked everything to bring me this far—where were they?
Alive?
Dead?
The ache in my stomach wasn't just from pregnancy—it was from uncertainty. I needed answers.
I asked to speak with someone who might know what happened.
Hours later, I was handed a printed report—shared through military contacts stationed here in Ghana, who had tracked the border crossings and naval reports around the time of Joseph and Lola's escape.
At the bottom of the page, circled in red:
> Final Report: A vessel believed to be carrying Joseph and Lola Sunday was last seen fleeing from Ghanian naval police near the southern coast from teme bay. Pursuit ended in open waters during a severe storm. No wreckage or bodies were recovered. The boat is presumed sunk. Both passengers are believed to have perished at sea.
The words hit me like stones.
No wreckage.
No bodies.
Just a storm. A chase. A disappearance.
A bitter victory—escaping the clutches of one force only to be devoured by another.
I stared out the embassy window, Ghana's sunset painting the sky in orange and ash.
They believed they were dead.
But something inside me whispered otherwise.
And if they were alive…
Then the sea hadn't claimed them. Not yet.
—