February 20, 2022, was a day Abdulfatah Oladeinde, the Editor of The Nigerian Xpress Newspaper would never forget in a hurry.
Having heard and written about stories of Nigerians who were victims of kidnapping, he never imagined treading the same path, which had taken many to the end of their earthly journey and some who only returned after their lives were ransomed with hefty cash.
For six days, he was in the lion’s den, tortured by hoodlums who kept him in the bush after he was seized from his farm in Ogun State about 60 kilometres away from home. By providence, he escaped and returned home to tell the story of his harrowing experience.
In this interview with AYODELE OLALERE, Oladeinde narrated his experience and how God saved him from the jaws of death.
Can you tell us what happened to you on Sunday, February 20?
Before we talk about what happened on February 20, we should go back in time. I have a farm after Kurere village off the Lagos-Abeokuta Expressway in Ogun State. I have been farming in that community since 2017. I initially started planting maize and cassava but later decided to plant cash crops, intercropping with maize and cassava. I planted cashew three years ago and subsequently oil palm seedlings. I don’t have any problems with the families that sold the farmland to me.
I go to the farm mostly at weekends. The farmworkers are from the Republic of Benin; they are annual workers. They work from February till the end of November and return home on holiday. They were yet to come for work this year.
On February 6, I went to the farm on a routine visit. When I got there, almost the entire farm had been burnt down. This particular farm is 22 acres. There is another about two kilometres away. I found out that almost the entire 22-acre farm had been burnt. Most of the cash crops: cashew, oil palm plants had been burnt. The cassava we planted last year, waiting for the workers to come and harvest was not spared. I was wondering who could have done it. I called the person acting as a consultant to me. I am a journalist who veered into farming as a retirement venture.
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My consultant came on February 15 and, together, we inspected the burnt farm. We were wondering why anyone would set the farm ablaze, knowing that cashew and oil palm had been planted in it. I was curious that a cassava farm close by wasn’t burnt and sensed sabotage. Members of the family that we bought the land from accompanied us and were also disturbed. I don’t have a problem with the family. They know my family because my ancestral village is not too far from the community.
Some of those who accompanied us on the inspection suggested it could be Fulani herders who set fire to the farm, expecting that after a few weeks, the grasses would germinate again and their cattle would feed to graze on.
Some also alleged that bushmeat hunters could be the culprits. I concluded that since we didn’t catch anybody on the farm, we should take the incident as an act of God.
I asked the consultant what we needed to do and he said we should wait for the rains and see those that would not survive the fire among the plants. We would then do a replant.
I also have two structures on the farm, a poultry shed and a farmhouse. I started constructing the poultry shed in 2020 but stopped because running poultry farms became a tough task with the cost of poultry feed rising beyond reach. They didn’t burn that section of the farm and the two-room farmhouse where the workers cook and rest during their break.
Before we left the farm that day, I told the consultant the people who did it might come back; that we should clear and burn the bush around the poultry shed and house ourselves to protect the buildings. He promised to send someone to do that and later told me on phone he had sent a worker to the farm.
On Sunday, February 20, on my way back from a visit to Abeokuta, I decided to stop over to see what the guy had done to secure the poultry shed and the farmhouse. I didn’t travel in my car because of the fuel scarcity in the country. It was on my way back home that I just said, let me seize the opportunity to stop over and see whether the guy had done the measures to protect the buildings.
It was past five when a commercial motorcycle took me to the farm. I told him to come back in about 30 minutes to take me to where I would board a bus back home.
I went around the farm. The worker, Matthew, had left for the village but I saw that he had cleared the bushes around the poultry shed and house and burnt them. I was on the farm, waiting for the bike man to come back and pick me when I saw three guys come in from the main road into the farm. One of them had a gun. When they approached, I had it in mind to accuse them of being the ones who came to set the farm ablaze.
But the way they fanned out just before getting to where I stood frightened me. I got scared. I first thought of running but immediately also reasoned since one of them had a gun, they might shoot me.
One stayed in the middle while the two others moved to the right and left. They wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be able to run away. They just swooped on me, slapped me repeatedly and hit me. I was really scared because the farm is isolated and it was getting dark. I kept asking, ‘What happened? What did I do wrong? What is the problem?’
One of them was speaking smattering Yoruba and pidgin English and the others spoke a language that I didn’t understand. It wasn’t the Hausa language because I can pick a few words of Hausa. As they continued to hit me, I fell. They held my trousers, dragged me and led me away, threatening to kill me if I shouted or tried to run away.
They didn’t go back to the main road; we just followed the footpath on the farm until we got to the end. We came out to the main road and I was praying we’d meet somebody on the road and I would be able to do something to scare them or alert the passerby that I was in danger, but no one came by.
They led me on until we got to a stream. They ordered me to sit down and remove my Buba (top dress). I thought they would kill me there and then I started pleading with them. I asked if it was money they wanted; that they should spare my life. I got slapped again for begging them. They insisted I remove my Buba, took it and used it to blindfold me. They also searched my pockets, took my phone and money.
They dragged me up and said I should follow them. At that point, I was praying silently to God because I thought that they were just looking to get to a place and then shoot me. They didn’t tell me any offence that I committed.
They walked for a long while and I was just being dragged along. At a point, they stopped again, removed the blindfold and asked me to wear my dress again. I didn’t know where we were, we just kept moving, and kept moving until we got to a small hut. The hut didn’t look like it was being used regularly. By then it was dark. That was where we stopped. I had lost my leather slippers and was barefooted. My glasses were also gone.
At the house, did you hear the voice of any other people?
The place looked secluded. It wasn’t really a house. The place is a makeshift thatched hut where farmers could rest while working on the farm.
When you got to the place, did they ask for money?
All through my ordeal, it was towards the last moment they began asking for money. They used my phone. I told them my wife’s number and they called and made me speak with her. They told me what to say and used a cut tree branch to hit my big toes during the call. I still have wounds on the toes. It was a brutal experience. They warned me to tell my people not to involve the police or it would be the last time they would hear my voice. I begged my wife not to do anything to endanger my life. I was made to call thrice and the phone switched off immediately after each call. Before the last call was made they demanded N10 million. I begged and begged before they came down to N5 million.
They then directed me to tell my people to pay N5 million. So, they made the call and I told my wife what they wanted. That was the last call to my wife. After that conversation, I thought of stories I had heard about those whose relations paid the ransom and the victims still got killed. The people who held me didn’t show that they were serious about ransom. It appeared like l was being held as they awaited the next instruction or they were waiting for some people. I didn’t just understand why they were holding me there.
I thought if they would take the ransom and still kill me, it would be too much. I kept praying and made up my mind to escape; that if I die in the process, well, so be it. I also kept nudging myself that I would survive.
So, I began to look at how vulnerable they were. I was looking for the opportunity when they would be distracted, then I would attempt to run. At every point, I had at least one person with a gun staying with me. The night that I escaped, two of the guys were with me.
I observed that the guy with the gun had slept off and the other guy looked tired and was dosing off. I watched until he too fell asleep. That was the moment I sneaked away and bolted after a short distance from the hut. I was tied to one of the tree stumps used to make the hut when we arrived there. After three days, they stopped tying me.
While being tied, I told them I wanted to defecate. At first, they didn’t allow me. I asked if they thought I would run away. I told them I didn’t even know where we were. I told them they had a gun, and if they think I would run away, they should strip me naked and let me defecate. After a long while, they untied me and I went nearby to defecate, came back and they didn’t tie me again.
I also attempted to get familiar with them, although it didn’t stop them from torturing me. Using the tree branch to hit my toes and slapping continued. My right big toenail had pulled off because of that torture. I didn’t understand why they were hitting me on the big toes.
I also did some psychological tricks on them. I was using all sorts of tricks, trying to appeal to their conscience. I told them I had just lost my immediate younger brother; that they should please spare my life; that my family was still in pain. I kept begging them all the time. I also used religion to appeal to them even though they never showed any sign of belief in God.
So, that was the moment I escaped. Before they could bring themselves to reality, I had moved far. I owe my survival to God.
What were you eating?
While being held, they baked cassava to eat and they gave me too. Twice, they came with bread and gave it to me. They also brought water in small containers. I suspected it was from a stream.
So how did you make it to a safe place?
I ran until I got to a road path. I thought that if they came after me, they would be going back to where they took me from. But I wasn’t familiar with the road. I just took the side I thought would lead me away from where they took me.
I would run and when getting tired, slow down and walk briskly on. I didn’t stop until the day began to break. In the morning, I saw some women. It appeared they were going to the market or a nearby village. They were Yoruba women. I asked about any town around the place and they mentioned Ishaga. I had not been to Ishaga before but I had heard about that community. The women pointed the way. I kept on walking until a motorcyclist approached from the direction of Ishaga. I motioned him to stop. I confirmed that the road would lead me to Ishaga. Then, I narrated my ordeal to him and begged him to take me back to Ishaga. He said he was coming from Maria Village near Dangote cement factory at Ibeshe. He had passed through Ishaga to link Awowo and Abeokuta. He graciously gave me a ride to Ibeshe. He also obliged me his phone to call my wife. I told her about my escape and for them to arrange to pick me up from Ishaga.
From the place where you escaped to the place where you met those women, can you remember how many hours it took you to run through the night?
I didn’t have a wristwatch to be able to know precisely how long. I was on the move till daybreak and would have spent up to six hours.
Have you reported to the police and what are they doing about it?
When my wife came with my brother, we first went to the Itori Police Division. When I told the policemen about what happened and where we were referred to Obada Division. After lodging the report at Obada, I was told to go and take care of my health and come back on Monday.
I went back and uniformed and plainclothes policemen accompanied me to the farm. They saw the damage on the farm. I also showed the path the guys took me throughout of the farm.
What has this experience taught you? Are you still interested in going back to the farm?
God has a purpose for sparing my life. I thank God for life. I need to be security-conscious and not take things for granted.
I don’t intend to go back to the farm. I had just escaped from the lion’s den, do you think going back to the farm makes sense? I’ll be daring God if I do so. Even if I wanted to, my family had advised me to forget about the farm. The farm is not worth my life. I’ve been sinking money into the farm venture since 2017 and yet to make a huge profit. It’s now that some of the cashew trees have started to show signs of fruiting and prospects of gains that this happened. I thank God for my life. The farm is a no, no for me now.
How do you think the government can end this menace?
The government is helpless. The law enforcement agents can’t be everywhere. How many farmers will the policemen provide security to on their farms? In my ordeal, there are so many areas you can look at. Even the policemen are not looking at the angle of kidnapping for ransom. They were asking me if I had issues with people or if I suspected anyone. Kidnapping has become a franchise where people who are after your life will seize the opportunity; ritualists also seize their victims and slaughter them. The terrorists otherwise known as bandits are also doing theirs.
It’s difficult for the government. The government cannot police everywhere. I’m still wondering why it was me. It’s tempting to suspect that some people are after my life. First, the farm was burnt. Then, the kidnap. Some people are even insinuating the guys must be bandits from the North. One of the policemen who went to the farm with me spoke about recent kidnap incidents in the area by suspected bandits from the North, posing as cattle herders. Some thought I was attacked because I’m a journalist. But I will say the government should do more. Security of lives and property is the most important. This country should be run in such a way that people who want to do cattle rearing would not pose any risk to farmers. Farmers should also not do anything that will endanger the cattle rearers. The government should take education and youth employment more seriously so that banditry and kidnapping can be effectively tackled. We need security because, without it, we can’t make any progress. I can’t go back to the farm when it’s not safe. I’ve been staying indoors since my return. I’ve also been having nightmares at home. I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep till daybreak. I think my ear is damaged. I have a disturbing persistent humming sound in my left ear. I was told in the hospital it would stop, but a week after, it hasn’t.
