The Soldier: Changing the Narratives – Episode 8

By Dr Bassey Emmanuel

The Geneva Call: From the deserts of Darfur to the halls of Switzerland: A Nigerian soldier stands before the world.

One year after the BBC World Service interviewed Pascal, he submitted a casual poem titled “The Scar” to be read for the listening pleasure of listeners. He wrote the poem on the hospital bed where he was recuperating as he had slumped and was rushed to the UN Clinic. He was diagnosed of stress and fatigue and a bed rest was recommended by the doctor. Little did he know that the singular act would shoot him further into space of global recognition.

Sitting outside the UN Camp, he remembered a particular incident during his secondary school days when his mathematics teacher while teaching committed a blonder on the board and he had to quickly write a note telling him that his approach/methodology to the answer was wrong and gave to him without other students knowing about it thereby shielding the teacher from embarrassment.

In his state of reminiscence, he further remembered how he had solved the same mathematics problem and gave to the teacher before he left the class which the teacher used the next day to correct the class that there was an error. The teacher was very pleased with him for his intelligence and wisdom and that endeared Pascal to him the more. He was jerked back to consciousness by a military delivery boy who handed a sealed letter to him.

From whom? Pascal asked.

I don’t know sir, one of the civilian indigenes working with us gave it to me after I confirmed I knew the owner, delivery boy responded.

Okay thank you. Pascal said.

You are welcome, sir, Delivery boy replied

Permission to carry on sir! Delivery boy requested.

Carry on! Pascal replied.

Pascal carefully opened the letter with shaky hands due to anxiety as he was not expecting any letter from anywhere in Sudan of all places.

The Letter reads:

From:   International Committee of Military Writers

              Palais des Nations

              GENEVA

To:          Captain Dr Pascal Vincent

UN Military Observer,

Sector 1, Darfur

SUDAN

Invitation To the First World Military Poetry Competition, Palais des Nations, Geneva

Sir,

Your work in Sudan and your poem ‘The Scar’, published by BBC World Service, has been nominated by the International Committee of Military Writers. You are invited to present at the inaugural World Military Poetry Prize Event holding in Geneva in a forth-night. Travel, accommodation and feeding are covered for 3 days by UN Department of Peace Operations. Please reply on or before 0800hrs on the date of the receipt of this letter to enable proper preparation for your comfort.

Pascal read it twice. Then a third time.

He walked outside the UN compound. The desert was silent. Above him, were the same stars that watched over Zaria, over Lagos, over Abuja and Nigeria as a whole.

He whispered to no one in particular: “Sule, you see this?”

Pascal showed the letter to his Commanding Officer who congratulated him and advised him to reply immediately before the dateline.

Pascal replied the letter via email indicating acceptance.

Two Weeks Later — Geneva, Switzerland.

At the Palais des Nations, the Assembly Hall where the competition is to take place. There were Flags of 193 nations hung from the ceiling. Generals in uniforms. Poets in civilian clothes. Diplomats. The Press. And in the front row: the UN Secretary-General.

Pascal sat in his Nigerian Army No. 4 Dress — green jacket, with his blue UN beret folded under his shoulder strap. Captain’s rank on his chest. Rosette of the UN Medal on his left breast pocket, while in his back pocket was the same small New Testament Bible from Zaria.

He was the only African. The only Captain. The youngest man in the room.

The MC, a retired British Colonel, called his name.

“From Nigeria, serving in Darfur, Sudan. Medical Doctor. UN Military Observer. A renowned Poet and the Author of ‘The Flag’ and ‘The Scar’. Please welcome to the stage Captain Dr Pascal Vincent.”

The hall was silent not out of disrespect but out of bewilderment. Such a young officer participating in such a global event.

Pascal walked to the podium. No paper in his hand. He had refused to print the poem. “If I can stitch a boy under fire without notes, I can speak my heart without paper,” he told the Nigerian Ambassador that morning.

He adjusted the microphone. Looked at the flags. Looked at the Secretary-General.

“Good morning everyone,” he said. “My name is Pascal Vincent. I am from Nigeria. I am a soldier. I am a Medical Doctor. But today, I stand before you all as a poet.”

The Hall erupted with unending claps.

He paused.

“I did not come to Geneva to win a prize. I came because a child in Darfur asked me a question after I saved his life. He asked, “Soldier, why did you not let me die? My people are your enemy.”

Pascal’s voice caught. He swallowed.

“This is my answer. A poem I titled:

THE SCAR

I

You ask me where I got this scar

This line that runs from chest to jaw. 

It is not from bullet, nor is it from knife, 

But from a boy I refused to let die.

II

His people burned their brother’s village. 

His uncle shot at my convoy. 

Yet when I found him bleeding under a tree, 

I saw my unborn son in his face.

III

They told me, “Leave him. He is an enemy.” 

I told them, “Today, I am an enemy of hate.” 

For three hours I fought death in the dust and sun

Not with my rifle, but with my medical hands.

IV

He lives. We rejoiced.

And when he woke, he touched my blue beret 

And said one word to me: “Why?”

I answered because we are all humans

V

So this is the scar. 

Not on my body, but on my oath. 

That every child is my child 

Until the war says otherwise.

VI

And if you ask me what colour peace is, 

I will not say, peace is white. 

But I will say, peace is red

The red blood of a Sudanese boy

That I put back into his body to live

Makes me satisfied as an African brother.

For five seconds, the Palais des Nations was silent.

Then the UN Secretary-General stood up.

Then the American General.

Then the Russian Ambassador.

Then the Nigerian Ambassador to Switzerland

Then the whole hall.

The standing ovation lasted 1 minute 17 seconds. The Swiss Press timed it.

That Night — Awards Gala, InterContinental Geneva.

The Chairman of the Prize Committee, a French 4-Star General, took the stage.

“The First World Military Poetry Prize has been judged by a panel of 12 nations. The criteria: courage, humanity, literary merit, and impact on peace.”

He opened the envelope.

“For the first time in history, the vote was unanimous. The winner, is the presenter of the poem ‘The Scar’, which relates to services above self in Darfur, Captain Dr Pascal Vincent, Nigerian Army.”

Pascal walked up. The General pinned a gold medal on his chest, a laurel wreath around a rifle and a pen.

“Captain,” the General whispered as cameras flashed, “you have done more for the image of the soldier today than 1000 press conferences.”

Pascal saluted him and told the hall.

“This is not my victory,” “This is Nigeria’s victory. This is Africa’s victory. This is victory for every boy who are told that soldiers are illiterates.”

0600hrs Next Morning — Abuja.

The Chief of Army Staff’s phone rang.

It was the Minister of Defence.

“Chief, have you watched CNN?”

The screen showed Pascal in Geneva, gold medal on his chest, Nigerian flag behind him.

Breaking News: “Nigerian Captain Wins First World Military Poetry Prize. ‘The Soldier-Poet of Sudan’ Hailed by UN.”

The COAS smiled, yes sir I am watching it on CNN right now.

He sent for Pascal’s file.

As the Military Secretary brought the file

The COAS picked up his red pen.

On Pascal’s file, he wrote three letters: “PPP”

Two Days Later — UN Compound, Darfur.

A signal arrived for Pascal.

From:      AHQ MS.

To:          Capt Dr P. Vincent.

You are hereby promoted to the rank of Major. Having successfully completed your UN Mission in Sudan, you are to proceed to Geneva, WHO Headquarters, on TDY for three months. Mission: Present paper ‘Poetry as Therapy in War Zones’ in different fora. On completion, return to Nigeria for further instructions.

Signed: Chief of Army Staff

Pascal sat on his bunk. Looked at his new rank slide. Looked at his rifle. Looked at his stethoscope. Looked at his notebook.

He opened it and wrote:

Geneva called. Nigeria answered. The narrative is changing.

Outside, the UN flag and the Nigerian flag still flapped side by side.

But now, the world was watching.

Then he did something he loves doing whenever he gains victory.

He pulled out his small New Testament Bible, opened it to Psalm 91, and read one verse:

“A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee”

He closed the Bible.

Then he heard a knock on the door. He step forward to open the door.

To be continued…

Context Note: TDY – “Temporary duty”.

PPP – “Promote. Post. Protect.”

– Digital Embassy…