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“Farin Ruwa Falls is a waterfall found in the central region of Nigeria. It is among the highest waterfalls in Nigeria. It is significant among Africa’s falls when the total height covered by the waterfall is considered.

Wikipedia.

“She is so blissfully naive!” I remember thinking as I spoke to Cherie.

Cherie was also an astounding romantic. She was a nice person.

In a few hours from when I first spoke to her, I would confirm that she too possessed the ‘X-Factor‘… One of us rare individuals who have the mystic cross(es) etched in their palms naturally.

Cherie has absolutely nothing to do with the story I am about to tell. I want her though. I want a new protégé. I need a muse esoteric.

The distance from the village closest to the Farin Ruwa Falls is about five kilometers from the falls. In the event that you overzealously decide to measure the distance, and my estimate falls short… Fuck you very much. Hehehehehe…

About a kilometer from the falls, you meet the two gentlemen who function as officials. They give you the normal talk and then lead you through an undulating depreciated man-made pathway through a corridor of trees so sparsely spaced it looks slightly unnatural.

But it is all beautiful.

The waterfall is nice…

Water is cool…

Blah… Blah… Blah…

I was being a gentleman and carrying Cherie’s backpack. At some point, she told me that I was a nice man. I remember replying that, “I am not a nice person; but I can be nice.”

Cherie has absolutely nothing to do with the story I am telling. I want her though. I want a new protégé. I need a muse esoteric.

Later that evening, after we had all returned to our Wamba campsite, we started to barbecue turkey, goat and fish.

I made sure to be positioned just by the shadows. I made sure that I was well noticed for about three hours. And then at a moment most auspicious, I faded off into the night.

I hiked back to the waterfalls. I covered the distance in about ninety minutes.

I gingerly approached the edge of the pathway where the officials would always start their talk, just before the first few cement steps bordered on one side by a very shaky metal hand rail.

Opposite that stretch of steps was a dilapidated hut. Earlier that day, the waterfall official had confirmed my suspicion that the place was a shrine. Long before white missionaries affected their traditions, chief priests would hike up to this point and consult the gods on issues ranging from permission to go to war and which crops would prosper during the farming season ahead.

I understood that there was usually one chief priest. The priest’s tenure was usually by spiritual appointment. The custom was dead though. Overrun by civilization and Christianity.

But earlier, my nostrils had caught a whiff of a distinct sweat type. Don’t bother asking me how, only my nose truly knows. I have learned to trust my instincts. In my line of work, instincts are paramount.

It was a waning full moon and so visibility was above average for that time of the night. The air had a zephyr that came and went every forty seconds or so.

I sat in the darkness on the forest floor Dandasana style and slowly dropped my heart beat and pulses to a significantly slower speed.

I am not sure how long it took me to ‘confirm’ (hear/feel minute movement and then perceive a scent/smell), but it typically takes a little over ten minutes.

I remained statue still and patiently waited.

From within the ruins of the dilapidated hut, a figure gingerly extracted itself from a hole in the ground. It glanced around furtively and cautiously stepped out of the ruins into the open.

This was who I was here for. ‘My client’ was quite specific. They just forgot to mention that it was a woman. Not that it would have mattered anyway.

Her bromhidrosis was quite bad. In the open, that body odor was really strong. She was wearing a simple dress that was so old it had become threadbare. She should not have bothered with the dress, there was little left to the imagination. Even under moonlight.

She barely had the time to react before I was upon her. I am a freakishly strong person, but she had strength like I had never seen in a woman. She trashed, bucked and writhed about like a catfish in a barrel evading capture. I had her wrists and ankles tied up firmly within a minute nonetheless. A few seconds to gag her too.

I activated my transmitter after deciding that a flare would be too overt. From that second, I had seven minutes to get to the muster point half a kilometer NW.

I picked her up in a fireman’s carry and began a slow run. She was not heavy and I had adrenaline in full circulation. I made it to the spot under five minutes. I therefore had about ninety seconds to understand who I was kidnapping.

I found my kit and secured the perimeter. I quickly donned night vision goggles, Honey Badger low visibility carbine, complete with a suppressor went under my left armpit, two stun grenades went into each pocket of my combat pants. I set off four smoke screens in a distinct pattern… I now had about sixty seconds to evacuation.

She was an albino. Her eyes had cataracts so bad I was sure she was blind. Her breasts were quite large and had almost no droop… She was not older than twenty two. She was whimpering and shivering uncontrollably.

I heard the sound of the apache and saw them toss out more smokescreen. I confirmed perimeter security via ‘comms’ and retreated for the pick up.

She was extracted in thirty two seconds.

I was jogging back to the campsite in Wamba by the thirty fifth second.

I got back without incident and showered briskly. It was about three am. I requested for an Uber online.

The cab arrived as requested by 7:30 am. I left the Wamba campsite citing ‘family emergencies’.

I do not know what ‘my client’ wants with an albino chief priestess from Wamba. Or how they knew that she existed in the first place. I try not to get involved. I am a professional.