How does one survive when a country unleashes its whole military might on him? The fugitive was on the run!
The ministry of defence went into code red, and the army marched into battle. Tanks rolled out and surveillance planes filled the skies like swarms of insects. The pilots kept their eyes peeled for the slightest reason to call in jet fighters that will blast the targeted upstart to kingdom come.
From one end of the nation to another, the search was intense and carried out methodically with a fine toothcomb. There was no escaping the threat. The wannabe must die!
The story of the man on the run was an ironic one. He had appeared out of nowhere and used outlandish methods to dismantle a gigantic challenge plaguing the leadership of the country. The feat had catapulted him into the limelight and also triggered an avalanche of the king's wrath.
Not to be outdone by rival brands, the media houses outdid themselves to increase their ratings and sell their wares. They filled the airwaves with exaggerated exploits of the young man. This infuriated the president, who was suffering from myriad issues inclusive of split personality and depression.
The incumbent's self-esteem would not fill a thimble. Hence, he surmised that all the media attention was a sign that the hunted man (now state enemy number 1) was conniving to unseat him in the coming elections.
"He is nowhere to be found,'" he told his aid. The President's voice was laden with frustration as he gave the younger man the binoculars. The aid swept through the countryside with the glasses, came up short and shook his head.
Unbeknown to them, the man on the run was a few meters away. He was wearing camouflage that blended wholesomely with the foliage.
The president and his troops moved on. That day, the savagery of the Mediterranean sun was more than usual, so they took shade under a large umbrella tree. Bringing out a flask of whiskey, he quaffed to his heart's content as some of the drink ran down his chin. He was soon snoring under his presidential tent.
The fugitive, silent as a shadow, disappeared deeper into the forest. His existence was like a partridge's with a pack of pointer dogs doggedly pursuing it. His life became a chain of narrow escapes from unrelenting traps. He knew the slightest slip meant death, therefore; he devised uncommon methods of slipping through nets and sought safety in unfamiliar deserts and caves among a legion of other fortresses.
From the wilderness of Ziph, the strongholds of Engedi to the Cave of Adullam (here, he trained his elite security detail), David escaped against impossible odds. Of course, when one becomes an expert at skipping through such a sophisticated network of death snares, we should listen to him when he talks about security.
Surprisingly, when he detailed his safety options, he didn't mention a nuclear bunker, the scraggy hills of Judea or the impregnable cave of Adullam. I would have expected him to talk about unnavigable terrains and thorny forests that made chasing him difficult.
Instead, David wrote that the greatest secret of his survival was: Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah. Psalm 32:7.
© Ekpo Ezechinyere 2021
