By Ike Uchechukwu

For the people of Ukim Ita Eyo Ndem, a serene farming settlement tucked behind the creeks of Odukpani Local Government Area, Cross River State, peace has become a distant memory. In its place sits a name etched in terror, a “death list” allegedly drafted by a 30-year-old suspect now in police custody and the unsettling knowledge that his brother, arrested fleeing into the bush with a gun in hand, was never taken in for the deeper interrogation many believe could unlock the full horror of what happened here.

The nightmare began some weeks ago when word reached the Village Head, Chief Samuel Ekpe-Ita that a man had been killed in neighbouring Akai Ibonda and his body dumped, headless, in a toilet pit. By the next day, suspicion had settled on Akaniyene Ignatius Eshiet, an indigene of Ikot Ekpene in Akwa Ibom State. When community members stormed his house, they found blood stains scrubbed hastily off the walls and floor. The suspect himself was gone, and so, strangely, was his bed.

What followed was a manhunt that drew in community youths and soldiers, ending in a forest hideout known as Otu Idim, where the suspect was found naked, cornered, and finally subdued after warning shots rang through the trees.

But the discovery that truly broke the community’s composure came later, back at his compound, a freshly severed human head belonging to the first victim, Okokon Akpan Eshiet alongside his phone, a music box and roofing sheets. Then came the second grave, shallow, swarming with ants, hidden beneath plantain and pineapple suckers.

Inside lay the remains of Okon Bassey Okon Ansa, a 66-year-old elder of the community. Chief Ekpe-Ita himself stood over the suspect as soldiers forced him to dig open the earth he had tried to disguise as farmland.

“He claimed he was avenging the deaths of his father and brothers,” the Village Head recounted, his voice heavy with disbelief. “But his father was sick, and his mother had long left him because of his cruelty to her. I do not find any credible basis for his reasons.”

Confession that chilled the soul

It was during interrogation, Chief Ekpe-Ita said, that the suspect chillingly claimed to have killed 30 people in total, 23 in the community where he lived and seven at Otu Idim. A confession that, even with only two bodies confirmed, has left the entire settlement looking nervously over its shoulder. But when contacted, Police Public Relations Officer, ASP Sunday Eitokpah, insisted that what they have on record is two deaths.

Worse still is the existence of a list, allegedly compiled in the suspect’s own hand, naming those he intended to kill next. “If he comes back here, he will start from where he stopped,” the Village Head warned and pleaded: “Let the government do whatever they can to them so we can have peace. If we escape, our children might not.” 

For Okon Effiong Okon, an in-law of one of the victims, the memory of finding the body, lightly covered with plantain suckers, exposed only by the previous night’s rain remains raw. He recalled meeting the victim’s daughter, who had been due to marry within days. 

“If he used suckers to disguise graves,” Okon said quietly, “many of the plantains in his compound may be people’s graves. It is not safe for such a person to come back, not to any human society.”

Brother who walked free

But it is the fate of the suspect’s brother, Itoro Uwem Ignatius Eshiet that has now compounded the community’s anguish. Arrested after seizing a gun from the family house and bolting into the forest, he was handed to the Police in Creek Town. However, unlike the main suspect and his girlfriend, Uduak Essien, who were both moved to Calabar, the brother was never transferred to the State Criminal Investigation Department for further questioning.

“It surprised me that he was not transferred to Calabar along with his brother,” Chief Ekpe-Ita said in frustration.”

Police sources hinted that he was let go for lack of evidence. But for a community already haunted by hidden graves and a confessed death list, the explanation offers little comfort. As Ukim Ita waits, caught between grief and dread, one fear unites every voice in the community: that justice unfinished may simply mean horror deferred.