Chapter Six

LAND OF THE DEAD

After what looked like years, the three suicide bombers—Danlami Goje, Isah Magaji and Samaila Dutse, were convinced their fate was sealed. They were not in Al Janna. If anything, this was the lake of fire. Their experiences were harrowing. Each of the dwarfs seemed to have a unique form of torture for each of them. The only time it looked like respite had come was when three of the dwarfs insisted each of the bombers made love to them. After managing to force an erection, each of the men had plunged into the dwarfs. The pain was unbearable. Ten scorpions stinging an individual on his manhood could not have produced such pain. The three men suffered perpetual hunger and thirst. When one of them managed to demand for food, what they got were live worms in a bowl containing excreta. None ever demanded food again yet they would not die.

“Why…why…why are we suffering like this? Have we not kept our own part of the bargain and killed infidels like our holy book demands?” Magaji demanded on one occasion with hot tears flowing from his eyes. A hot slap on his face was the response he got from one of the dwarfs.

“We…we…we sacrificed our lives in compliance with the demands of our holy book. We deserve better!” Dutse screamed. He was whipped with koboko soaked in pepper till he almost collapsed. Goje was too weak to speak. He wished he would die. Over time, which just stretched on and on, he had learnt not to ask questions. They had all lost sense of time. Day and night came and passed but each moment seemed to dwarf the previous in the volume of excruciating pain they suffered. The dwarfs took turns to slap, beat, whip and scratch their faces. This was hell. No other place could hold such torture.

“You are all stupid!” screamed one of the dwarfs suddenly in the same cricket-like sound. “That is what you all are—stupid! No one who kills or causes his neighbour pain deserves Al Janna.” Another dwarf demanded, “How can you kill your neighbour and demand Al Janna?”

“We did it in support of Allah’s injunction,” Goje managed to say.

“Shut up!” a dwarf screamed. “Who are you to fight for Allah? If you must, is it by killing his children— the work of His hands? You will be here forever and ever! Forever and ever! Forever and ever!” The echo from her screams reverberated all over the area.

Meanwhile, in another part of the place, Seidu Hassan— the suicide bomber who killed Alhaji Modu Khalifa, was facing a similar fate.

* * * * *

JOS, 2006

The Church of the Living Star, Jos was full to capacity. It was no surprise. Today was December 25— Christmas day. Over two thousand members were present.

Every activity— from praise and worship, to testimony sharing and announcement time drew a lot of excitement from the congregation.

Soon it was time for the message of the day. Pastor Solomon Bamidele mounted the pulpit and shouted “allelluia!”

It took over three minutes for the excitement generated to die and for him to be able to continue. Some members screamed, others jumped to their feet and ran around while some others just kept clapping.

That was when the first explosion was heard. At first, not a few thought it was part of the activities meant to spice up the day’s event. When it was accompanied by screams, however, the reality sank in.

Boko Haram had struck again!

Pandemonium set in. Bodies lay strewn all around the children’s section of the church and the fire from the blast was spreading.

As people rushed towards the gate, the second explosion from a bomb placed inside a car and parked near the church went off.

At the end of the day, over two hundred corpses— some without heads, limbs etc, were taken to the mortuary while over three hundred worshippers were taken to the hospital for various degree of injuries.

Bad news spreads fast and so radio and television stations both locally and internationally were soon broadcasting the event. It made the front page in almost all the major newspapers in the country the following day.

The actual number of casualties, however, varied from medium to medium. The spokesman of the security agencies—Major Saminu Musa, at a hastily convened press conference, was able to convince the journalists present that only thirty five people died. As soon as the usual brown envelopes were distributed, the figure suddenly looked accurate. Only a few journalists who took time to visit the mortuary gave the actual figure.

Later that evening, a statement from the President’s spokesman explained that: “Mr. President is deeply saddened by this cowardly act by the evil Boko Haram sect,” and concluded with, “we are on top of the situation.” It was beginning to look like only a miracle would give the President, Victor Abela a second tenure. * * * * *

Shekau was in a video posted on You Tube the following day claiming responsibility for the attack. International television stations and their local counterparts interrupted scheduled programmes to broadcast the speech. He was dressed in camouflage Army uniform and was wielding an A.K 47 he uses for gesticulating. An armoured tank and the Boko Haram flag with Islamic inscriptions written on its all black surface, was flying in the background. He warned of more attacks ahead. “We the descendants of Sheikh Uthman Dan Fodio,” he said in the Hausa language, “will not relent until Islam is established all over Nigeria, Africa and the whole world. Western education is evil. It teaches nothing but immorality. Imagine children who should be married off to husbands wasting valuable time in the name of education learning nonsense! By Allah,” he swore, “our next attack will focus on schools!”

He glared from pure red eyes and laughed mirthlessly from time to time.

“Walahi talahi! This is just the beginning!”

He went on and on condemning Democracy, America, the United Nations and so on concluding with “the Caliphate shall be established insha Allah”

* * * * * 2000

Awwalu Ibrahim graduated from the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria five years ago where he studied Mass Communication. He also concluded the mandatory National Youth Service Corp (N.Y.S.C) programme four years ago in Ekiti State. During the programme, he was posted to teach in a secondary school where he taught the English Language and English Literature and he performed creditably well.

All his efforts to get a job in this state after the programme, however, met a brick wall. Even when he performed better than every other candidate in the different interviews he attended, the simple reason he was not a Yoruba man ensured he did not secure a job for over a year after the programme. When his father became tired of sending him pocket money, he asked him to return to Kaduna State, where they came from, and try his luck there. Awwalu returned home over two years ago, yet, no job was forthcoming. Gradually, the situation began to take its toll on him. He spent the days roaming around Kaduna clutching his credentials for the job that never came and the evenings playing whot—a game of cards, with his friends who were in a similar condition as he was.

It was one of them—Aminu, who told him about a secret recruitment one day, where every successful candidate was given five thousand dollars.

One morning, Awwalu, Aminu, and three others set out to look for how to get recruited.

The journey lasted four hours in a Peugeot 504 Station Wagon car along with others going in their direction. It was a taxi driven by a rather talkative malam. He never seemed to stop talking all through the journey and he dwelt only on one subject— the increasing attacks by members of the Boko Haram sect.

“Have you heard the sect even operates in Cameroon, Chad and Niger Republic nowadays?” he asked no one in particular.

“I even learnt it has teamed up with Al- Qaeda, Al Shabbab and even the Islamic State, ISIS,” he continued without waiting for a response.

His last comment before the five jobless friends disembarked was a prayer.

“May Allah deliver us from them," he prayed. All the passengers shouted “amin!” except the five friends.