THE VENDETTA
As the sun pierced through his eyes, rendering him temporarily blind, Jacob knit his teeth tightly together as if doing so offered him some form of undeserved succor. He ran his right-hand fingers across his sweat-drilling face and unconsciously cast a fitful glance at himself. His looks embarrassed him; his clothe, a combination of a short-sleeved blue shirt carefully tucked into a brown knickers that barely covered his ankle, was soaked in sweat and dust, his black shoe which he carefully polished before leaving home in the morning was covered in dust, while his bag, his newest gift from Father Dominic for his impressive performance in the last Sunday school test was so much dusty that he could not help a second glance at it. His school, Grace Missionary School was more than half a mile’s journey to his village, Zungeru and trekking this distance twice every school day was his routine.

The one and a half hour journey to and from his school would not have been tiresome and irksome as it always was but for the intricacies that surrounded it. In fact, the journey would have been fun filled as it offered him the chance to be with his best friend. All things being equal, Jacob would never be tired of John’s company. Between them, there would always be the need for chitty-chatty about many undone and unfinished businesses. But brushing through the bush of Zungeru to Grace Missionary School didn’t offer the slightest chance for such frivolities. It was a journey to be done with utmost consciousness and certain precautions. Jacob saw everyday’s journey to and from school a torture. They hardly talked and when they did, it was at hushed tone, barely louder than whisper. Even though they must walk fast, they cautiously monitored their feet splattered the ground and kept their ears and all other perceptive senses at alert. These were the precautions to know if the marauding herdsmen were anywhere close by and avoid their ruthless attack. To Jacob and his friends, going to Grace Missionary College from Zungeru was a thoughtless dare at lurking calamity to do its worse.

Far as Grace Missionary school was to Zungeru, it was the only school in the entire community. It was established, funded and administered by The Grace Christian Mission, a religious, none-government parastatal. The school, though established to mitigate illiteracy and provide primary education for the people of Zungeru and its environs, had, since its establishment, been unable to meet 10% of its funding motives. No matter the effort put up to motivate and encourage the people of the community to take their children to school, they would not yield. Parents considered sending their students to Grace Missionary School a conscious act of killing their own children with their own hands. The path from Zungeru and its neighboring villages to Grace Missionary School was far too chancy for children, particularly female children to thread. However, in spite of the risk involved in children moving all by themselves to and from school, some parents in Zungeru still considered education a must-have treasury for their children and one of these few parents is Father Dominic, Jacob’s guardian.

To get rid of the dust that clutched at his heel, Jacob carefully stamped his feet on the ground, following the dust that hovered past him with his eyes. As he watched the dust gradually dissolved with the wind, he caught a short glimpse at the rear view of his church. This made him gasp; relieved he was home at last.

Father Dominic house was abreast the small but moderately decorated Catholic Church where he served in capacity of the Chief Priest. “May the good lord be with you and keep you save” Jacob heard the always rhythmical voice of Deaconess Rita as he made to open the main door that led to his compound. Before he could lay his fingers on the door-knob, the door flung open and he came chest to chest with Father Dominic who dressed in his usual white regalia.
“Good afternoon, father” he said with all urgency.
Father Dominic, as if expecting to meet him at the door, joyfully cuddled him under the wrap of his masculine arms, not minding him staying his spotless white sleeve.
“How was the journey, my son?” He asked exasperatedly. Before Jacob could say anything, Father Dominic fell on his kneel and gracefully kissed the sweat-coated forehead of the little boy.

Jacob heard him said: “I will be back soon, my son. I’m going to the village Square” as the door carefully slammed behind him. To the village Square? He thought to himself. What was Father going to do at the village Square? Father Dominic and the elders of Zungeru and some other nearby villages meet at the village square only to discuss issues of community interest. He knew Zungeru elders and even some youths met at the village square mostly when there had been attacks or speculations about possible attack on the community or individuals by the killer herdsmen. Had there been another attack on Zungeru? He asked himself.

Like someone bitten by an ant, he rushed towards Deaconess Rita, who sat at ease, expecting his greetings. “Has there been another attack?” he asked, panting with an impassive fright.
“Attack!” Alarmed Deaconess Rita responded.
“Father said he was going to the Village Square” Jacob said amidst confusion and curiosity. “No, there has been no attack. In fact, there may be no attack again” Deaconess Rita said, feeling relieved.

“… There may be no attack again” Jacob’s mind reechoed Deaconess Rita’s last statement. He immediately dislodged the possibility of this and what seemed to him as the palpable impossibility of the statement shuddered him and enveloped him with anger. He wished he could tell Deaconess Rita to her face that she was a liar. The people of Zungeru had always been meeting at the village Square mainly to forestall the herdsmen attack, but as far as Jacob could remember, none of their meetings had proven effective and useful. The nomadic herdsmen seemed to understand the game of violence better. They had always been victorious.

Almost 1500km away from the city was Zungeru, a riverine area which supported the growth of cash and food crops. The presence of drinkable water, cultivable farmlands, clement climate and good topography of the area attracted the settlement of the Ihoghalos who were presumably farmers and who considered themselves the aboriginals of the community. For decades, the Ihoghalos had lived peacefully in Zungeru and its environments until when the presence of the nomadic herdsmen, who also found Zungeru the safest place to graze and grow their cattle, started threatening their existence.
The feud between the Ihoghalo inhabitants of Zungeru and the herdsmen settlers commenced with the nomadic settlers marching their flock of cattle on the farmlands and feeding them on the crops and harvest of the farmers and the farmers’ resistance of what they called economic damage. The farmers, in attempt to end the herdsmen’s spoilage of their farmland, issued command to the nomadic herdsmen to vacate their lands. But this was a joke to the herdsmen. To them, as against the traditional belief of the aborigine farmers, no land or space belongs to anybody.

This feud took a new dimension when one Ighodalo farmer, a widow, hanged herself as a result of the wreckage of her farm yields by the herdsmen and their cattle. The farmer saw this as an insult and physical assault from the herdsmen and out of blazing anger; they seized the cattle of one herdsman and distributed them to the village chiefs. With this, they thought they had won. They felt their action would threaten the herdsmen to the point of vacating Zungeru and its community. They were wrong. The herdsmen became ruthless and terrors. So, the conflict was heightened.

The herdsmen, from the villagers, earned themselves the notoriety of “Kill and go” as they always dissolved into thin-air after their gruesome attacks. They no longer limit their attacks to farm crops. Each time they struck Zungeru or any of its neighboring village; it was always with mortal and brutal blows that wrecked inconsolable loss and damages to the livelihood of the villagers. At broad daylight, they attacked lonesome farmers, ambushed children on their way to the village streams. They rubbed, maimed, killed and burnt houses and farms. Their worse attack was always at night, when the villagers were deep in sleep. Many villages around Zungeru had fallen for the herdsmen’s attack and many families displaced. But Zungeru, in spite of the several attacks on it and its people, stood still.

Jacob was just fourteen and had witnessed several onslaughts on his people and villages by the marauding herdsmen. He had seen his aunties raped, seen his friends and neighbors burnt alive, seen his father slaughtered, and his mother raped before killed. Jacobs had seen his three year old little sister burnt in their house during one night raid of the herdsmen. Though, all these happened seven years ago, he could still hear the painful cry of his sister. He heard her cry everyday in his sleep and when he was alone. The memory of the day hounded him daily. Each time he saw or heard of another attack from the herdsmen, he felt inadequate. He thought he could have done something to help his family, saved his little sister from the agony of brutal death when he cowed quietly at his hiding place, watching his father being slaughtered, his mother being raped and killed and his little sister crying in vain for his help.

Jacob thought he lived, survived the day’s attack and other attacks for the sole purpose of avenging his peoples’ murder. Young as he was, he thought of himself, holding machete alongside the irate youth of Zungeru who always plead for Father Dominic permission to behead all herdsmen in Zungeru. He would not mind risking being butchered just to behead at least one herdsman. He hated the herdsmen, he hated their entire race and clan and he would do anything to cause, even the innocent ones among them, if there was any, untold pains and sorrow. So much as he wished he could do all these, he could not due to his guardian’s principle. For seven years that he had been adopted under Father Dominic’s care, Father Dominic had been feeding him with the passages of the bible that frown at vindictiveness and preach forgiveness.
“But, I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and prosecute you” Jacob’s mind ran through Math 5:44, one of Father Dominic’s favorite bible passage to him.

“As long as Zungeru keeps following Father Dominic’s preaching, Zungeru will always suffer the herdsmen attack” He thought to himself as he moved quietly to UnCloth himself.