KANO RIOT
It was a beautiful morning. A Friday morning to be precise. We had just got back from break in primary school. I was in Primary 1. I wasn’t a fan of school and I had no decision of my own. My parents felt education was good for me but I knew watching cartoons was the key to my future. I learnt more by watching cartoons than going to school. The teachers in school always flogged me. I wasn’t stubborn but they just derived joy from flogging me. I wonder where they are today.
They flogged my behind like they had no respect for God’s creation. I was only trying to be creative when I tore my friend’s notebook. Yet I was flogged for damage of property. What business does creativity have with destruction?
The teachers never understood me. They only knew how to flog.
Few minutes after break time, I was told to take my books and bag. I saw my sister coming from her class. She held my hand and we went down stairs together.
Why is she always in my stories? That girl hates me.
If you think your sister is wicked, then you haven’t seen anything.
Multiply your sister’s wickedness by 100, you have mine. If there was an award, she’d win “Most Wicked Sister Alive”.
We got down stairs and saw our dad waiting for us. It wasn’t closing time yet. Why was he there? At that point I tried to recall the evil I’d done that day to warrant his presence in my primary school.
I’d been a good boy. So, I took a step backwards and allowed my sister to take the lead. If there would be a whipping, she’d get it first.
Dad took us to the car and we drove to mum’s shop. I didn’t know what was going on. Who cares? No one tells me shit in my house.
Mum locked her shop, got into the car and dad drove us all home.
There was panic everywhere. It turns out there was a riot in town and people were being killed.
We got home, locked everywhere and waited for a miracle. The riot wasn’t my concern. My concern was the fact that my sister had the courage to switch off the TV and I was watching my favourite cartoon. Was she sent from hell to torment my little life?
Then we heard a loud knock on the gate. I was so scared that I ran to my sister. I wanted her to be my shield. Someone had to protect me and she was the best person to do that.
The knocking continued and when my dad inquired. It was our neighbour. He had come to advise us to run away. The rioters were coming towards our house and they would kill anyone they met on the way.
Dad came in and told all of us to get into the car- my uncle, my sister, and my two younger brothers.
Dad drove to the next street. We met some friends and begged we stayed with them but they refused. They shut their doors at us. Everyone was scared.
We were able to find our way into a friend’s compound whose house had boundary with ours. Unfortunately, they were not at home. The house was locked.
We heard my mum screaming. I thought I was hearing voices in my head. Wasn’t she with us when dad instructed us all to get into the car?
She wasn’t with us and none of us noticed on time. We had left her at home. We were so concerned about our own lives that we forgot the woman that gave us life.
“What can we do?”
She was alone with men who had no value for human life.
I could hear her still screaming.
“Help me! Help me! Help me!”
“They want to kill me!”
There was a ladder lying around. Dad climbed it and saw my mum lying in her own pool of blood.
“Was this the end?”
The house was on fire. The rioters stabbed her with their dagger and had left her to die.
“She’s gone.” He must have said to himself.
“Wait! She just moved her hand”.
She was still conscious. Dad and my uncle jumped over to help her up and brought her to our location over the fence.
We could hear hundreds of people matching towards us. We knew it would be a matter of time before they got to our location and kill us all.
Dad and Uncle Ehis broke the window of the house we were in and we got in.
“If we must die, we die as a family”.
We were inside the house. The noise grew nearer and at this point we knew the rioters were in the compound. The crazy thing is that my baby brother whose hobby and special skill was to cry and disturb the universe kept quiet. He was as gentle as a dove. He wasn’t asleep. He saw what was happening to us but did not cry. It was a miracle.
We were there for hours. The hand of time suddenly stopped counting. Five minutes felt like five hours.
Then the noise reduced. Gun shots everywhere. People screaming. Mothers looking for their kids. Fathers looking for their wives. And I was looking at my mum.
“Was this the end of us all?”
“Imonitie!!!” A voice called from outside.
Only a handful of people could pronounce our name.
“Imonitie!!!” The voice called again.
It turns out it was my dad’s friend in the military that came to our rescue. Dad had called him earlier on.
Then we were rushed to the hospital.
A lot of people lost their lives and properties in the 2004 Kano Riot.
Days after days, I’d ask my dad the whereabouts of my mum. “She’s coming” was always the reply.
“Was she dead?”
“Did she survive?”
“Who would protect me from my evil sister?”
Few weeks later, I saw my dad coming in with a woman.
“Has he gotten another wife so soon?”
“Can’t you recognise me Livingstone?” the woman asked.
It was my mother. She had survived. She was alive but she was different.

What do we say to the god of DEATH?
NOT TODAY.
My mum is still alive and fine till today and my sister is no longer evil.

I remember those days in Kabala Doki (Northern Kaduna), Bichi LGA (Kano)... lives had no value to fellow men. Those that killed in the days of my father in the North are still alive today. Same with those that are killing mow in the name of riots!!! I don't pray my enemy experience what it is like during such massacres but unfortunately the devils still live amongst us. So glad you were saved and alive.

#riotsurvivour
#menwhosawdeath

When I saw the headline, I thought it was the Kano riot.. Like the Aba women riot we were taught in Government as a subject wayback

OP you are a good writer... u got me hooked with your write up ...