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KILISHI.
.
.
.
.
Kilishi. That word meant heaven served on
steaks to a child who grew up in the cold city of
Jos. It was snacks for school kids, desert when
dinner journeyed home late. As kids we loved
Danladi, not because he was tall and looked
funny when he smiled: for he had no teeth sitting
his cavity, he was loved because he sold Kilishi
to kids at a very cheap price.


The uprising that grappled the north was one
that simmered through to the mind of everyone
even the youngest. The religious divide that
existed between the christians and muslims was
one that stifled association, set limits to places
we would go and places we dare not phantom in
its faintest imagination to go. The same places
we were welcomed few weeks back.


As a child I lost my best friend Kabiru, warned by
our parents separately not to be seen with each
other, we avowed to stick by their rules for they
filled our minds with scary tales of how our
separate religion was a threat to each others
existence and in its totality that ideology seemed
alien to my young mind.


It was on a sunday, we had returned from
church. "Jesus Has Risen Mission" that was the
name of the church my father manned as a
pastor, it was a branch, a splinter of the main
church which had its address written as "NXW
296 Weston Drive. Calgary, Canada" in the huge
signpost that was boldly displayed at the
entrance of the church.


The aroma of jollof rice set to 'ripe' in well
sauced goat meat was what taunted our nostrils.
I was about setting the dinning table, a small
wooden table made of mahogany wood and three
plastic chairs placed at both ends of the table
and one at the center. Not long after I had
arranged the table did the wild uproar from
outside steal the serenity in our house. I dashed
outside hurriedly to catch a glimpse of what had
transpired.


Men and boys in their numbers, armed with
various objects, from cutlasses to big logs of
wood as they poured out into the street,
screams from people who ran for safety startled
me. I saw burning tyres, I watched as a pregnant
woman was shoved into the fire. She struggled
for life, got into a scuffle with boys numbering
over six who were hitting her viciously with logs
of wood. She held on to the last strand of life as
her weakened limbs managed to stretch a hand
further and that's when a man pushed the boys
away, I heaved a sigh of relief for the woman but
it was short-lived. The man dispersed the boys
and brought out a dagger from his Jalabia and
angrily dug the dagger deep into her stomach,
blood gushed out as he twisted the knife, the
blood splattered on his face to the wild
admiration of the crowd.


The rage and thirst for more bloodied scene
pushed the crowd further as they ran into
people's houses and dragged the occupants out.
I ran into the house in fear, I bumped into father
as he grabbed me by the hand, the pangs of fear
had marred his face, teary eyes and jittery body.
He dragged me under the dinning table, from
under the table I could see mama's feet, I heard
her talk to my father, a voice laced in tears she
said "Honey, what do we do?" And all papa could
utter was "I am confused."


Loud bang. Stale silence. Another bang and our
locked door flew at different directions, three
men walked in, swearing and spewing obscene
words " inda ne wadanda shegu? inda ne
wadanda wãwãye suka ciyar ta hanyar da
dubura!" One of the guys yelled as they pursued
my father and mum who ran into an adjoining
room. Loud scream and a plea for mercy from
my mum was heard and minutes later that of dad
followed as he screamed "Jesus! Ebiere! Ebiere!"
That was my mothers name and also the first
time I had heard papa call mother by her name.
Minutes later I watched as papa was dragged to
the living room, his shirt covered in blood, the
same he wore while preaching at the altar.


His eyes met mine and he blinked in fast flicks,
signalling me to stay put, I watched him turn to
his oppressor begging for his life to be spared
"Please don't kill me, please dan uwa na!" I
watched how swiftly the matchete the attacker
was holding severed papa's skull leaving a deep
cut as the attacker struggled to pull the
matchete from his skull while blood drooled out
of the open skull. Papa's eyes popped out as the
matchete was pulled out of his head, he laid
lifeless few inches from the table as my hand
clenched my mouth not to mete me out.


The other guys joined in the parley with their
matchete as they dismembered papa's body and
that's when the terror that stood naked before
me glistening in my father's blood made me stick
my head out a bit to see who my father's killers
were. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that
fragile old looking face, that face I greeted every
morning on my way to school.


I was shocked when I saw Danladi, the Danladi
that sold Kilishi.


By
Husband Material
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