Good morning all...

Grande Finalle drops today...

khalifahsparkles:
foxyflow you have a great story up there. I read the last 2 updates before sleeping last night and my eyes were as wide as saucers all through the read.


but I will have to unfollow the story because I had terrible nightmares. I don't have the heart to continue

Eya... Toh, the story is almost done. The above update is the last. The next one might round it up or the one after the next. Thanks for reading, I hope you understand my message....

I was nominated for an award on PALEC platform. It is a prestigious award for students who had displayed leadership qualities.

Please click on this link and vote for me, Joseph Success in the category I was listed and every student from FULafia...

God bless...

Here is the link...


prestigeanchor.com/2017/06/21/palec-awards-2-0-e-voting/

MAY, 2004 (Episode 11)

“You know what death is? It is the end of everything. Why then do we strive to live since we would still end up dead?”
Joey, 2017

We survived in that house for days. Yes, we actually did. There was another family there whom we stayed with. They were Yoruba so it was kind of fun learning Yoruba little by little. I remember playing with the youngest one whose name is Tobi. We always referred to him as “Tupepe”. It was funny because the young lad did not know how to leave a trouser on his waist for a long time. Whenever he misplaces his trouser, he walks up to his mother and in his tiny voice asks her:

“Shokoto mi”

When it was time to leave the house, it was a bit touching since we would be going to a new life for a couple of days amongst people whom we hardly knew. We were meant to live together with them until peace is finally restored in Kano before moving back to our various houses. As at then, we had this faint memory of Bompai barracks. How spacious it was and how we could go to a river and swim. It was sure going to be fun and yeah, we did not think of it as an escape, we thought about it as a vacation. An escape from the norm.

That morning, my dad came to the house. Before then, he was the only one sleeping in our house at Shagari Quarters. From there he would head to his place of work. He had already made contact with Henry and Godwin but Philip was nowhere to be found. He did not let my mother know though because each time she asked him, he would say to her:

“Anytime wey I go barrack gate where all those companies dey park their bus go ask, them go tell me say their motor just leave barracks and you know say I no go fit wait till evening because of how road dey be for night.”

Mother swallowed this. Her other younger brothers came around. Friday and Williams is their names. They came in the company of some relations. Together they stayed with my mother then went out with my father to the company which Philip worked to ask after him. When they returned that evening, they came with a different story which mother believed. I can’t remember what they told her but I know it was a bleak message with a positive end. It was the next day after they delivered that message that we went to the barracks.

Bompai Police Barracks used to be the most secure location after Sabon Gari in Kano State back then (I will give reasons for this view in subsequent updates). Everybody ran to the barracks to escape any form of unrest. It is in that place that you would meet people who had really seen life for what it really was. Those who escaped being killed, those whose family were killed, those whose houses were burnt and those who had nothing to live for anymore. Some aid workers under the Kano State government came in daily in the morning and in the evening with relief materials. These materials are thrown at people who scampered after it, some even fighting just to get what to eat. From cabin biscuits to spaghetti, rice and bread. Sachet water too served as a course in the menu. It is crazy how a government that had practically folded its arm when the whole mayhem was taking place would still be the same government to come with relief items.

Yes, I know I did not include this in previous updates. The May, 2004 riots came at the same time that Malam Ibrahim Shekarau should be marking his one year in office. Rumours had it that he was present at the prayers in the Dangi Central Mosque that morning. He did nothing to stop the cold hearted marauders when they were screaming for their pound of flesh. Pound of flesh from innocent people of various ethnic extractions all over the country. Tell me, there was a riot in Jos, some of us did not know the origin of the riots, yet you come all out to kill us. Is that justified? Was it the Igbos, the Yorubas, the Igalas, the Idomas, the TIVs, the Itsekiris, the Ijaws and the rest of the non-indigenous people of Kano that killed your people in Jos? A question begging to be answered.

Every riot in Kano had been a reprisal of some riots or some events in some other part of the country or the world. The Sharia Riots of year 2000 started in Kaduna then spilled to Kano. Osama bin Laden riots of 2001 started where? In the Middle East! Nobody waits for the police to conclude investigations, no, instead they arm themselves and go into the road seeking whom to kill. Neighbours who bore grudges against you tell you to your face that they await the day of reckoning, that you wouldn’t escape their dagger. The day of reckoning is…. You know the rest!

“Yanka rago ne zamu muku wallahi”
*We will slaughter you all like rams*

The above statement has been used on almost everyone who grew up in Kano and the core Northern States. Lol, not funny though but during the Post Election Violence of 2011, I was in the Polytechnic then. A coursemate of mine, we took Elect/Elect courses together actually pulled out a dagger and ran it over his neck while pointing at me. It was the intervention of the school authority who called in security operatives into the school that prevented the bloodbath that would have taken place. The students of Hausa Extraction stayed close to the boys’ hostel while those of us who weren’t from the core north, whether Muslims or Christians stayed close to the field. The weapons that began showing their faces that day was crazy. How they had been smuggled into the hostel under the watchful eyes of the security unit still remains a mystery. (I don’t wanna call the name of the school though.)

You see that coursemate of mine? Till today I never follow the bastard talk I swear. I was shocked. He was my friend before Buhari lost the 2011 elections oh. Surely, no permanent friends, just permanent interests.

On that day of the riots and subsequent days that followed, there was no presence of security operatives in the inner parts of the State. The marauders had a field day killing people to their satisfaction. What happened is that bodies which were deposited (the few that got lucky to be deposited) and weren’t claimed was given mass burials. At Madille, the little village or community after Shagari Quarters, had every non-indigenous person wiped out. Sabuwar Gandu, after Tukuntawa was also razed. Sharada, both Phase 1, Phase 2 and Phase 3, saw its own share of the blood spill. Sheka, Salehri and the innards faced the same treatment. No government intervention, yet the same government brought relief items to the barracks. The taste of it all was too bitter to swallow.

We had lived in the barracks for close to a week when the news came. I believe the news had been on ground since but the avenue to break it to mother had not been available. That day, I saw plenty relations that I had not seen before. Even those who weren’t staying in the barracks were present that evening. They all had this sober looks on their faces as they discussed amongst themselves in excited voices to mask the pain. They tried as hard as they could not to betray their emotions.

Around 8:00pm or thereabout, I was with my friends, the new ones I had made in the barracks when a loud scream pierced the air. I spun around to see my mother rolling in the dusts. My elder sister and the one I followed directly were with her. They were all crying. I did not know if I should move close to them to console them. I was scared stiff of the information I would be given. As soon as Moses and Ernest went to them, they were told the news and the two of them joined my mother in weeping. The words that kept coming out of the mouth of my mother was:

“Ele! Ele! Ele le le le ooo! Ogu wu mi ja me! Ogu wu mi ja me!! Ifuuuuu…. Ifuuuuu! Abu na kukola yi le ke?!”
*Ahhhhh… Ahhhh… Ah…..!!! War has finally caught up with me! War has finally caught up with me! Ifuuuuu…. Ifuuuu….! How will I talk this one now?!*

“Ifu” is the tribal name of my Uncle Philip. Something terrible had happened to him. My feet felt heavy as I dragged myself towards where my mum was weeping. My throat was dried and I felt a pain I hadn’t felt before sear through my heart. I was hoping, yes, hoping he was lying alive even if he was critically wounded somewhere. I wasn’t prepared for any other news. As soon as my mother caught sight of me, she grabbed me by my arm, pulled me towards herself and hugged me. These words came out of her mouth…

“Attai, your uncle no dey again. Ah! Attai! These Hausa people don succeed kill your uncle. Attai! Wetin I go tell my old mother for village say happen to her pikin wey come stay with me? Attai! Wetin I wan tell the whole village people say happen to my brother wey come stay for my place?”

To this very moment, I have no answer to any of the questions she had asked me. I knew that each and every question that came out of her mouth carried a huge implication but what could I do? I was young and consoling my mother was something I hadn’t learned. Instead, each and every word sunk deeply into my mind. A dark message I was going to remember for the rest of my life. My eyes did not betray me. No, not even a single drop of tear found its way out of my ducts. Instead I dragged myself gently from my mother’s grip and went to a wall where I leaned. Where the strength to bear the blow which the death of Philip had dealt on me came from, I know not. I just know something died within me. Death, violent one, lost its essence to me. Every death became normal to me. If everybody dropped dead around me at that moment, I wouldn’t have found it a thing of surprise. No, I embraced death and the fact that those it took with it I would see no more till I finally close my own eyes in death.

Mother was inconsolable so also were my sisters. The only people who did not shed tears were my father and the male relatives around. They all bit on their fingers and shook their heads. Some had red, bloodshot eyes. For the first time, riots took a member of the family and its reality was too hard to swallow.

That night, as I slept on the rug covered floor on which most of the kids slept, Onyetu held unto me. Onyetu is the daughter of a family friend and also one with who we are from the same village. She kept whispering into my ears that it would be alright but would it be? Everything changed from that day. Nothing ever remained the same. Even in the family. I can count the number of times Philip’s name has been mentioned. Nobody spoke about how he died, at least not to my mother to this day.

My mind was a riot of what I and Philip had done together. The places we had visited, the works I had helped him do in Brother Godwin’s building site and how he had told me how he would go back to the village and return with a wife. He already had a house and had furnished it already. He had taken me there and had told me not to tell anyone. It was our secret. Now the house would never be lived in and he would never have a wife, not anymore.

Death truly is a grim reaper. It goes for unripe fruits and let the ripe ones with evil traits stay hangin on the tree for long.

To be continued…

#JoeyReminisces

Divepen1:
Flow, you're the Moderator's pick of the day. It means your work will be made sticky for the day.. Congrats bro

Thank you so much o....

Update coming up...

Sorrry guys for the delays, working on "me" final project so you understand. I just find time to make an update only. There are days I do that in the library, other days, late at night at home.

Heading to the finale sha.....

Still I Flow... Flow19759

MAY, 2004 (Episode 10)

First wave passed, second wave came and went. The third wave the same thing. We remained in the restroom praying hard. There were no speaking in tongues then but there sure was a lot of sweating. Even after we heard the relative silence outside, we still stayed indoors. It was when my younger brother, Moses started saying something about using the loo that it dawned on us. Before we could react, Moses had pulled his trouser and the sound of his watery faeces made us scamper out of the restroom. It was a bit funny. Yes, we actually laughed in that tensed situation. As we were thinking and talking about the sounds we heard, there was a knock on our gate. Lizzy did not bark. Instead Lizzy started making those sounds that dogs make when they are excited to see a member of the family.

Father stood for a while trying to decide if he should move to the gate or not. But mother as usual had started moving towards the gate. Father had to run and overtook her. He opened the gate and lo and behold, Michael stood there at the gate with a friend of his, Bash with whom they attended the same school. Mother screamed and opened her arms for Michael who entered into it. The way Nigerian people show love sha. If no be nowadays, how many parents dey tell their children say them love them? Highest they do is to make sure that they provide everything for the kid, making sure he lacked nothing. I remember once or twice when we do something wrong, like eating in a neighbour’s house, what our parents would ask is:

“What is it that you want that I cannot provide? All you needed do was to have asked.”

This they say over and over again before the whip starts falling on your skin. Hard love I tell you.

Michael wasn’t smiling when he came in. The only name on his lips was “Zakka”, the short form of Zachariah. When asked why he kept calling the name, he narrated thus:

“After the school was dismissed and seeing that the house was a bit far, we decided to go to Alad’s place (now my elder sister lived behind the former PDP building at Hausawa, along Zoo Road. This place is known for its notoriety in the number of Indian hemp smokers that camped there and the fact that those people displayed weapons of all sorts and are known to harass people who decided to ply the road). When we got there, we knocked and knocked and knocked. I, Bash, Zakka and Husseini. Nobody answered us. Suddenly, from nowhere, a young boy was passing. He told us, pointing to the main road, that it was bad and risky following there. That we should follow through hockey field. (Hockey field is a large expanse of land that was once dedicated to the playing of hockey. It was designed like a mini stadium. It had long been converted to a football field though). We believed him and took that road. Lo and behold, as we were at the middle of the field, Husseini turned back and screamed:

“Michael run, make una run for una life.”

The race started. To God be the glory, the gate of the field had spoilt so was lying down carelessly somewhere. As I started running, I turned back and saw the same boy that had advised us to follow the field leading a hoard of well armed men towards us. Now, some other guys who had sat down at a covering came at us. They tried to tackle us by sliding while we jumped over them evading them like some supernatural force was actually lifting us. I had never felt so light all my life. We were so close to the gate when one guy came out from nowhere with a large rock. I was so close to him and I knew anything that made him release the rock, I would go down flat so I screamed at the top of my voice.

“Dan Allah, kar ka jife ni. Ba abun da na muku fa.”
*I beg you in the name of God, don’t stone me. I did nothing wrong to you people.”

I don’t know what touched him but he actually lowered the huge stone down and went back to where he was smoking his hemp. That was how I escaped. Bash was following closely behind. When we stopped running, we had crossed the Hausawa road into Tudun Maliki. Right there, I saw Bala. He waved at us. He was the one who led us down till we got to the field where we parted. Husseini and Zakka were caught. Husseini is a muslim so he might escape but Zacharia? I pray God saves him.”

It is a testimony but nobody celebrated. There are some testimonies that if you celebrate it, it will look like you are celebrating the ill luck that had befallen someone else. For example, when one escapes a car accident that claimed over a hundred lives, should he go and give a testimony in church considering the fact that some of the people who had died were also members of that church? Thus we celebrated not. We only prayed for the safe return of Zakka and Husseini. Now both Godwin and Alad were far from the house. Henry who worked in Mahaza company would at the end be transported to the barracks by the company’s management. Phillip would also find his way to Bompai barracks too. It was just us that was left and needed finding our way to the barracks but through which road? Was it the road that was blocked and killings was going on with reckless abandon?

Mother entered into the kitchen and made a meal while we waited. When the food was ready, we ate half heartedly. A banging on our gate made us pause eating as father went to the gate to check who it was. It was Godwin, a townsperson. He did not waste time stating his mission. He had come to take us to safety to the house of the Alhaji he worked for. He was a contractor and an architect who designed houses and even helped build them with the help of labourers he hired. He told us to get ready as he would return in the night to take us there so as not to arouse suspicion. The Alhaji (he is late now, died some days after the riots ended), according to him is a good man who would give us shelter pending when we would move over to the barracks.

That night, around 7:00pm, he came to the house true to his words and in no time, we found ourselves in Sabon Madawari. A big white building. It was supposed to house us for the night before he would move us to his own house the next day in that same area. That night was one of the longest I had ever spent awake. The night was long and we slept outside in the sprawling compound. Mosquitoes fed off us and the stench from a gutter that ran nearby was something to contend with. The Alhaji too once in a while lets off a round of gunshot from his double barrel gun. That was to scare away those who had the intentions of burning houses while it was night. None of us got a wink of sleep all through the night till the early morning and by then the worms in our stomachs had already begun growling. Brother Godwin came and picked us. We thought we were going far but it was not to be. His house was just the next street. We got there and there was a huge breakfast waiting for us. Trust us the kids, we delved into the huge bread, the plenty balls of akara and the huge plait of akamu right there and in a twinkle of an eye, we had cleared it.

My elder sister, Alad came over with her husband that evening. She had a tale, a miraculous one. How she and her friends plus her second son who was a couple of months old had escaped the marauders. One thing hung in the air though, we needed to go to Bompai police barracks where it was safer and it was possible to reunite with the rest of the family.

To be continued…

#JoeyReminisces

flow1759:


Its been a while

Yes boss... Iyaf tay.. You made money and forgot us na....

flow1759:

FoxyFlow i hail thee!

Babane! What's the keskey?

smokeydrinky:
Joey, I would suggest you don't Feature it on your facebook o. With the unrest currently brewing in the country..... These extremists haven't changed. Better to err on the side of caution. My opinion though

Let's see how it goes then...

drewsman:
I'll like to add u on Facebook, what's ur ID pls

That's personal. My WhatsApp number is there to contact me with....

MAY, 2004 (Episode 9)

"There is neither Victor nor Vanquished in war. At the end people lose important things, the worse being their humanity."
Joey, 2017

The ferocity with which the chants was carried was enough to chase the soul out of every mortal man and God save if you encounter them at that moment. Your death would be slow and painful. There is never a swift and painless death if they're is anything as a painless death. Calculate close to fifty people chasing just one stranger. If that stranger is caught, a barrage of blows rains down on his from all manner of hard objects. From huge sticks to stones to machetes and finally, he is held down and one of them (The Executioner) slits his throat. Tire is rolled over and dumped over the dying person, his body is doused with enough petrol and he is lit straight up.

The misconception of most people outside the North (The crisis prone areas) is that only the Igbos are attacked. That's a little bit on the ignorant side. Everybody, I repeat, everyone is attacked. The moment you are not Hausa and you are not from the land, you are liable to be killed. Those who are mostly unlucky are the fair folks though. You get labeled "Inyamiri" and your death is hastened. Converted Muslims have been roasted, some waited for peacefully to finish saying their prayers and come out of the mosques before they are transposed to the great beyond. Some are asked to recite a portion from the Holy Book. If you do so and the guys holding you captive are lenient enough, they let you go. Others say you are practicing the watered down version and voila, your head leaves your body. Some people are asked to deny their faith. If they agree, they are made to go through the conversion process before they are helped to attain "paradise".

Neighbors have betrayed neighbors and have led the marauders to them. Others, under the pretext of wanting to save you and your family, take you inside and well, the rest is history, if you live to tell the tale. A little narration from one of my Uncles who left Kano for good.

During the year 2000 riots, he wasn't even aware something was happening until his neighbor came to him. The neighbor told his all that was happening and advised his to come and hide in his room. That uncle of mine followed him and was about to get comfortable for the night when from the corner of his eyes, he saw the other person pulling out a long machete he had carefully concealed in his trouser. Now instead of pleading for his life, my uncle jumped on his and a struggle ensued. My uncle overpowered him and sent him into a long sleep with a pestle. He wore the man's garment dotting the room and with the money on him made his way to the park that night. My uncle is still in the South Western part of the country to this day.

Not everyone is evil though as families have been saved by their good natured neighbors. For example, what happened in the year 2001. Alhaji Bako's presence had made those guys pass the house. Some people have been hidden, dressed in native clothing and smuggled to safe locations. I will get to that part in my narration soon.

Families have been burnt inside their houses, some inside their cars while trying to escape the carnage. Others are slaughtered one after the other. For example, they might start with the man of the house right in front of his wife and kids, then the wife follows suit, then the kids. Sometimes they let one of the kids go to carry the gory news everywhere with the scar on his psychological being very deep. There's been an incidence where the man was killed, his two sons quickly followed and finally, the kid which the woman held in her hand. When they realized that the traumatic experience had rendered the woman insane right before them, they allowed her go. It was instant madness and continuous roaming of the streets before her family found her and took her down to her hometown.

Some families are killed and dumped inside the wells outside their places of residence while those who escaped to nearby police stations do so with deep cuts on some parts of their body. In essence, what I am trying to point out is that, religion doesn't become your saving grace during this riots and clashes. No, God saves you. Anything short of you being a core Northerner automatically sentences you to a gruesome death. At the end of it all, nobody is prosecuted. The criminals go scot free with their crimes. Life just return back to normal awaiting the next time there would be an upheaval. The only steps that those who do not travel out of the State do is to move to Sabon Gari, a place largely populated by non-Indigenes. But for how long will this Jerusalem hold? Not praying for evil though but time reveals all.

************************
The chants got closer and soon the sound of properties outside being destroyed took over the atmosphere. We know how dogs react to noises. First, a dog will bark when it hears a crowd discussing excitedly and passing in front of its house as if to tell them to maintain decorum. But that day, with all the noise, all the screams, all the chants, Lizzy made no sound. Not even a whimper. Father clutched to the hammer tighter and prayed. Soon mother took up the prayer and before long, everyone one of us was praying with our parents. You know that moment when at the time of crisis everyone of your family member is in that region? The feeling is dreadful especially if you are not all gathered in the same place. The only people you could account for are those around you. My elder sister and brother, first and second respectively schooled in FCE at that time. My elder sister was doing her Teaching Practice in one area whose name I've forgotten while my bro lived in Rijiyan Zaki, that Jan Bulo side along BUK road. The third child of my father was working in Mahaza company. Imagine the grief on both my parents and know the area in which their prayers would be channeled. Michael wasn't back too. That makes it four children plus my uncle unaccounted for. The prayer increased with the voices outside.

"Jesus! Save us! Father! Don't let us perish! Deliver us! Save my children. Wherever they are, stay with them! Father!"

Looking back now, I understand the anguish. There is a tightening in my stomach and I seem to be reliving that experience. The rate of my heartbeat is a bit irregular at the moment. I will have to pause here for a while.

This story is also being featured on my Facebook wall. I am having second thoughts about continuing there sha. I will leave the suggestion open here if I should continue or not. I await your response.

To be continued....

#JoeyReminisces

MAY, 2004 (Episode

"Dear God, as we go out in search of our daily bread, may we not become the daily bread of evil people."
Anonymous, 2017

The whole of Shagari Quarters was silent that morning. 13th Street also houses the "Mai Angwa" of the area. The Mai Angwa is like the person in charge, the local chief which all matters is reported to. He used to drive one little Toyota. Our dog, Lizzy was also unusually silent that day. It was that day I came to believe that animals see or perceive the extraordinary. On a very good day, this dog would bark but that day the dog did not. Instead it went to lie down very close to the gate. It's position such that it could spring up on anyone that tries to gain access at anytime from any angle.

"Baba Alad, abu a che ke?"
*Baba Alad, what are we going to do?*

Mother asked my father. He seemed to be in deep thought. We gathered around them. My sister was trembling. I had to scold her, told her to man up and shut up if not she was going to be thrown over the fence. I was joking though. But I was tensed too, not too tensed because the concept of life and death had not really sunk into my brain. The concept of violent death precisely.

"We won't do anything. We would wait here."

Father replied.

"Wait here and allow them come and kill my children for me? God forbid."

Mother returned.

"See, if you can't be patient then go outside. As for me, I am not driving that car anywhere at this moment."

Father said to her. Mother did not wait. She started moving towards the gate. Father followed her calling her. You know that moment some situations make you act irrationally. That was the moment. I followed behind, not because I wanted to but because my leg dragged me. As soon as we got to the gate, Mother pulled it and looked outside. Right there passing in front of our house was the Mai Angwa. Father flagged him down.

"Alhaji, me zamu yi? Ni da yara na muna ciki."
*Alhaji, what should we do? My children and I are inside*

"Kar ku damu. Babu abun da zai faru. Kowai ku zaman ku a ciki."
*Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen. You guys should just stay indoors.*

The Mai Angwa replied and made to drive off. Father turned to my mother and wanted saying something but mother cut him short.

"Ukola amu'Hausa onwu e da du-eti nei le?"
*Is it the words of a Hausa man you want to follow?*

You know the sense of reasoning was deep. Father called out and made the Alhaji to wait. Before he could say something, two young guys came on a Vespa bike.

"Ya Alhaj, ina za ka kuma?"
*Senior brother Alhaji, where are you headed to?*

They asked.

"Ba inda za ni. Kowai zan dan fita ne."
*I'm not going anywhere. I just want to go out a little.*

He replied.

"La ihla a illallahu. Ka ma ka tunani haka. Indai ka bar angwan nan ko, wallahi zasu maka ragarggaza da angwan."
*There is no god but Allah. Don't even habour that thought. If you leave this area, they will scatter everything.*

They replied with dead seriousness in their eyes. My father hearing that knew that things wasn't just funny.

"Alhaji, no go anywhere o."

"Suna hanya zuwa. Ka je ka tare su kafin su iso ta nan."
*They are on their way here. Go and block them before they get to this place.*

With that the young men drove away. Mai Angwa turned and told my father to go inside that he was going to do his best to forestall any attack. That was how they turned. I was standing behind the gate. They walked in and bolted the gate. We all moved towards the main building. Lizzy did not leave her spot. She just laid there. We had not settled down for more than ten minutes when the signature chant came to us strongly. The voices sounded like it belonged to a thousand people. The cries of warriors screaming in Arabic. I will put the translation only.

"There is no god but Allah! God is great!"

Over and over again. You know that moment when the house and the compound becomes unsafe that the only place you could find succour is the rest room? That was exactly what happened. Father pushed us all into the closet while he himself mounted the door, this time not with a machete but a Hercules hammer. He left the door slightly ajar while we braced for the worse. One spectacular thing though, the dog did not bark. If it had, I may not be writing this today. It is generally believed that it is only Christians and people of other tribes that train dogs. So hearing the bark of a dog would have put our house under the radar. I don't know what had shut the mouth of the dog but whatever or whoever had done that did it out of Divine intervention. Lizzy may have passed to the great beyond today but the dog has a huge space in the heart of us all. It was a dog that knew when to bark and when to hold its peace. I hope you are in Animal Paradise Lizzy. Even though you had bitten Moses twice for playing with your bones, you still lived a good life.

The clock kept ticking as the voices got closer while we braced for the worse.

To be continued....

#JoeyReminisces

Silence... The one that breeds death Laughter... Begotten from unshed tears Takes me from one world Throwing me into another One whose power I can't control Just one escape stares me deeply Write every piece of my emotions
Come let's dance together then In this alluring lustful rain Let the water our sin wash away Drowning every bit of us In a basin of pent up pains and anger This may not be the life But the gods have blessed us In their arms would we nestle As they rock us gently Into that deep silence That comes with death
Black clouds hanging up there Tiny glows of electric lamps darting here and there Their warmth draws the insects But far away from our heart it is This is the life we know The one we've been sentenced to Fifty, sixty, seventy and eighty And heaven? Our hearts beat at the thought We don't know and we know
Silence.... The one that comes with death Laughter From pent up anger and frustration
#JoeyWrites


update coming up...

MAY, 2004 (Episode 7)

It was our IRK teacher, Malam Saleh that walked into the class that morning. He is a very tall man or used to look very tall in my eyes. As soon as he came in, he called my sister and I. He told us our mother was outside looking for us. Now this is strange. Mother hardly or had never been to our school since we entered into Secondary school. The only person that had come a couple of times was my father. Not to pay school fees though but when he came to register us initially and pay all the bills. By second term, when we were in JSS2, the banking system was introduced. Every student obtained a teller from the school and head to Union Bank along Zoo/Dangi Road to pay. So saying mother was at the gate was a bit disconcerting. We did not suspect anything bad though. I thought maybe she had forgotten something.

We went outside our class and took the path that led towards the gate. We had to cross a river first. It is more like a drainage system. I don’t even know the source not to talk about where it ended. One can see that stuff as far as Shagari Quarters, 21st Street. As we stepped into the large compound that served as our playground for the secondary section of the school, there, under one of the trees was my mother chatting excitedly (not in a good way o) with the Proprietor, Uncle Charles. As we got closer, I heard my mother saying to Uncle Charles,

“See, the moment I saw them I knew there is trouble. The had huge machetes, sticks and those long sickles. They were all going to the central mosque at Dangi. When I enquired from a neighbor that sells close to me, he said that they were going to pray for the corpses they brought from Jos. Then he further asked me if I wasn’t aware of the Jos crisis. I said I am o but I did not know it was this serious.”

Uncle Charles had his signature smile. The same smile he would wear on his face and still flog you ten strokes of the cane on your buttocks straight without frowning. You would be the one that would either seat on one face of your buttocks or not seat down at all.

“Madam, you are raising unnecessary alarm. You know we see these things daily. Nothing is going to happen.”

He said to my mother in a soothing voice. I smiled as I stood beside them. Mother would definitely have her way and I would be home in no time.

“Ha! You are saying the same thing your brother said many years ago Sir.”

Okay, let me pause here and give a brief history of my school. When I got admitted into the school as a child, it was known as Quality Nursery and Primary School. It was being run by a man called Uncle Philip. He is a member (don’t know if he is anymore though) of Deeper Life Bible Church. So it is natural to find brothers and sisters in the Lord sending their kids to the school. He is a great storyteller. He taught in the children section and we always looked forward to his many stories then as children. Also in that school then as a classroom teacher was Uncle Charles. He was the younger brother to Uncle Philip.

One day we just came to school and we were told that the school has been divided. Not exactly divided though. A new branch had been created on 11th Street, Shagari Quarters and anyone that wants to attend that one is free to. It’s name is Lypson Quality Nursery and Primary School. As kids, we followed our elder brother, Michael to school. By then, our other brother, Henry had passed out and was already schooling in De-larfel secondary school. So when my brother told us that we should go to the new school, we naturally went with him. So my mother knew both the Elder and Younger brother of the Quality Schools.

“He said that?”

Uncle Charles asked.

“Sure, but I did not agree with him like I am not going to agree with you now. I will take my kids with me like I took them too because I did not want a repetition of what happened then to happen now. This time we may not be lucky when we meet these bloodsuckers on the road.”

Mother was adamant.

“Okay Madam, you can take your children but you should know that they are writing Junior WAEC and if they fail it is your fault.”

He played the psychology card on her.

“They are not going to fail. Just watch and see. One thing I am sure about is that those people are coming back and if they do, it is not going to be funny.”

That was how we were handed over to my mother. We got outside to meet our younger brothers, Moses and Ernest outside. I looked at my mother and enquired of our elder brother.

“I no get time go court road go carry am but make we pray say him come house come meet us. Oya hold their Moses make we begin go.”

Michael had left De-Larfel a long time ago and was already schooling at Frambeat. The school is located along Court Road. I don’t know if the school still stands there though. We started our journey while mother told us how the eyes of those people were bloodshot and how one had pointed his machete at her and said:

“Bari dai na dawo na same ki a nan. Ba za ki ji dadin jikin ki ba.”
*Wait till I return and meet you here. You will not find it funny.*

She said she had to close shop and rush to Fountain International School in Tudun Maliki to pick my brothers. They were still in Primary School at that time. She said she had been outside for a while trying to make Uncle Charles see reason but he was just as stubborn as his brother. She prayed that the other students parents come pick them up on time and that God should protect everyone in the school building. A school of over five hundred or more students combining both the Primary and Secondary school together. People were still on the streets as we made our way home to Shagari Quarters. The only thing they did before continuing with their businesses was to ask my mother why she had her kids and the kids of other people. I remember Fatima and Nura Mohammed coming with us. They were our neighbours. Same tribe and their mother is friends with my mother so she did not leave them. Idris also followed us because I told mother we shouldn’t leave them back.

We got home and settled in and soon my father drove into the compound. He had heard about what was about to happen in Mahaza Company, a skin company at Challawa Industrial Estate. As soon as he got in, he asked after my elder brother, Michael. The reply was Michael wasn’t home yet. I could sense the tension in the atmosphere and with the way my father paced up and down, I just knew that it was going to be bloody if not bloodier that the Sharia riots and Osama Bin Laden Riots in the year 2000 and 2001 respectively.

To be continued….

#JoeyReminisces

Updates coming up...!

daremiarchs:
Omg! Joey? From YRC?

Yes...

MAY, 2004 (Episode 6)

We were writing Junior WAEC then. It was that period I came to know that it wasn't the WAEC Board that sets WAEC questions but the Kano State Education Board. I cannot remember the subject we were writing that day but I can still remember a number of my classmates. Classmates that left Kano after that period and had never looked back. There Anthony Izedonmi, Jesse Isibor, the Ibru brothers, Wolimat, Jecinta, name them. They were much. I haven’t been able to make contact with them but I am now friends with Anthony on Facebook. As for Jesse, I have his number on WhatsApp. We were in school that morning. It was after the morning Assembly and JSS3 was waiting for whomever the board would send with their exam questions. I think SSS3 was also writing the Senior WAEC during that period.

“See as this exams dey make sense. Na so their Simeon dey tell us talk say during their time them no fit spell ordinary IS because of the tension.”

Someone said drawing laughter from all of us.

“No mind them. Na because of say them dull.”

Funny enough, this is how most students feel. When they come to a class whose senior had complained about and found it relatively easy, they tend to make fun of the seniors. I was roaming around the class. Typical of me. I had too much energy inside of me and I cannot remember having a permanent seat in class. If I seat at the front today, the following day, you will find me seating at the back. Let me digress a little for the fun of it. Some people are already commenting on the scariness of the story.

Once upon a time, we had this teacher of English Language, Mr. George. He was a no nonsense tutor and could use your own belt to flog the demon out of your body. He was also a good teacher and made his class lively. Our form master then, Mr. Sylvester always referred to him as:

“George, George! George in my house.”

We the students always mimicked this at home but did not dare do it in school. This was because of what would befall us if we tried it. One blessed morning, Mr. George walked into the class and after the routine “good morning Sir, we are happy to see you, may God bless you” greeting, which of a truth we never meant, he told us to seat down. Tell me, which student is happy to see his teacher? And one who doesn’t hesitate to use the cane at that matter?

“Ramatu, come out.”

We were surprised. We wondered what had happened but we did not wait for long to be let into the whole story.

“Abdullahi Badiru, give me your belt.”

Gang an! It has happened.

“So because you saw me in front of your mother’s shop, you had the effrontery to refer to me as George, George, George in my house eh? Do you think we are mate or is it because I joke a lot with you people?”

When the cane fell on her palms, it was until the belt cut into two that he stopped flogging her and for the first time since I knew Ramatu in school, she did not weep. Not even a drop of tear fell out of her eyes and she was so small then. Who would believe that Ramatu who was always scared of canes and hid under the table could chest cane, not just cane, Uncle George’s? I tell you, when you are guilty of something, you don’t really care anymore. You just take the punishment. Looking back now though, I just realized that it wasn’t a good thing to had flogged her that way. It was Nigerian mentality at play.

So that day passed (the day of Ramatu’s reckoning) and life continued. I did not know mine was slowly coming to pass. This time I was at the back. I, Idris Musa and John Adoji. We were actually seatmates or one thing brought us together, women! Uncle George strolled as usual into class and started his teaching. Idris was telling us raunchy tales while John Adoji and I listened with rapt attention. They were not listening to the teacher but I was actually listening and gisting at the same time.

“Joseph, what was the last thing I said?”

You know this normal question? I stood up and answered. He asked Idris a question from what he was teaching but Idris couldn’t answer and same with John. He brought them out and added me as an afterthought. When he asked them what we were discussing about at the back of the class, Idris answered thus, implicating us further.

“Joseph was teaching us how to speak Chinese.”

Who would want to tell the teacher that he was discussing about naked women and girls? The class burst into laughter but Uncle George did not laugh. No, his eyes turned red. The last thing he said before the caning started was:

“You are teaching Chinese in a class that had English Language going on Joseph? Climb that desk, jump and make sure you hang in the air like Iron Monkey. For each time you touch the ground, I will give you ten strokes of the cane. Idris, climb the wall like Spiderman and as for you John Adoji...” he raised a bag very high into the sky, “stretch your leg and make sure it touches this bag.”

For the first time, I knew “Impossibility is something!” Forget that Adidas advert.

To be continued....

#JoeyReminisces

mulan21:
Allah dame it!!!!! Foxy you just made me remember kano gaskiya, Sorry for your loss. But I must say u are a story telling"dan iska' no offence meant. You are good.

Please contact me through my WhatsApp contact. It is on my signature. I seem to be having difficulties signing into my mail and I wonder why....

MAY 2004 (Episode 5)

"You see life, you see destiny? One has a way of fucking the other up."
Joey, 2017

Kano was relatively peaceful after we moved to Shagari Quarters. The executive Governor of the State, Dr. Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso made sure the presence of security was felt. You would see truckloads of military guys patrolling every Friday to forestall any attack that would begin after the Jumat prayers. It was also during that period that a strong integration was built between the Hausa and the Fulani. There, the Hausa-Fulani came to be.

To be candid, everyone that wasn't from Kano loved Kwankwaso to the core. People could not wait for 2003 elections to reelect him for a second tenure. I was a kid then but I campaigned massively for Kwankwaso during the campaign periods for him amongst my friends and colleagues. The downturn thing though was what we overheard the Hausa people saying.

"Ai bai zai ci zabe nan ba. Tin da bai bar mu ci uban arnaye nan ba."
*He is not going to win the election since he refused us killing these infidels!*

That statement has a thousand meanings attached to it so we expected the worst. A relatively unknown Mallam Ibrahim Shekarau, came out of the blues under the platform of ANPP to defeat Kwankwaso in the gubernatorial elections. It was crazy. There was a wild jubilation. The people had gotten their heart desires. Kwankwaso had to step aside for Shekarau to take the reins of leadership. We expected the worst but how the worst came, we did not expect. It was so lethal and devastating. I will tell you about it.

As a kid, I had always been keen on politics. Not one who argues but I was an avid reader. I consumed any and everything. There was no way I wouldn't pick a piece of newspaper on the ground. I used this to keep myself updated on the happenings around the country or at most I watch the television. Initially father made me do it but along the line I took interest and always looked forward to NTA news by 9pm. When AIT came to Kano, it made things easier. But who knew that NTA wouldn't talk about the crisis brewing in Jos in the year 2004. I heard about it as discussions from our neighbors. They said something about killings and revenge killings. Lest I skip this part, our Uncle was staying with us.

His name was Phillip. My mum's brother. He worked in Sharada Phase 2 in one of the numerous companies sprawled around the industrial area. He had worked with a Sweet producing company before proceeding to work with Nigeria Pipeline or something close to that. It was a company that produced pipes. He would leave the house early in the morning and return in the evening after we came back from school. Even though he was annoying sometimes, he was totally fun to be with and mother always gisted with him. He had gotten his own place and was preparing to move out of the house. He was even talking about a wife and from the little snippet I got from their discussions then, he was married earlier but his wife had left him and returned to her father house. That was one of the many reasons he had left our hometown and relocate to Kano State.

That morning he had woken up and while we got set for school he was extraordinarily playful. He kept cracking jokes and was not in a hurry to go to work. Even when mother had told him several times. He still wasn't listening to her.

"Ehen, Iye Aladi, u nona ni uda mu'ako."
*Ehen, Mama Aladi, I dreamt I was catching flying termites.*

He told mother. He had a smile on his face. I looked at my mother. I knew dreams had significance and mother placed a lot of priority on this. Her dreams always come to pass but then, I did not know about my Uncle's.

"What?!"

Mother wasn't smiling. I could see a mixture of fear and anxiety on her face. Phillip only shrugged. I will write this one in English, I no know how to put am for Language abeg.

"Your dream means that someone will die in your place."

Wow, what an interpretation. It was the first time I was hearing that. Once upon a time I used to take my dreams serious but along the line, I just realized that my wild imaginations follows me to bed. I don't know about others but as a child and even as an adult I dream impossible things. If I am not Superman today, I am Batman tomorrow or I will find myself chilling with beautiful models. But I have a knack of giving accurate predictions but it doesn't come to me in my dreams. It comes as a flash and I just say it. Very accurate I tell you.

"I know that is the interpretation. We were told that as kids. But the truth is I don't want anybody to die for me. If it is death, let me die and go and rest."

Uncle Phillip answered mother casually. The way he said it without any care in the world kind off untied the knot that was tying in my stomach.

"Stop saying that you this boy. That is how you will be playing with serious things." Mum held her ear. "Don't go to work today. Leave it till tomorrow. I believe you can always tell them that you were sick." she added.

"No, I have to go to work. I will see you this evening."

With that he hung a towel around his neck and went into the bathroom while I left for school with my sister. Top Quality College located at Tukuntawa. The day was bright and rain had not really started falling in Kano then.

To be continued....

#JoeyReminisces

Good morning... We are back online. Phew... How una dey my people? Well, I received y'all condolences with a pure mind. God bless all of Una...

MAY 2004 (4)

Dedicated to my Aunt...

"Everyone is a storyteller, the problem is not all have found their audience."
Joey, 2017

It was quicker to forget the riots because my family was not directly affected. Lives returned to normal and everyone soon started mixing with everyone again like nothing ever happened. The only thing was my father sending us to school in Abuja. My sister and I had finished primary school then and according to him, it was better starting a new life in Abuja. Not really a new life but that we should be far from the family and also in a safe place.

Before going to Abuja though, we went to my hometown. There was a wedding. My aunt, the younger sister of my father got married. Painful thing is, I received news of her death today. I am still in shock. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen! I will forever miss her. Some things I know today, I learnt from her. My family is a family of story tellers. Everyone knows how to paint vivid pictures. My aunt had her own style. She talks with a faraway look in her eyes. She had seen a lot I tell ya.

On our return from Abuja, the landlord of the house passed on and his children sold the house. Quit notice was served and we had to move out. The destination was Shagari Quarters, 13th Street, house number 263. Before I and my sister returned from Abuja, we already had a dog in the house. Lizzy was its name. Beautiful half breed fair dog. Loved that dog to the core men.

Shagari Quarters unlike Tudun Maliki is more quiet and more serene. One thing about it sha was the mind your business mentality that everybody had. Since all the houses were fenced people minded their businesses. Nobody looked out for anybody and most adults stayed inside. The only people that came out were kids and young boys that loved football. Almajiris hardly entered into the houses and they were less. There is another area after Shagari Quarters called Madille.

I will have to pause here today. The words are not coming together to string this story. The death of my aunt weighs heavily on me. I keep thinking about how I will never see her again. Her trademark laughter and how she reminds me so much of my dad, like the feminine side of him. Their walk is the same and how they talk. So deep.

A tribute to her:

DEATH...
Look upon me
Yes, cast your gaze here
I want us to talk
In words we'd understand

Do you know
That you bring pains
And have caused tears
Sorrows and more deaths?
Your coming bring it
For the heart loves
And yearns
And follows to the grave.

You stole her away
No excuse
No warning at all
You just did

Tell me
If there is something greater than you
That comes to steal your loved ones
Will you be glad?
Will you sing songs too
And stay awake all night?
Will you watch dried eyes
As the earth swallows up your people?

In the end though
The good book says
You will be swallowed in hell
You and all that brings pains

Dear aunt
I know you are safe now
The pains all gone
The place better
From heaven you'll watch
Look over us
And when our hearts beats
You will whisper through the wind
To tell us it is all right.

Will miss you Aunty....
Rest in peace....

To be continued...

#JoeyReminisces

Bankz007:
my brother..... i say I must write on ur thread o....cause all what was happening that day I was there,I witness all...it was even our house that was burnt.......yes that house facing the zoo....
if u don't mind please chat me up on whatsapp maybe we knew each other then....and I can still give u my own side of de story to add to ur.(if u don't mind).
07031344656.

I will get there pretty soon then I will leave the thread open...

MAY 2004 (3)

Here, we waited patiently. Tension was everywhere. Kids did not involve themselves in that game. We were busy playing with ourselves or crowding around the adults to hear their stories. They told stories of all the riots they had witnessed. Others told stories of the Civil War. Reinhard Bonkhe's story took the lead. How he had placed a curse on the State of Kano and how the curse is manifesting. It was crazy. The reason behind the curse they had said was because of the fact that he was chased from Kano with only a shoe on his leg. Strange story I tell you.

It was also during that time frame that the "men" in the house started talking about defending themselves and not folding arms and allowing themselves to be slaughtered like cattle.

"See, for Kaduna, we no deh allow them. Na arrow for arrow, bullet for bullet and knife for knife. If them do anyhow, na so we dey follow them with fire."

Baba Sarah said that morning. Yes, it was still morning because of the whole unrest.

"Na only mouth them get. If them see gun self, them no go fit operate am."

Someone chipped in drawing approval from others. I believed that talk too. Maybe because I had not experienced what shooting was like or did not see the distant future and the emergence of Boko Haram. That theory has long been proven wrong. Train a dog well and it will definitely shoot a gun for you.

"Make we prepare. Once them come, the women and the children go enter bush (there is this uncompleted building that was overgrown with bushes that laid to the left of the compound. Another was by the right.) while the rest of us go face them man for man."

Boy was I proud to be in that gathering. I saw courage speaking but looking back now, I realized that it was being done for the sake of the women and children. To give them a false feeling of safety. Let me digress a little to the future, 20th January, 2012 to be precise. When the attacks on virtually every police barracks in the city of Kano was going on, we stayed in the house and contemplated. It was that moment when the gunshots sounded like it was getting closer that my brother's friend suggested we build bombs of our own. We had petrol, bottles and pieces of rags. You got it, monotov cocktail. According to him, we shouldn't go down without a fight. And we built it. Well, it gave us a false sense of safety but we knew we stood no chance if the AK47s come blazing.

My father was the first to go into the house. He returned with six machetes. New ones. I know he had one, where the remaining five materialized from still remains a mystery. Then Baba Sarah went into his own room and returned with a sword. An actual sword that is sheathed. Baba Ify brought his own and very soon everyone in the compound was crawling out with his own weapon. As kids we were elated. I in particular was proud of my dad. He had set the pace. Come what may, if the attackers should gain access into the compound, I will pick my own weapon since the number of weapons was more than the number of the actual users.

Moments later we started hearing chants. God, the silence that crept into every one of the adults is better imagined.

"Shey telephone dey this compound. Make we call police."

Brilliant idea from my father. Three of the adults, a woman and two men plus my father rushed into the room that had a land-line. Cellular phone (not handset as it is presently called) was not in vogue then. I had seen Hajiya making use of it. Big wireless stuff. I managed to follow them into the flat without drawing attention. Whilst inside, my father dialed the number of the police and was speaking calmly. Others stood by the window and was peeking outside. Alhaji Bako, an Alhaji and a neighbour opposite the compound sat in front of his house with a friend.

"Thank God say Alhaji Bako dey there. Nothing go happen. Him no go allow them enter the compound."

Someone seemed to be saying. It was the same moment that the ferocious chanting got so close. Father that was all gentlemanly on the phone changed his voice.

"You mean there is no petrol? See, come with your men, I will pay for the fueling. Come with everything, we are under attack!"

If the policeman at the other end had heard and acted, I know not to this day. What I remember is sighting the 'yandabba for the first time in my entire life. They were much and their weapons was mad, like really mad. Their voices sounded like the roars of the lions that were caged in the zoo a little distance from the house. My mouth was agape as they passed while my father kept trying to convince the police. The bad guys passed and the house was not attacked, all thanks to God and maybe, Alhaji Bako.

That night my father packed us all in the car and straight to Bompai barracks we went. We only heard stories and shared stories on our return the following morning.

The story did not end there. And in case you are wondering, it was a spill over of the Sharia riots in Kaduna. Three years later, 2004, another carnage took place, the starting point being Jos, Plateau State. This time we were in a different location and yes, we were in school too.


To be continued...
#JoeyReminisces

shurley22:
Following....

Sannu da zuwa

Davidhero:
Following...

Nice work Joey, you write well.

#HeroicDeeds

Thank you bro... Enjoy the ride...