₦airaland Forum

With blood gushing from his head, he later saw the light of the day after months of being in captive, the street in which he found himself was strange to him, the people look frayed and haggard, Father Sixtus is in the street of Somali after being taken into captive by the much dreaded terrorist- Al qa'eda in Islamic Magrib (AQIM) from his cathedral in Mombasa, Kenya. Father sixtus is an octogenarian clergyman who is forthright and prominent critic of the group, they raided his cathedral at the wee hours of a sultry Sunday, 24 June, 2002. Seminarians and reveren sisters were among the 24 people killed during the raid. The whereabouts of Father Sixtus was unknown as the forensic unit couldn't identify him among the dead nor casualties, macabre blanketed the whole of the communities, it was until a video clip released by the leader of the group, Abu al Islam, that the location of Father, as he was fondly called was known. Father Sixtus passed through different phases of torture to give up his faith- from waterboarding to solitary confinement, his escapades is still untold in any media because of the controversies sorrounding it, on the day of his escape, he was bludgeoned with rods and booth kicks to the mouth and the head but like the saying goes in a bag of spoilt groundnut there must be a relatively good one, a servant known a Omar masterminded his escape. Father Sixtus was cunningly moved to the back of a rickety, brown, Ford truck. He was maneuvered by Omar to the rear of the truck where clothes of the terrorists is been moved to a laundry that is mile away from there base. Father Sixtus climbed down from the truck with utmost dexterity- that's a hunger for freedom. When he climbed down from the moving truck unknowingly to him he fell on the foot of a NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) soldier, almost lifeless and gasping for speed as if he went on a cross country race. Onlookers scampered at the sight of him with his much bloodstained cassock but the soldiers was quick to garner courage in rescuing him and as well engaging the terrorist on shootouts. Father Sixtus was flown home to Kenya receiving one of the best welcoming celebration in the history of Kenya, he dined with president Kenyatta and wined with survivors of the horrendous attack in his cathedral. In 2005, Father Sixtus became one of the peace envoy in East Africa established by the UN.
In memory to those who lost their lives in different attacks by Al Shabab and AQIM.

Written by: Ejioffor, Ikechukwu
Alias Lionet
University of Nigeria, Nsukka

A lioness. UNN is proud of you.
I personally recommend the book for everyone. Ifemelu vs Obinze

"Mama bought me shoes yesterday, it is blue"
"O cool, mama didn't buy any for us, she said that she is impecunious, that she has no money and papa too is not saying anything yet,"  Chimezie replied to me in that deprived tone of his.  Chimezie, 7, was a friend of mine, and a neighbor, we shared things and most times complete each other sentences. With is oily skin and large head you can easily tell where he hails from, Anambra, the commercial center of Eastern Nigeria.  He has never been worried and perplexed like the yuletide season, he has now inculcated that habit of withdrawing from me, now that I needed him most so wheel can ride bicycle wheels and pay seek and hide with other compound mates.

In the evening of of Christmas eve, we went our desperate ways, he went to his mother to help her fry the chin-chin she was baking, whilst I went to my mum to help her in frying the chicken-the best part of it is when my mum will be talking to Nessi so that I will sharply cut a large chunk of meat and stuff it in my mouth, even if she found out she can't tell me to vomit it.
Me and Nessi will start fathoming and creating images of how the next day will be, waking up in the wee hours of Christmas, sweeping the compound, taking bath and putting on our newly acquired clothes.  That night always seem like a long night ever, out of desperation I would force my self to sleep, woke up every 30 minutes hoping that it's already dawn. I would seat at the edge if the bed, mumbling and lamenting for the next day to come, later I would recline to my bed, writhing in frustration of the night. Immediately I heard the cock squeak I would jolt out of my bed and sneek peek through the window to see the sun rise, Nessi, wake up it is Christmas, I would shout in exhilaration. Yay, Christ is born, happy christmas, Chimezie would say immediately he knocks at the door.

We would go to Chimezie's house to greet their parents, the kids were all wearing long faces and folded arms while their parent's eye were fixated on their telly. "Good afternoon sir and ma," I said, "Good afternoon Zech and Nessi, how are you," Chimezie's father would ask, instead of Nessi to reply the question she would bursh it off, "Aunty, gbara m Christmas, aunty give us Christmas present," Nessi said. They ushered us to their table and serve us rice, meats, chin-chin and other hors d'oeuvre but we won't eat the food instead we would eat the meats and little chin-chin because we still have other places to go to, so we would rather accept meats than foods so that our stomach won't burst. After eating Chimezie would follow us to other rendezvous to see friends, I gave him my plastic rimmed eye glass and fez cap so he could add to his last year outfit in order for him to look like a 'niggar, 2pac or even P square.'

Christmas is always delectable when you are a teenager, when you become old it will kind of bore you because it might run down your account trying to shop for the kids so they won't feel inferior like Chimezie.

You can still read the focal point of this story by reading d part 2 of it.

www.samsonmikel..com

It will do good to read it to warm your brain and it will also do good if u dnt- so you won't bothered about things that indirectly affect you

It was during the rainy season in the city of
Jos, Plateau State, located in the north central of Nigeria, with a relatively cold temperature, ringed by high mountains and valleys- a good reason people in Jos are athletic.
On 27th November, it was a public holiday in
the whole of Plateau State due to the
chairmanship and councillorship election that was scheduled on this day. Me, my house mates and some fellows from other lodges made arrangement to go swimming since we are not eligible to vote because we didn’t register our voters’ card in the state. Behind my Lodge, Mountains elicited it beauty, deep down the mountains there is a waterfall that produces sweet, cold and neat water with a very high current. We bought meat and juices, took our bags piled them with cream, combs, short wears and chocolate bars. I and a friend, Miracle alias Akpako started hiking the mountain so we could swim as much as we could before the rest would come to join us.
When we reached the peak of the mountain
we took a view of miles, to see what our eyes
could see, the serenity of Jos metropolis,
voters queuing up getting ready for the
electoral proceedings, scanty security men
milling around the whole places, we could even see some part of Bauchi state especially Yelwa, a bordering town. After taking panoramic view of the whole scene, we started straight to the God-made swimming pool. We pull off our shirts and trousers and left with
only shorts with our manhood dangling in it.
Coming from the north-west region where
things like this are uncommon, I had no
dexterity in swimming while Akpako from a
riverine area can even float on water, after
swimming for about 10 minutes, we agreed to
take a break before the others arrive, we got
out of the water shivering of cold, gnashing
our teeth, when we scurried out of the water
we went directly to where we kept our clothes
but they have grown legs, they have vamoose,
immediately fear gripped us, we became
frightened as hell, short of words and
devastated. We started quizzing ourselves as
if that will help solve the problem, ‘’could it be
that the monkeys in this mountain took away
the clothes,” Akpako inquired, ’’no jor, it can’t
be’’, I retorted. We couldn’t run back to the
water or even make a move to get back to our
lodge because we were all soaked in water
with our shorts clenching to our body thereby
revealing the shapes of our manhood and the
bisect of our backside. We summoned courage
and started searching every nook and
crannies, tree tops in case the monkeys to it
there but all our effort to finding the clothes
were futile. We almost gave up all hope of
finding the missing wears by sun-drying our
wet bodies, but something happened, we
started hearing some jeering laughter behind
us; it was my friends, the ones we have been
waiting for.
We later learnt they have been around for over 30 minutes, that was when they cart away the
clothes. We clustered in the little pool that was
half the size of a standard swimming pool. We
lasted longer this time until we got exhausted,
we made our way out of the water and settled
for meat, no one knew it was a dog meat until
we consumed all of it, some of us tried to
vomit the meat but we couldn’t, some even
cursed the dude that brought the meat, but of
what relevance? The deed has been done. We
chatted about it and blamed it all on our
gluttony too. We creamed ourselves, done our clothes and also performed the same ritual again, panoramic sight, it was the same in terms of serenity, voters are now dispersing with no sign of disappointment or hiccup.
This must be a peaceful, free and fair election, the type we have been striving to have.

After our yesterday escapade, we were
exhilarated and curious in our state of being,
every occupant in my lodge tuned to their
favorite radio station-rhythm fm, Ray power,
PRTV fm, et al. I, on my own side was totally
oblivious and lackadaisical as to the political
happenings in the state, let to talk of a low-
key election as such.
I picked up my blue rubber bucket to go fetch
water at a nearby well- you don’t need a
drawer to fetch water from the well, all you
have to do is to stoop and scoop the water
with your bucket without any hurdle. I fetched
my water and trudge to Bola’s lodge to get my
note books, passed through a motor park that
is always cramped with travelers but the park
was deserted and I was a little bit perturbed
but I shrugged it off until a woman in her 50s
with a flaccid bosom and wrinkled face walk to
me and started asking some question in her
native language, Anaguta ,I smiled and told
her in Hausa that I don’t understand what
she’s saying , that was when she code-switch
to Hausa language, “don’t go anywhere my
son, I heard that the city is in turmoil,’’ this
what she told me in her words, trepidation
crept in and I rushed back to my street as a
matter of fact, I was about to pick my bucket
when a man with stab wound on his back
came rushing towards where I was standing
narrating how he miraculously escaped mob
action in Zololo, a densely populated muslim
street-just about 200metres to Terminus
market, I was shaking, half-listening as he
narrated his ordeal, and before I could
recollect my far gone memory in not less than
twenty minutes the whole place went dead,
and dark smokes can be seen enveloping the
cloud from afar, I notified my good buddy,
Chucks about the bizarre happenings and
rushed back to my lodge to convey the news
to my house mates and also to save my
documents by carrying them along. Fehintola
and Jennifer were already dressed and set for
the day’s lecture when I shook them with the
news, that carries fire and macabre, I scurried
into my room to rummage some of my papers,
before I could say the next word that was
hanging on my neck the two girls were gone,
but to where? I asked around and no one saw
them. I asked for my friend, Chucks but he’s
vanished, I tried desperately to reach his
phone line but it was dead, before I know it
waves had conveyed the news to my parents
without my own consent, Mum called me on
phone and I declined her call, then dad’s but
this time I picked it an told him that my street
was calm, again mum called for the second
time and I did same by lying- white lie though.
This was how it started. The area boys
mobilized themselves with whatever weapon
they could lay their hands on and started
setting shops that were owned by Muslims
alight (they scampered and left their shops
and some trucks in the park). In time of crisis
even the most virgin heart that can’t kill a rat
turns into the most venomous snake, I pulled
off my faded jean trouser with my phone in it
and hurled it over a house I don’t know it
occupant, picked up a long stick that has the
shape of a hockey stick-curved end, the
elders in kunga1 of Naraguta village gingered
us to move to the warfront and protect the
village and churches that it house, we
matched forward hurling grenades, arrows
and shooting age-long guns, the other
opponents from Zololo are doing the same.
Causalities were recorded, death toll
increased, business centers turned into debris,
houses were on fire; all from both sides. It was
during this crisis that I got to know that Jos
women posses granite heart than their men-
so turgid, some of the women were supplying
stones and water for the thirsty while some are
in the warfront chanting war songs, I also get
to know that size is not might, inside cultists
they ‘re cultism, most able bodied and giant
students in kunga1 were nothing but chaff,
they had no value as they ‘re scared to their
pants they left us, the miniature creatures to
protect them whilst they were hiding, clutch to
their feeble minded girlfriends, only few of the
over 20 cultist in the area came out with their
short guns to repel the attackers. My friend,
I.P lost his uncle to the fight that lasted for
over 6 hours, his uncle has already told him
about his mission-to protect a church and
also pleaded with them to help pay his debtors
the money he’s being owing them. I.P’s uncle
left his kunga2 residence to kunga1 where the
church’s located, he and some other men
garrisoned the place but when the situation
got intense they scamper and left him with the
church of which the attackers burnt together
with him. I.P swore to us when we went to
commiserate with him that he would seek
retribution of which of which he did because
they were secret killings in the area in ensuing
days. Jimmy and Emmanuel sustained
different degree of injuries from a swollen knee
(he’s struck by a stone) to a bullet wound on
his shoulder. I was lucky to have escaped
some stray bullets flying over my head
because I was crawling so low. It took almost
forever before intervention came from the
Nigeria military force, and this was when
dialogue that had a nix effort began, a b-b
curfew was also put in place.
Gideon offered me a round -the -street tour
where he showed me all the mess, the burning
and the lootings, we later digressed to a more
entertaining discourse, hence to divert my
attention from the objects of reality. We
passed a bend where shops were looted and
burnt down, egg shell scattered everywhere,
tins of peak milk that has already been used,
‘’Guy, look down, ’’Gideon said to me without
any sign of panic, I looked down as he
commanded and I immediately staggered
behind him. It was a burnt man, we call him
’Aboki’ because that’s what Hausa people are
fondly called in Jos and other
Non-Hausa speaking states. Narrating how
Aboki got burned to death, Gideon told me that
when his other fellow Hausa men were running
for their lives he stayed behind in his
warehouse garrisoning his raw yam and egg
which he do fry to sell to us, student favorite,
when the locals noticed him, he took to his
heel, when he noticed they were coming for
him.
Aboki ran to my friends lodge, khalito
momento, khalito hid him in his toilet but when
the locals came knocking at khalito’s door
post, to khalito’s surprise his local friend
threatened to kill him if he don’t produce
Aboki, khalito in his mid- twenties cried like a
baby and handed Aboki to them, they poured
fuel on him and set him alight, he was dying
slowly until khalito’s friend finally took his
arrow, he was finally sedated. I was really an
eye sore, seeing a man burnt beyond
recognition with an arrow pricked to his chest.
When the dust settled, after two days of the
comatose, I made up my mind to go home,
because I was nostalgic. During the last two
days we were forced to live indoor with no
water and food except for the eggs in bags my
friends loot from a full-to-beam trailer, so we
all settled for the eggs, Sometimes we fry them
but when our vegetable oil got finished we
started boiling it, funny as it may sound we
couldn’t differentiate the stench oozing from
our room and the farts from our butts, I think
all the eggs we ate broke down into bad air in
our stomach because everyone of us
developed a bulge stomach, we couldn’t visit
the lavatory. Only farts.
News later got to us about chucks, while he
was standing and waiting for me he saw an
almost empty bus travelling to Gombe, he took
that chance and boarded the bus, and it was
almost a fry pan to fire experience for him
because Gombe state was wearing a hostile
face that morning.
For Fehintola and Jennifer it was a different
story altogether, funny as it may sound, it was
an escape embedded on exchange theory.
They were running on their toes when they
saw a muslim Fulani woman with her two year
old daughter (her husband had fled that
morning) also trying to evade the scene.
Fehintola took the baby from her as they
trudge towards zololo, a haven for the Fulani
woman, but what about fehintola and Jennifer,
how about their safety? The Fulani woman
depicted her benevolence by taking off her
hijab and gave it to Fehintola , pulled that of
her daughter and gave it to Jennifer,
Immediately they took a change of name.
Fehintola became Halimat and Jennifer
transfigured to Aisha, this was how they move
freely in zololo in the guise of being a muslim,
until they got to Abuja hostel of the university
of Jos.
When everything seemed like it has cooled off,
I rummaged for my belongings, and some were
intact while others has been stolen. I arranged
them in a big Ghana-must-go bag and left for
the park by 4pm (Just not to catch up with the
curfew) for tomorrow early morning bus. There
was nowhere for me to lodge, so I had to
sprayed cartons on the floor and use my bag
as a pillow, lying there with other folks in the
middle of the night with hubbub of dogs
barking, mosquitoes producing agonizing
noise in my ears and sulking blood.
This is my story, this was how it turned sour
and this was how something that was political
turned into a religious ceisis within a wink of
an eye.

Americanah- Chimamanda Adichie

Inferno-Dan Brown

Skipping Christmas- John Grisham

I am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced- Nujood Ali

Allah is not Obliged- Birahima

A time to Kill- John Grisham