₦airaland Forum

Uptownerd:
So who wrote the story now that you are dead

TOPMAN4LIFE:
See stop your rant there,
The story is not different from evil things Muslims/ Islam have been doing in every part of the world.
Islam is a curse to the world

atrix4g:
This is not Islam and can never be islam.
I would rather nairaland push things that would support harmonious relationship between tribes and religion.
This is not true and would only fuel more rancor among younger bloods who are naive and cannot decipher the truth.
Nairaland is gradually becoming a safe haven for liars to vent their lies to the world all in the name of stories.
Shame on you all.

Uptownerd:
So who wrote the story now that you are dead

Blakjewelry:
It is not even captivating sef, I didn't read 1 quarter before I got tired
The story sounds fake as you continue reading.

tonystark007:
It was today! Everyone called it the biggest crusade the community have ever seen.

My cousins, my uncle, his wife & my baby brother, watched silently as I wore my “Christian clothes” & prepared for revenge against the infidels

But I was confused. Christians didn’t unalive my parents. Terr0rists did.

My name is Amira, I’m 15.

5 years ago, terrorists wiped out my village in Borno. My parents hid my little brother & I inside a dry well while they were brutally murdered outside.

I watched everything.

Watched them beat my father badly, and tied him up, while they violated my mother one by one before finally cvtting off her head.

Then they cvt off his legs, set him on fir3 & laughed as he bvrned to d3ath

I pressed my brother tightly to my chest, covering his eyes and blocking his ears from my father’s screams.

After that night, survivors brought us to Lagos, where my uncle Bashiru and his wife raised us. Slowly, I learned to smile again.

Until Kabiru arrived and everything changed.

One morning, I caught him staring at me strangely, and goosebumps covered my body. I never liked him, so I warned my brother, now 10, to stay away from him but he never listened.

They were always together & Kabiru kept taking him to the mosque & teaching him to pray.

I began to feel my uncle and aunt were afraid of him because before then, going to the mosque had always been optional. Nobody forced religion on us, and I only prayed when I wanted to. They were Muslims mostly in name.

But suddenly, everything changed. I had to cover my head with a hijab, wear Muslim clothes, and pray constantly.

Then one night, after speaking privately with my uncle and aunt, Kabiru told me it was finally time to avenge my parents.

I was happy… For five years, I had dreamed about revenge. Maybe Kabiru wasn’t so bad after all if he cared enough about my parents to want justice for them.

But my aunt was crying, and my uncle refused to look me in the eye. I was confused. Wasn’t he happy that his brother would finally be avenged?

Until he explained how.

There would be a crusade in one week. I was to wear a b0mb vest, disguise myself as a Christian, and detonate it during the altar call. Sending as many infidels to he|| as possible

“Wait… what?”
I looked at my uncle and aunt but they looked away

Then, he said, I would wake up in heaven as a virgin, married to a warrior & prince, while my parents would be honored because of my sacrifice.

“I don’t understand. U want me to ki|| myself & innocent people? But they didn’t do anything to—”

The slap that followed nearly blinded me. He was shouting but I couldn’t hear. My ear was ringing badly.
Gradually, his words became clearer.

He said Lagos has spoiled me & he wished I had di3d with my parents in Borno cos I had become a disgrace and was no longer a true Muslim.

I stood up crying & said no. I told him I’d never become a svicide b0mb3r or unalive innocent people cos I’m not a monster.

He laughed…

Next thing, he started b3ating me. He kick3d me repeatedly until I could barely stand, then dragged me into my room & violated me the same way my mother was violated 5 years ago.

The next morning, he returned with six others whom he called my cousins. One wore a mask.

One after another, they violated me.

When the sixth man was on top of me, as he was vibrating and shaking, his mask slipped off, and I saw his face.

It was uncle Bashiru!

I refused to cry.
My silence became my only weapon. My only act of defiance.

So I stared directly into his eyes the same way my mother had stared at those terrorists years ago and said nothing.

Afterward, Kabiru warned me:
“If you refuse again, your little brother will take your place.”

That was when I remembered the last thing my parents ever told me:

“Protect your brother, Amira.”

So I whispered:
“Okay. I’ll do it.”

He smiled. One by one, they left.

Uncle Bashiru never spoke to me again after that night. Neither did my aunt. She only brought food and water to my room while avoiding my eyes in shame and guilt.

That’s how I knew she knew exactly what her husband had done.

And now, it was today.

Kabiru was showing me how to activate the b0mb. The vest was already strapped tightly to my body. One of the same cousins who had violated me was the one who fastened it.

The others sat around smiling casually, making jokes and small talk. They told me not to worry because my virginity would be restored once I reached heaven. They said my parents and my new husband would be proud of me.

Uncle Bashiru and his wife just watched silently.

Kabiru explained that I should wait until what the infidels called the altar call or testimony session was happening.

Then I would walk forward as if I wanted to give my life to Isa or share a testimony. At that moment, I was to shout, “Allahu Akbar,” and activate the vest.

Then they asked if I had any last wish.

Quietly, I nodded and asked to see my brother.

He walked in slowly. His eyes were swollen, and I knew he had been crying.

I hugged him tightly and asked him to do one last favor for me.

He nodded.

So I told him to go buy shawarma and Cold Stone ice cream for us so we could eat together. One final supper.

He smiled immediately. Those were his favorite things. Mine too.

Uncle Bashiru handed him money, and he rode off on his bike.

The moment I heard the gate close, I looked around the room again.

I no longer saw family.
Only monsters.
No different than the terr0rists who destroyed my village and unalived my parents.

I checked the time.
Ten minutes had passed since my brother left.

“Amira,” Kabiru called, “do not fail us. You know what will happen if you do.”

They were all staring at me, waiting for a response.

I looked at every single one of them and smiled back.

Then I shouted:

“Allahu Akbar!”

The fear on their faces…the shock!

The satisfaction…

That was the last thing any of us ever saw as I detonated the b0mb.

The End

Ajebo Writer

©️Kingdavid Chinaeke Ofunne

erad:
Y'all need to do better.

Like seriously.

Nastrademus:
If you're a true Muslim, speak against terrorist using Islam to spread their terror, this might not be you but terrorism has given Islam a bad name

ceeceeuwa:
She wrote it from the other side 😄

tonystark007:
It was today! Everyone called it the biggest crusade the community have ever seen.

My cousins, my uncle, his wife & my baby brother, watched silently as I wore my “Christian clothes” & prepared for revenge against the infidels

But I was confused. Christians didn’t unalive my parents. Terr0rists did.

My name is Amira, I’m 15.

5 years ago, terrorists wiped out my village in Borno. My parents hid my little brother & I inside a dry well while they were brutally murdered outside.

I watched everything.

Watched them beat my father badly, and tied him up, while they violated my mother one by one before finally cvtting off her head.

Then they cvt off his legs, set him on fir3 & laughed as he bvrned to d3ath

I pressed my brother tightly to my chest, covering his eyes and blocking his ears from my father’s screams.

After that night, survivors brought us to Lagos, where my uncle Bashiru and his wife raised us. Slowly, I learned to smile again.

Until Kabiru arrived and everything changed.

One morning, I caught him staring at me strangely, and goosebumps covered my body. I never liked him, so I warned my brother, now 10, to stay away from him but he never listened.

They were always together & Kabiru kept taking him to the mosque & teaching him to pray.

I began to feel my uncle and aunt were afraid of him because before then, going to the mosque had always been optional. Nobody forced religion on us, and I only prayed when I wanted to. They were Muslims mostly in name.

But suddenly, everything changed. I had to cover my head with a hijab, wear Muslim clothes, and pray constantly.

Then one night, after speaking privately with my uncle and aunt, Kabiru told me it was finally time to avenge my parents.

I was happy… For five years, I had dreamed about revenge. Maybe Kabiru wasn’t so bad after all if he cared enough about my parents to want justice for them.

But my aunt was crying, and my uncle refused to look me in the eye. I was confused. Wasn’t he happy that his brother would finally be avenged?

Until he explained how.

There would be a crusade in one week. I was to wear a b0mb vest, disguise myself as a Christian, and detonate it during the altar call. Sending as many infidels to he|| as possible

“Wait… what?”
I looked at my uncle and aunt but they looked away

Then, he said, I would wake up in heaven as a virgin, married to a warrior & prince, while my parents would be honored because of my sacrifice.

“I don’t understand. U want me to ki|| myself & innocent people? But they didn’t do anything to—”

The slap that followed nearly blinded me. He was shouting but I couldn’t hear. My ear was ringing badly.
Gradually, his words became clearer.

He said Lagos has spoiled me & he wished I had di3d with my parents in Borno cos I had become a disgrace and was no longer a true Muslim.

I stood up crying & said no. I told him I’d never become a svicide b0mb3r or unalive innocent people cos I’m not a monster.

He laughed…

Next thing, he started b3ating me. He kick3d me repeatedly until I could barely stand, then dragged me into my room & violated me the same way my mother was violated 5 years ago.

The next morning, he returned with six others whom he called my cousins. One wore a mask.

One after another, they violated me.

When the sixth man was on top of me, as he was vibrating and shaking, his mask slipped off, and I saw his face.

It was uncle Bashiru!

I refused to cry.
My silence became my only weapon. My only act of defiance.

So I stared directly into his eyes the same way my mother had stared at those terrorists years ago and said nothing.

Afterward, Kabiru warned me:
“If you refuse again, your little brother will take your place.”

That was when I remembered the last thing my parents ever told me:

“Protect your brother, Amira.”

So I whispered:
“Okay. I’ll do it.”

He smiled. One by one, they left.

Uncle Bashiru never spoke to me again after that night. Neither did my aunt. She only brought food and water to my room while avoiding my eyes in shame and guilt.

That’s how I knew she knew exactly what her husband had done.

And now, it was today.

Kabiru was showing me how to activate the b0mb. The vest was already strapped tightly to my body. One of the same cousins who had violated me was the one who fastened it.

The others sat around smiling casually, making jokes and small talk. They told me not to worry because my virginity would be restored once I reached heaven. They said my parents and my new husband would be proud of me.

Uncle Bashiru and his wife just watched silently.

Kabiru explained that I should wait until what the infidels called the altar call or testimony session was happening.

Then I would walk forward as if I wanted to give my life to Isa or share a testimony. At that moment, I was to shout, “Allahu Akbar,” and activate the vest.

Then they asked if I had any last wish.

Quietly, I nodded and asked to see my brother.

He walked in slowly. His eyes were swollen, and I knew he had been crying.

I hugged him tightly and asked him to do one last favor for me.

He nodded.

So I told him to go buy shawarma and Cold Stone ice cream for us so we could eat together. One final supper.

He smiled immediately. Those were his favorite things. Mine too.

Uncle Bashiru handed him money, and he rode off on his bike.

The moment I heard the gate close, I looked around the room again.

I no longer saw family.
Only monsters.
No different than the terr0rists who destroyed my village and unalived my parents.

I checked the time.
Ten minutes had passed since my brother left.

“Amira,” Kabiru called, “do not fail us. You know what will happen if you do.”

They were all staring at me, waiting for a response.

I looked at every single one of them and smiled back.

Then I shouted:

“Allahu Akbar!”

The fear on their faces…the shock!

The satisfaction…

That was the last thing any of us ever saw as I detonated the b0mb.

The End

Ajebo Writer

©️Kingdavid Chinaeke Ofunne

Michaelajah:
I don't like Muslims but this very story really wanted me to even take the hate to my boss which is Muslim. Thou, he's differ from Nigerian Muslim, he is from Senegal.

Nastrademus:
You think this doesn't happen? I'm a victim and more, yes they might not represent the true Muslims but don't defend them

TOPMAN4LIFE:
See stop your rant there,
The story is not different from evil things Muslims/ Islam have been doing in every part of the world.
Islam is a curse to the world

Blakjewelry:
It is not even captivating sef, I didn't read 1 quarter before I got tired
The story sounds fake as you continue reading.

tonystark007:
Sorry if this hits wrongly. It wasn't meant to incite hatred or throw a jab at Islam.

But you will agree with me that in every other organised body whether Christianity, Islam, government, police, workplace etc there is always a bad egg that tarnishes the image of that organization

atrix4g:
Ofcourse, yes.
Are those bad eggs expected to be reeled out and mentioned in the public space?

If all what your mother told her family members about your father are his bad characters, do you think that they would live together enough to birth your excellent fictitious writing ability?

No disrespect intended. It is just so that you understand the intensity of what you wrote. And the example I just made does not compare to your story

atrix4g:
You are a victim of forced suicide bombing and you are here?
Maybe your parents failed you, making you end up at a wrong place.
Sorry ehn.
But leave Islam out of your unfortunate upbringing.

Nastrademus:
Who's this one
Please shift before you shout alahuakbar 💥☠️

atrix4g:
Do you actually think that if Islam legislates doing Allahu Akbar and killing souls, you'd still be alive?
You'd be sure that one of the people that it would have considered as nuisance that merits it are people who aren't intellectually sound. Islam calls to knowledge and thinking. It abhors things like you.

Uptownerd:
So who wrote the story now that you are dead

Nastrademus:
I'm from the middle belt, fulanis attacked my village and killed my people, I watched with horror from my hiding place, the more their victims plead the sharper their spears and cutlasses on their necks while they chant alahuakbar, and you want me to think otherwise?

tonystark007:
Literature isn't dead per say. It's just that most people nowadays are becoming lazy as they adopt to short form content whether textual or videos.

I still read most literature content here, whether from new or popular writers.

And I plan on bring literature section back alive... In a good way of ofcourse.

Stephen0mozzy:
Literature isn't and didn't die.
People - Nigerians, almost tempted to say like you, just lost the beautiful art of reading.

Zehdbe:
take example from your boss,and know that there are good and modest muslims,i dont know why you hate muslims but i think you should learn one or two things from your boss