Written by Obinna, Solomon Nwachukwu
‘Chimoo’ was the last words I heard as that sickle-like knife descended on one of the women and tore her flesh open. As I peeped from the surrounding bushes near our compound, I saw blood gush out of the woman’s body like streams of waters. Goose bumps came rushing down my body and it became clear to me that I was in the hands of fate to either live or die.
Voices of people crying and lamenting, knives screeching on the ground became the reality of the moment. I carefully weighed the environment calculating the easiest and safest route out of the shrubby vast lands leading out of Yola. As Amaria Hannatu was narrating this, tears rolled down her eyes, bringing her back to the present as Aijeh her 19year old daughter sat besides her consoling her.
She continued, “My daughter you need to know all these, without all these experiences, my history will be incomplete, I can’t help it because I was born with this history, my life is part of my people’s history”. She gradually raised up her head which has been bent as she was telling her story and went into a kind of trance narrating. “I ran as fast as my strength and legs could carry me through the thicker bushes along the way out of town carefully avoiding the roads. I was about to burst into one of the main roads to see where I was when I heard noises of some people, I stopped and listened and it was male voices. As I listened, I heard one of them urging the others speaking in hausa, all I could make out from his words were: “kill all the nyamiris around, it is the will of allah”…My heart started pounding so hard like it wants to push out of my chest.
I held my chest with both hands and my body was shaking like one suffering from epilepsy. I quickly sneaked to another direction further into the bush. But as soon as I took that turn, two heavily built men who seem to be laying ambush watching me jumped out of the thick bush into the space in the veld and started running towards me. My heart skipped a breath and I ran faster hearing them shout in hausa “nyamiri stop’, ‘nyamiri stop there’. The next thing I heard was two large bangs, kpoo.. kpoo..behind me and the two men who were after me were down on the ground lifeless. There stood this handsome fair man with a large stick watching the two bodies on the floor like a hunter examining his kill. I stopped running and he beckoned on me to come. I thought in my heart, this man has saved my life why should I be afraid of him, so I grudgingly started putting one leg after the other going to him like a spoilt child reluctantly doing someone a favour.
His ascent was quite different and I felt this sensational peace within me as we walked side by side looking towards the way out of town. He condemned what the men wanted to do to me and lamented about the killings going on. We walked until it was late in the night by now we were whispering and for the first time since that day I had a smile on my face. Just at the boundary between Gongola and Benue States, we sat down to rest. He looked deep into my eyes and I couldn’t resist him until his hands came down to my waist pulling up my blouse gradually. He whispered into my ears “my name is Bello and am a peaceful Moslem”. Hannatu giggled as she came to herself…Aijeh giggled too and said hmm mummy… ‘That was how I met your dad’ she said. He saw me off to safety and we parted but vowed to meet again.
THE END
Here we are now my love. I wish those early days will come back when there was peace in the north, those days we celebrated Christmas and sallah together…those days of understanding… those days when we were in a safe place.
THE SAFE PLACE
Written by Obinna, Solomon Nwachukwu.
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