FIFTEEN
Tuesday, 23rd February 2010
A Toyota Hilux drove into the Centre for Islamic Knowledge. Some men, dressed in gallabiya and carrying Kalashnikovs, were posted around various parts of the massive compound and they watched the vehicle as a young man with a well combed afro got out. They watched him closely as he scanned the compound, then brought out four large bags from the back of the truck. No one approached him. And the man did not notice the men carrying guns. A visitor would assume that this place was a school, but what kind of school had such massive buildings?
Then Sheikh Mohammed Seko emerged from his quarters and strode towards the man. Abouzeid tucked his pistol into his trousers and marched after the Sheikh.
‘Hahaha, Shedrack! Shedrack!’ the Sheikh called.
The visitor spotted the Sheikh and rushed up to hug him. People watching wondered if he was the man they had been waiting for before the attacks could begin.
‘As-salamu ‘alaykum, Shedrack Obong!’
‘My Sheikh. Look at you. You look so good.’
‘Oh, praise be to the Almighty Allah, Shedrack.’ He turned and faced Abouzeid. ‘He is the one I have talked about all this time, Abouzeid.’
Sheikh Seko’s deputy stretched out his hand and Shedrack took it. He motioned to some of the guntoting men to carry the visitor’s bags. They led him to a very modest room with just a mattress on the floor, a transistor radio, a rail for his clothes, and walls painted with Islamic calligraphy.
The Sheikh, Abouzeid and Shedrack all sat on the mattress. The Sheikh said a quick prayer of thanksgiving.
‘How was your trip?’
‘It was fine.’
‘How is America?’
‘Fine. Fine.’
‘Abouzeid, go and get him some food.’
Abouzeid hurried away, his heart filled with anger as he wondered why Sheikh Seko trusted a man whose name was Shedrack.
Shedrack said, ‘This place is huge. I’m impressed.’
‘Yes. Allahu akbar! We have a lot of soldiers ready to target our strategic locations. We have been waiting for you.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Close to three thousand, but as soon as we start our attacks more young people will join. There are incentives too.’
‘I will build some explosives for the attacks. But then we need to test the soldiers. We need to organize an attack – say, an army base or a police station or a school.’
‘Very good. I will start the preparations immediately.’
Donaldo busied himself trying to finish the drawings that his father would take to Italy. The sculptures were all ready; some of them were gigantic works so would have to be transported in crates.
It was late afternoon when he gave up and called Adeline’s mobile. They had talked on the phone several times since they met.
‘Hi.’
‘Hello, Donaldo, how are you?’ Adeline answered happily. She was grinning from ear to ear.
‘I am very well.’
‘Good. Your call woke me. I was sleeping.’
Donaldo imagined how she would look lying down, her eyes closed in sleep. ‘Hope your enjoyed your siesta. I wanted to say hello.’
‘Donaldo, why don’t you come and see me?’
‘What about your parents?’
‘They are not around, just Miss Spencer, but I’ll take care of her.’ She hung up before he had the chance to object.
Donaldo changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Then he went down to the garage and drove off.
As Donaldo drove to the centre of the town, he thought back to when he was in primary school. How he used to be alone, especially after the death of his mother. He remembered how one day his teacher called him ogbanje, one who is reincarnated, possessed by spirits and waiting to die and be reincarnated again. Whenever the car dropped him at school, he would watch the car recede then he would walk away, into the thick Mile 4 forest. One time he missed school for a whole week. He did not tell his father about it, nor did he tell Madam Vero. Then his teacher came to the mansion and complained to his father, saying, ‘He hasn’t been to school for a week, Chief. Even when he is in school, he keeps to himself… like… Some say… Sir, some say he is ogbanje. He talks to nobody…’
Donaldo remembered standing at the staircase, eavesdropping. He was ten. His father did not ask him questions; he beat him with his belt mercilessly.
Alhaji Umar Hassan was driven to Kafurzan by his driver at 4pm. Outside the gate of the Centre for Islamic Knowledge, they were stopped and had to wait for fifteen minutes, enough time for Sheikh Mohammed Seko to ring Sheikh Kabiru Ibrahim and inform him of the development.
They had to park the jeep outside the gate and then an armed man escorted the Alhaji and his driver into the compound. They were taken to the side of one of the blocks and frisked. Then the Alhaji was taken to where the Sheikh sat at the back of the mosque. The Sheikh stood up as soon as he saw the Alhaji.
‘Alhaji, As-salamu ‘alaykum!’
‘Alaykum as-salam, Sheikh. You have a big place here.’
‘Alhamdulillah! Please sit down.’
Alhaji Umar Hassan sat on the mat, facing the Sheikh. He was scared but he willed his heart to be strong. His driver was sitting on a wooden bench in front of the mosque and a guard stood a few metres away from him.
‘We have some fura da nunu—’
‘No. Never mind. I am fine.’
‘Are you sure? We have kunu. We can get you some. Fresh kunu made some minutes back.’
‘You are so kind, Sheikh Seko. But I am okay.’
‘How is your family, Alhaji?’
‘Lafia. They are fine.’
Mohammed Seko stared at the Alhaji’s clothes, a long garment sewn from expensive brocade material. A black cap was on his head. Sheikh Seko said, ‘I hope you come in peace, Alhaji?’
‘Sheikh Seko, you are my brother. Of course I come in peace.’
‘Then may Allah guide your path.’
‘Sheikh, we belong to the same faith. I have come to you as your brother. I acknowledge that I was part of the plan but I now realize the ramifications of what we planned and the motives of our friends in the South. I want to plead to your conscience to abandon this war.’
Sheikh Mohammed Seko had a smile on his face as the Alhaji was talking.
‘Sheikh Mohammed, we have had a little argument before about jihad. You are convinced that what you are doing is jihad for Islam, so permit me to bring to your notice the conditions in which jihad is prohibited. And, Sheikh, I believe that you will agree with me that what we have planned falls within these conditions.’
‘Go on, Alhaji.’
‘Jihad is prohibited if it will cause destruction to the Islamic world and if it doesn’t fulfil the prerequisite that Islam must be under attack before one embarks on jihad to protect it against attack and aggression. We are not under attack, at least not in Nigeria. Some Nigerian states even have Sharia law in place. Sheikh, if you go ahead with the plan the Government will order war against the North and bomb Muslims. Our nation’s soldiers don’t respect human rights, so you will endanger our brothers and sisters. Jihad is prohibited if it fails to lead people in the good path.’ Alhaji Umar Hassan was counting off his points with his fingers. ‘“Invite to the way of your Lord with wisdom and fair preaching, and argue with them in a way that is polite.” This is the way we are taught, Sheikh.’
The noise of children playing football in the compound distracted the Sheikh.
‘Are you following?’
‘Yes, Alhaji.’ The Sheikh was still smiling.
‘This jihad will cause destruction to our people. We are bringing war to our own land. If you bomb schools and hospitals and libraries and police stations in the North, are you not destroying the infrastructures? Our own infrastructures?’
‘Yes. We destroy the infrastructures, but Alhaji, infrastructure is nothing compared to what we will gain – an Islamic region. Perhaps, insha’Allah, we might
succeed one day in making Nigeria an Islamic nation.’
‘How do you ever think that will be possible? A country of over one hundred and fifty million people with diverse ethnic groups and faiths?’
‘Nothing is impossible with God. When the Messenger of Allah, peace be upon him, began in Mecca, and later migrated to Medina, did anyone ever believe that he would later on conquer Mecca? When he left Mecca, he’d wanted to go to the hill town of Taif, but the people mocked and snubbed him saying, “If you were sent by Allah as you claim, then your state is too lofty for me to address you, and if you are taking Allah’s name in vain, it is not fit that I should speak to you.” Yet, these people later accepted Islam.’
‘Sheikh Seko, you are not the Messenger of Allah, peace be upon him, and we will never control this country with violence. Our young men will fight and die while the children of our friends in the South are living safely abroad, studying to become leaders of this country.’
‘Alhaji, we will win in the end, fame and fortune will be ours. You are shying away from your responsibility.’
Alhaji Umar gave a knowing smile – he had always known that the Sheikh was not fighting for faith. He was a greedy man, drunk in his quest for fame and fortune. He scoffed to himself. Sheikh Seko noticed his change in demeanour, and stared at him deeply in the eyes, as if challenging the sanity of the Alhaji.
‘Alhaji, until we restore full Islamic law we have not done the will of the Almighty.’
‘And the will of the Almighty is done by the sword?’
‘It has always been by that way. Human beings respond easily to instructions at the sight of the sword.’
Alhaji Umar Hassan shook his head and the two men looked at each other in silence. They understood that each had chosen their own separate path and no rhetoric or preaching would change their hearts. Alhaji Umar got to his feet.
‘When the Government forces come, they will burn down buildings, shoot men and women and children. They will shoot children running away from attacks. They will shoot them in the back. They will rape our young girls. And some wealthy men like Dr Bode Clark and Chief Donald Amechi will make millions of dollars from security contracts. When that time comes, I want you to remember my words today.’
The road was very quiet, except for a few old men and women on bicycles, riding home, holding torch lights. It was evening now, and Donaldo had taken Adeline out in his car to get away from the ever watchful eyes of the staff, particularly Miss Spencer.
Adeline was jubilant, talking excitedly about various things.
‘Who taught you how to drive?’
‘My uncle. My mother’s brother. He visited two years back. He lives in Palermo. Do you want to learn?’
‘Yes! When do we start?’
‘Haha! So keen? Okay, we’ll have our first lesson soon.’
‘Of course, soon.’ She rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘So where do we go now?’
‘To my hut.’
‘Your hut?’
‘Just wait and see.’
Donaldo accelerated and she squealed. She felt like a bird – free. She looked out to the heavens through the window. What could be sweeter than freedom?
They drove to the Island and parked near Donaldo’s hut. Adeline was happy and her face shone with joy. They got out of the car and, using a torch, followed the concrete path lined by flowers that gave out an overpowering fragrance. She noticed gmelina and many fruit trees.
‘Wow! I love this place. Where is your house?’
‘It is not far from the chapel. Welcome to Williams Island.’ He hesitantly placed his hand round her waist, afraid of what she might say, but after initial resistance she leaned close to him. He turned to face her and she looked into his eyes, and behind all his bravado, she still saw naïvety. She saw sweetness and fear that was rather provocative.
‘What?’
‘What?’ he repeated, mimicking her voice, then laughed, took her hand and led her to his hut.
‘Look over there, where you see flickers of light. There is the chaplain’s cottage. He is an old man, and my friend. You will meet him one day.’
‘Oh, I’d love to.’
They were very near to the hut when she saw a sign on a board hoisted to a pole: ‘Out Of Bounds. Not Safe.’ She stopped.
‘What’s wrong?’ Donaldo asked.
‘The sign.’
‘Don’t be afraid. It’s just to ward off intruders. It’s my sanctuary. Now, even if you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you should fear no evil, for I am with you. Isn’t that what it says in the Bible?’
She laughed.
Donaldo showed her the barbed wire that surrounded the perimeter. He unlocked the small gate and with the torch she saw the trees and the swings. She saw the tables and the wood he was carving. He switched on the lights outside the hut.
Adeline saw that the little hut was just made of mud. The roof was thatch and, when they went inside, she noticed that the floor was mud too.
She was surprised. ‘Is this your studio?’
‘Yeah.’ There were a lot of paintings, sketches and sculptures scattered around.
‘Oh wow. My heart is racing. These are fine. So professional. You are so talented, Donaldo.’
He smiled shyly. ‘Chief is taking a lot of my work to Italy. He wants to contract me to a well known firm.’
‘Oh?’ She dropped the sketches she was looking at and stared at him.
‘Yes. If the contract goes through, I’ll travel to Italy and work for the firm as an artist for a few years.’
‘Donaldo! You’re leaving me?’
He didn’t know what to say. ‘Well… for all I know the firm won’t agree to the terms my father is insisting on. So I may not be going.’
Even Donaldo could hear the lack of conviction in his voice. He was intelligent enough to recognize his own remarkable talent. Adeline had realized it too. Her eyes glistened. He wanted to hold her, but his heart warned him against it. He looked away.
‘With paintings like these, they are bound to sign you, Donaldo,’ Adeline said. He looked at her and saw a tear fall slowly down her face. It was his cue. He approached her and hesitantly put his arms around her.
‘Listen, Adeline. I assure you, even if they accept me, I will decline.’ He gave her a reassuring smile.
She sat down on a bench.
‘Can you draw me, Donaldo?’ She took his right arm. ‘Please, I will hang it in my room.’
Happiness mixed with nervousness filled his heart. After over a minute of silence, their hearts beating against their chests, Donaldo said, ‘Lie down on that swinging bamboo bed.’
SIXTEEN
Tuesday, 23rd February 2010
That night Donaldo painted Adeline. He thought she was the most sublime creature he had ever seen. Adeline’s eyes gleamed at him. Her black hair was held with a golden fillet and thrown down her back. Her elbow was on the bamboo bed and her other arm was on her lap and her slender legs were crossed as if intertwined with the night. Her black smooth skin made Donaldo swallow with desire.
Her face was turned to him. Her thin dress deliciously outlined the contours of her body. A torrent of passion rushed through him and his long fingers held the gold-coated pencil loosely. He began to sketch her, paying attention to the way her breasts swelled beneath the fabric, how her chest rose with every breath, the way the material clung to her hips.
After some time he sensed she was starting to stiffen and he suggested that she get up and relax her muscles. From the sketches, he finished up the work while she stretched the full length of her body and began to approach him. Heat rose in him and he asked her to sit again.
He smiled, looking at her and then at the picture.
‘Are you through?’ she asked.
He nodded, stood and shook the tension out of his hands. His face was sweating and he removed his shirt to cool down. Adeline approached and looked at the drawing, astonished. It looked more real than her. The work made her reme
mber the first picture of the Blessed Virgin Mary her mother gave her as a gift – she had adored that image but the one she was holding now had a more powerful, secular energy and felt more real than that of the Blessed Mary.
‘Donaldo!’ She could not say more. He could see she was shy and feared she sensed in his strokes the sexual tension that he fought as he created the piece.
‘I am sorry.’
‘No, Donaldo, it’s sweet,’ she said and her eyes drifted from the image to his eyes. Donaldo had intimidating eyes. Grey, and sensual. Whenever he looked at anyone, that person would bend their head or look away. Madam Vero always found it difficult when he stared at her. He instilled a kind of fear in people. When he was a kid, his eyes had helped to fuel his teachers’ suspicion that he must be ogbanje.
‘You like it?’
‘No, I love it!’ She smiled, overwhelmed. ‘It’s perfect, Donaldo, thank you! I love you,’ she said before she could stop herself.
It took him by surprise. His father had strict rules about women, and he suddenly realized how serious this had become. ‘We must leave now. It is late and your people will be worried.’ He hurriedly packed his work away into the large locker and locked it. He folded the newly made image of Adeline and carefully placed it in a drawer.
‘What about the painting?’ she asked, hurt and ashamed.
‘I will add some detail to it tomorrow. Then frame it and bring it to you.’
‘All right.’ She was annoyed with herself for her outburst. She was worried by his sudden change of attitude and felt she might lose him. He switched off the lights and turned on the torch and led her back to the car.
Madam Vero served her master a cup of Nescafé. He wore black jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, which made him look even taller, and his newly shaved chin made him seem younger.
Chief Amechi sat on the sofa facing the television while Madam Vero hung around waiting for orders. He looked at her finally and beckoned her to come nearer.
Satans and Shaitans Page 9
