BROTHER, HARAM !!

Abu’s eyes shifted like the wipers of a windshield. His forehead was the fountain of steaming streams of anxious sweat on his face, and even his white robe-the purity of a martyr- could not reflect the heat rays hitting his conscience and drenching his body. He looked around.
There was a hovering hummingbird on a Hibiscus with hue as bright as its gorget, harnessing the flower’s sweet nectar without a spot of care. Lovely shades of green carpeted the rump all the way to its crown, contrasted by the whiteness of its neck. And with its long beak, it harvested the sweetness of nature, creating the ambiance of serenity in one lazy market at the heart of Lagos town. The hummingbird became his target. Abu wanted to shoot the bird. “You call that peaceful?” he asked. “Well Yusuf calls it exploitation.”

Good! His wavering eyes finally clinched the perfect spot for his act. There, at the center of the shopping mall was a little church with a dozen members, praising Jesus, using just a set of conga with battered hide, yet in the noisiest of fashions. Abu made sure his face did not betray his disgust before heading towards the wooden bench close to the church.
“Can I sit with you, my elders?” he asked two gray men who were perched on the bench working a lotto sheet. One looked Hausa and Moslem…the other was a lot different.
“Yoo…Kana Lafiya?” the Hausa man responded.
“Lafiya lau!” Abu had not forgotten his Hausa, though he has spoken Yoruba for a better chunk of his life. At age five his family migrated from Kano to Ogun, and since he had spoken Yoruba for his twenty-nine years on earth. His mother, teachers and test sheets had always told him he had a slow brain, thus scored beautiful zeros in almost all tests taken in class., yet he had perfect grades in local language tests. He was not dumb after all, and maybe he was going to prove to all today. He sat beside the old men, careful not to carelessly arm the fuse of the terror hanging around his waist.

“Look, I’m a Christian; a catholic…we don’t make such noise! These gods of men are back again with their cacophony, Abdul-Rahman.” The other man said to his friend. He gripped the pen in-between his teeth and spread the lotto sheet.
“I hate these breed of Christians, my brother. Walahi, I swear, if I had power eh….?” Abdul-Rahman licked the tip of his index finger and pointed outside the market square.
“See, sending them out of the market will not resolve the issue. I am a Christian, and I know my people. They will bring it to your backyard. The market is quite safe, I tell you,” the other friend left both Abu and Abdul-Rahman in pensive states.

By that time Abu thought he heard the Pastor holding a sermon, and blabbering something about Jesus being the only narrow way to Heaven.

“But Ola, do you believe your people are guaranteed heaven once they accept Issah as their saviour?” Abdul-Rahman had always wanted to ask this question.
Abu’s anxiety eased by just an ounce. He liked the new course of the discourse.
“Well…” Ola shrugged. “That is what their Good Book says”
Their good book, Abu chuckled. He deduced Ola’s loss of faith in the clergy and latter day Charismatic institutions. He was so engaged in audience that he nearly forgot his mission. Just as he took one last deep breath and was about to plunge headlong into the assembly, Abdul-Rahman gave him a violent nudge to gain his attention.

“My son…I can see you are Muslim too?”
Abu sighed reluctantly. “Yes I am.”
“Then tell my friend here to convert to Islam since there is so much chaos in Christianity.” Abdul-Rahman meant that to be a joke, but Ola did not quite grasp the punch line.
“And why do you people throw bombs if Islam is so peaceful??” Ola retorted impulsively.
Abu’s stomach churned instantly. He wanted to arm the fuse of the terror around his waist that minute, but something inside held him reluctant. So he could punish more of these Christians he needed to bide his time. He swallowed the anger painfully.

Abdul-Rahman was also swelling with fury. “Just look at the tricks that idiot is performing.” He pointed to the pastor of the petite congregation who Abdul-Rahman said was slapping the forehead of worshippers in a feigned quest to exorcise some evil spirits lurking somewhere in the dark patches of their lives. “If Issah had not come we would not have had all of you charlatans!” he added.
“And if Abraham had waited we would not have had Ishmael and you lots,” Ola was more sharp-tongued.
The little mobile phone in Abu’s pocket beeped. He had delayed thus his people wanted to know exactly why.
“I’ll kill you” Abdul-Rahman held his friend’s Polo shirt by its collar.
“You will go to hell first,” Ola was adamant, yet the frailer and weaker of the two.
“Walahi!” Abdul Rahman swore. I will die to defend Almighty Allah…Allahu Akbar,” he shoved his friend down.
“I will also die to defend my God…cow dung!” the fallen Ola sounded like he wanted to cry.
Abu was overwhelmed. He separated the two elderly men before there could be another scuffle.
“But why do you fight for your gods…eh?” Abu asked them. “Why can’t your gods fight for themselves…eh??”

Silence broke on everybody…Abdul-Rahman, Ola, some few passers-by and Abu himself. Suddenly the sun of reason and thought rose on him, but it was too late for re-consideration. He thought about his mothers…her tears…his late wife and their seven-month old son. At least the money could last them half a lifetime…he realized the vagueness of all those promises…of virgins in paradise…of feigned martyrdom…yet it was too late.

As he turned to go he heard the two old friends laughing together…Ola asking Abdul-Rahman to predict the lucky numbers for that evening…and the latter muttering something like, “1,2,3”.

Yes! On the third count he would dine with luck, and try to defuse the terror around his waist without detonation.
After ensuring he was out of human reach, Abu tried to take off the bomb wrapped around his waist, on the third count… but it was so wired that any such attempt would automatically arm its fuse and detonate. Abu tried anyway, and the blast that followed was deafening, sending fragments of his body into mid-air, to the shock and awe of the two old men, as well as all around the market square. The hummingbird quit hovering around the hibiscus with bright, red hue, and fled.

Abu had missed his target…deliberately…and really proven to that entire lot that he was not dumb after all.

Nii Moi Thompson