UNBELIEVING BELIEVERS 3

-Dedicated to the People of Southern  Kaduna, Nigeria.

Episode 3

Though a ten hour drive on any vehicle not as rickety as his, with half-a-day gone by, in a kunu-seeping dabino-chewing  trip fueled by the yearnings to see his mother, Kanbul was in Rann at last.

As he was about to untwine the ignition wires to kill off the engine, thoughts of a possible stop at Chibok before returning home flashed his mind.
"This is Rann! This is Rann!!" He shouted down the thoughts to allow the Nigerian subsaharan IDP Camp bordering Chad and Cameroon  fully occupy his view.

It wasn't his first time visiting an IDP camp but this in particular looked a bit strange. As he wind down, the pungent smell shot over his face by the next whiff of harmattan had him wondering how his mother or anyone at all must have been coping. Though, he could barely see through the settling dust his tyres had just raised, the  landlocked subsaharan landmass lay littered with improvised shacks. Most of which appeared to have been seamed from different patches of materials that came handy; torn cloths, soldiers Kakki, Dangote cement sack and whatnot twined round different tripods of rugged sticks and pegs. Not until the dust settled fully did he realized he had just parked beside their dumping ground for human wastes. But that won't change his view that this was still a dumping ground for wasted humans.

For him, military presence was never in doubt as a tank stood between a fluttering National flag and a posh international clinic kiosk, but the camp landmass lie defenseless to the raging harmattan from the northern Sahara, shielded only by encircling ankle-high stones, best intended to mark a camp wall. "Not even a chain-linked wall!" he uttered with a sigh at seeing how a soldier just caught a giant rat scaling over in a nudge and the after-hunt jubilation signaled there was going to be something for roast, at the gathering burn-fire.

Nonetheless, something was rather warm in the heart of the cold dry land, a tall tree at the center of the camp stood out decorated with Christmas lights, ribbons, and balloons. And then, his arrival was more than welcomed. In the campers thin hunger lit eyes, he could perceive they saw him as one of those missionaries who hadn't forgotten them or would divert errant grubs for cash along the way especially in a nationwide recession. "Sanu desua, Mugode! Mugode!! Thank you for coming, thank you!" Lots of children with their balloons, women and men had flocked round his jalopy lorry without a care if he had an explosive, just before the soldiers fend them off.

Asked of his identity and mission. "I'm Kanbul Doya from Kaninkon Kingdom in Southern KD, I'm here for my mother, Mamza Doya and for everyone here, these are Christmas grubs from Papa Doya." What he was seeing couldn't but made him forget his maternal grannies in Chibok. Without a second thought, he decided to offload all for the good of all; Muslims, Christians, Pagans and Atheists - all too lookalikes by the remolding touches of hunger. Wasted, starving and crying children lined the path to finding his mother.

"Did you bring chickens?" A fair little girl with an oblong face peeing from her hijab and all that struck him she was a Fulani girl asked him eagerly. And before he answered she added another, "Or are you hiding the chicken somewhere in your lorry? See, we have no chickens and my friends said they eat chickens at Christmas!"

"No, I'm sorry, I- I" he answered stuttering as he attempted holding her hand but cautioned himself because of haram.

"Did they all fly away from your trunk while coming?"

"Erm-em, no but, em -er why would you think of that?"

"That's what those soldiers always tell us when they promised and don't bring chickens from the town, but I don't know why they can't tie them down in the jeep"

"You are a very intelligent girl, What's your name?"

" Yersinar, Yersinar Souf"

"Yersinar, You speak good English"

"I learnt it here"

"Here? Seriously! you've been here for?"

"One and a half year but I'd spent one year before in other camp"

"Jesus!" Kanbul was lost at what to say next as his heart thumped. Then he realized he'd spent over ten minutes here already and yet to do first things first; see mother, call father. "Yersinar wait a little, I'm looking for my mother."

"I have no mother to look for"

"Seriously? You mean...!" His jaw dropped as his heart thudded again. Now, he became speechless that he didn't know when he rubbed his hands consolably on her shoulder before a camp ward came to snatch her from his discourteous hand.

With the warm reception, he could tell that his mother wasn't going to be hard to locate, " 'Mama K' she would be in the kitchen, once it's not time to read the bible", "Are you the son of Mama K?, Check her over there, or at the Carol rehearsal" - those were the kind of answers that filled his ears till he saw his mother making Babisko for dinner in a large pot.

"Mama Doya!"

"Kanbul, My Kanbul, Kanbul!" She jumped up from her steering stool for a teary hug in her dripping sweats while the whole kitchen staffs stood still in adulation.

In a minute of million handshakes and pleasantries, he managed to draw her out into a open privacy, "Papa said I must call him first thing as I see you, he wants to hear your voice"

"Okay!" His mother replied with a pecking gesture as he dialed up.
In just one ring, his father had picked up the phone like he had been waiting since yesterday.

"Hello Pa'a, I'm in Rann already, here with mother, you can speak with her now."

But he could barely hear his father's response. He had to quickly, change positions, put the phone receiver on speaker to mask off the ongoing background Christmas carol rehearsals in the camp. And just then, his voice came out a bit clearer to his mother. "Hello Mamza, Ina sunka soo se, I thought we would see sooner"

"Ina Sunki, my dear I would be home in three days"

"Hun, ahn, they are here...uuuf, yeeh, my God! They are many!"

"Who? What?" She could hear the grunts in between her husband's breaking words.

"What Mama? Who? What Pa'a?" Kanbul upon seeing his mother worried had joined in, panting at his father's pauses.

"Tell me what's happening!" she screamed awfully with her eyes fast filling with horrifying tears "I can be at home first thing tomorrow, morning my dear"

"There won't be home to return Mamza, it's burnt down, to-ta-lly !" He hacked a cough, "the extremists, maybe herdsmens, they are back, shooting, oh my legs, knife in my chest!"

Her heart skipped and then sank abruptly as she could identify with sounds of bullets as thudding against the wall "hold on,  Karika tefi, ka so Na de ri!" She whimpered, just doing about anything to encouraged him.

"hirrrsh-irrhsh, I can see my blood, it's cold, I'm burning, cold and hot, I can't, can't crawl out, help!"

"Call Apostle, I will call Apostle for you now, have you called Titus, Ashenzi, Baba Taiwo?" Kanbul swept in, in salad of words just as they come to his chopped mind while Mama knelt down groaning  in tongues.

"All, the-the neighborhood is on fire, my hand, my eyes! It's too cold, Ina sun kii Mam-"

The next they heard was a blast and crunching pain from him that toned the phone out.

"My Lord Jesus, preserve him now, now, now." Mamza went down straight, rolling on the floor as campers panicked with the abrupt turn of event. A moment ago she was all smiles, the next she was in tears, both moments separated by a dial. She then turned at his son who was already maddened, fumbling with the phone buttons with an untold tremors, "But you said there was a curfew in Southern Kaduna!" Asking Kanbul, " didn't you say there was a curfew?" demanding and holding her son gruffly the way he had never seen her before.

"Yes Mama, they claimed there was a curfew!"

                      *****

To be continued next week Friday 5pm,

This is a work of fiction, all Characters, names and incidences similar to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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