“But Modu, don’t you think that nobody has the right to take another’s life?” Bakura asked. Modu decided not to reply.
As they sipped tea, it was the discussion about the increase in the number of murders by unknown gunmen that took centre stage. Everybody held strong views about the matter. Modu was convinced that those who had been murdered deserved it. But Bakura and some others felt that the killings could not be justified and was getting out of hand.
One by one, they left as the night grew long. As Modu headed home, his thoughts turned to Yakolo as usual. He looked forward to the time when he could call Yakolo his wife and return home to her after a hard day’s job. He felt lucky to have her.
When Constable Ali was murdered, every commercial motorcyclist in Lamari, a community in the town of Damari, celebrated. There was wild jubilation, for they thought that his demise was the end of their problems.
For a long time, he had been a thorn in their flesh and all of them seemed to have tasted of his belligerence
The news of Constable Ali’s death broke one evening when the commercial motorcyclists had gathered at Aliko’s, a mai shayi joint where tea, bread and fried eggs were sold.
The government’s directive that every motorcyclist, private and commercial, including passengers should wear helmets while riding, had been causing a lot of disaffection. Vendors had taken advantage of the increase in demand to hike the prices of the helmets. The cost caused some cyclists to defy the order and gave the police reason to clamp down on them. Constable Ali controlled traffic at Lamari T-Junction and he harassed, threatened and extorted bike riders with all diligence. It was these actions that made him so reviled amongst the commercial bike riders that gathered at Aliko’s shayi place that evening.
Each person had a different version of how he was killed.
“They said he was just about to go into his house when two boys riding a motorcycle called his name and when he turned, shot him twice in the chest before speeding away,” one of the boys said.
“But I learnt that he was going out with a woman when the boys, masked, stopped them and shot him in the forehead before disappearing,” another rider said. Several others gave their versions of the story. They only thing common to all versions was that Constable Ali was dead and his death was deserved.
After leaving the tea joint, Modu went home. While feeling relieved that the notorious Ali had been eliminated, the thought of Yakolo flashed through his mind.
He remembered the first day they met. It was at the river. She had gone there to fetch clay for her grandmother who was a potter, while he was there to wash his motorcycle. Yakolo was trying to reach the clay when she slipped into the river. “Help! Help! Help! Someone has fallen into the river and she can’t swim!” some children, who were washing their clothes by the bank, had yelled.
Without thinking, Modu jumped into the river. He had learnt how to swim when he was much younger. Those days, the river was far from his home but he had been intent on learning to swim. To conceal his aquatic adventures, he rubbed Vaseline on his body so his mother would not see how white he was underneath his clothes but all she had to do was look into his red eyes and she would know. The ensuing caning did nothing to deter him from returning to the river at the earliest opportunity.
Yakolo was drowning when he reached her. He grabbed her, pulled her head from under the water and made his way with her near unconscious body back to the riverbank. Other men who had gathered helped pull them both out. The culture and religion of their people prohibited men from touching a woman unless they are related by blood or marriage but nobody remembered those laws at that point.
Yakolo was dark and slim and pleasing to the eyes. Modu carried out multiple compressions on Yakolo’s belly until she gasped and vomited the water she had taken in. After a while, she was taken home.
The near-tragic incident marked the beginning of a romantic relationship between Yakolo and Modu. Her parents had gone with Yakolo to thank Modu for saving their daughter’s life. It was at that meeting that both Modu and Yakolo’s feelings were stirred and grew into a strong relationship. It was thoughts of his love that filled his mind as Modu walked home.
The following day at the tea joint, a new issue was up for discussion: Sheikh Kaliph. The fiery and radical preacher was known to practice an ultra-conservative brand of Islam and held views that went against the grain of contemporary thinking. For example, he condemned Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution. He preached that western education is a sin because in his own opinion, it taught beliefs and philosophies that countered the teachings of the Holy Book. He had a cult-like following with many converts abandoning their families to live in his colony in Yerwa, a few kilometres away from Damari.
Recently, rumour had it that people with formal qualifications like diplomas and degrees, were burning their certificates after listening to Mallam’s (as he was popularly called) teachings.
“Do you know that even lecturers in the University of Yerwa are burning their certificates to join Mallam?” asked Bakura.
“But come to think of it, is he not right? Do you believe that the world just appeared after an explosion or that we humans developed from some creatures? Isn’t that a great sin against our maker?” Modu retorted.
“Well, if I had the opportunity of obtaining a university degree, I will not burn or tear it after all the sweat. Modu, I do not believe that western education is a sin even though I believe Allah created the universe,” another person said.
The conversation continued with each side arguing in favour of their position. Some people agreed with Mallam and all those who destroyed their certificates after hearing his message. Some of them however did not agree that western education is a sin. They believed western education brought succour to mankind and improved life generally, including the way religion is practiced. They all held strongly to their positions and argued strenuously for and against them as the discussions grew tense.
Modu left the joint early because he and Yakolo had agreed to meet in front of her family house that night. When they met, the moon had grown full and gave its light generously. Yakolo lit up at seeing Modu. She looked forward to their meetings because she loved Modu and wanted to be with him always. One of the things that endeared Modu to her was his way with words and he constantly wrote her poems and letters. It was something she looked forward to.
“You are welcome my love,” she said on seeing Modu.
“Thank you, my heart. You know coming to see you is something I look forward to. I can’t wait to get married to you and have you in my house. That way, I won’t have to come to your parents’ house to see you.”
“Oh Modu my love, you know that is the moment I have been waiting for, right? I can’t wait to be your wife and live with you till death do us part.”
“Today I wrote a poem for you. I hope you will love it.”
“Oh my love! You know I love to listen to your poems. I will have a lot to reminisce over as I close my eyes in bed tonight. You know the effect your words have on me.”
He began to read:
Will you be my shining star, the soft feathers upon which my thoughts dwell? Will you be the friend that stays, in moments of cheer and sorrow's days? Will you give me you, if that is all I ask for? Will you be my companion, someone who shares my precious times? Will you grow old with me, to see the days my youthful hair grows grey? Will you be my all, someone who makes me complete? Will you be my wife, the one who is my own very soul? I love you like life itself, and will always do, even if you lose all I once admired. I'll be a shoulder, upon which your weak and pale body, can always lean on. I'll be your love, the very one who will be there, till our bodies grow cold.
She closed her eyes as he read to her and when he was done, there was a dreamy look in her eyes and a beautiful smile on her lips.
“Oh Modu, if sweetness could kill, these words of yours would have murdered me long ago. You are just amazing, and I cannot even explain just how much my heart yearns for you. Thank you so much for this.”
Modu was ecstatic. Although he knew that his feelings for Yakolo caused him to craft beautiful words, he sometimes doubted the skills he was told he possessed. As they said goodbye and parted reluctantly that night, he was overwhelmed with joy knowing that his lines had impressed Yakolo.
Modu and Bakura were the first to get to the tea joint the following evening. The sun had set but darkness was yet to take over completely. “My friend, I went to see Yakolo yesterday and during the meeting, I recited some lines I composed specially for her. Bakura you need to see the huge smile on her face when I was dishing out the lines. By the time I was through, but for restraint from proper home training, she would have grabbed me.”
“I envy you, my friend. These days, finding the kind of affection you and Yakolo share is really hard.” The two friends continued their discussions about women while waiting for others to come. They had gotten a cup of tea each, which they used to wash down the bread and eggs they ate.
While their conversation continued, others arrived and the tea joint was soon full of habitués. One of those who arrived late was the one who raised the topic of discussion.
“This thing that started like play is becoming serious and portending something sinister,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” another inquired.
The fellow continued. “A lot is happening and people think it is a joke. First it was Constable Ali, then another police officer in Dusu followed. Now we are losing count of the number of people that have been murdered by these unknown bike-riding gunmen.”
“It may interest you to know that it is not only police officers that are killed. Many traders are also killed. Most of them were shot in their shops,” Bakura added.
“Have you also heard that most of these people killed are wicked people, especially the police officers?” Modu asked and then continued, “I am telling you, sometimes these people act as if they are God. I feel they deserve it.”
As they sipped tea, it was the discussion about the increase in the number of murders by unknown gunmen that took centre stage. Everybody held strong views about the matter. Modu was convinced that those who had been murdered deserved it. But Bakura and some others felt that the killings could not be justified and was getting out of hand.
One by one, they left as the night grew long. As Modu headed home, his thoughts turned to Yakolo as usual. He looked forward to the time when he could call Yakolo his wife and return home to her after a hard day’s job. He felt lucky to have her.
It was dry season and the sun bore down on the earth and scorched everything its rays touched. The trees were stripped bare and only a few had their leaves still stuck to their branches.
Modu was set to travel to Yerwa to see one of his uncles who had promised to find him a job more befitting of his Ordinary National Diploma. Bakura took him to the motor park where he could get a bus that would take him there. By the time he arrived the motor park, there was space for only one passenger, so he did not have to wait.
“You are lucky, my friend. Safe journey,” Bakura said to Modu as they shook hands.
When Modu arrived Yerwa, he met a protest by the association of commercial motorcyclists. They blocked roads as they thronged the streets singing and chanting, “Enough is enough! We won’t agree!” Even before he found out why they were protesting, Modu joined the protesters, his affinity with them stronger than his urge to see his uncle and his family. He asked one of the protesters what they were demonstrating against. He was told that the protest was to express dissatisfaction to the government over the dehumanising treatment the special security forces were giving commercial motorcyclists in the area.
He would have followed them to the governor’s office but lugging his travelling bag on the protest was a major inconvenience, so he broke away from the throng and made his way to his uncle’s house.
On arrival at his uncle’s house, he was welcomed by his younger cousins Musa and Kellu who were happy to see him after a long time. They liked Modu because he was funny and made them laugh. They could not contain their excitement.
Modu too was excited to be in Yerwa. He had longed to listen to Mallam’s preaching physically. Back in Lamari, he had only heard the preaching on radio and CDs. Mallam’s colony was not far from his uncle’s house and he went there some evenings to listen to the firebrand preacher. This he did without his uncle’s knowledge. The teachings were radical, the tone fiery. It roused passion in his listeners who were enraptured. The teachings were constantly punctuated with shouts of “God is great!”
It seemed to Modu that Mallam’s followers were increasing exponentially. One of the reasons was the growing antagonism of Sheikh Kaliph and his followers by the government. It culminated in an attack on his compound that left many people dead and injured. At the brief ceremony for their burial, Mallam said that he would make sure those responsible for the carnage and destruction would pay. As the ceremony ended, security forces attacked and killed even more followers. This further incensed the preacher and his followers.
The day Mallam and his soldiers struck, they took the whole Yerwa by surprise. No one had ever imagined they had weapons and soldiers enough to take a town as big as Yerwa, hostage. They blocked all entrances and exits and killed as many security personnel as they could.
Modu was at home when the attacks were carried out. As the news filtered in, it gladdened his heart. He felt the government had brought it upon themselves by provoking Mallam and his followers. If the government had not killed his disciples, the movement would have remained peaceful.
By evening, the exchange of fire between the security forces and Mallam’s soldiers had died down. People remained in their homes in great panic. No one could tell who had won the gun battle. Many hoped it was Mallam, others hoped it was the security forces, everyone prayed that they would not be caught in the crossfire. By late evening, news had started making the rounds that Mallam had been arrested and his army crushed. This displeased Modu greatly. He had great conviction in the preaching he had heard.
Later in the night after the attack, military gun trucks and armoured tankers patrolled the streets. A curfew was imposed, no one could go out until noon and everyone had to be indoors by 6 p.m.
The following morning, everyone remained at home. It was rumoured that the special security forces were carrying out a house-to-house search for bearded men: most of Mallam’s soldiers had beards. Modu was terrified when he heard this. He was proud to keep a long beard which had nothing to do with his religious affiliations. But he had no choice in the matter. With his uncle’s help, he shaved his beard with a razor.
When the curfew was relaxed, Modu knew he had to leave Yerwa and wasted no time in doing so. He informed his uncle, said his goodbyes and made his way back to Damari.
On his way back, there were security check points at short, regular intervals and at each one, his heart stopped for fear. His fear was because the soldiers might see that he was freshly shaved. He was no disciple of Mallam but he agreed with his preaching. That sympathy he had for the renowned preacher made him feel so associated to him that he thought that might be obvious to those who were out to arrest anyone with any connection with Mallam.
He could not contain his joy when he arrived Damari and as he left the motor park, he observed how full it was. A lot of people had left Yerwa after the attack. Damari and Yerwa were not far apart and the people living in the two towns were related so many travelled to Damari to seek refuge from both security forces and the remnants of Mallam’s soldiers. Modu got on a motorcycle and went home.
He was eager to go to Aliko’s place that evening to regale the others with his first-hand account of what happened in Yerwa. But he had also missed Yakolo. He decided to see her first before going to the tea joint.
When they met that night, Yakolo and Modu could not stop staring at each other. Their eyes were filled with unspoken desires.
“I am so happy you are back, my love. I have not been myself since the news of the crisis in Yerwa reached me. I was so scared that I was going to lose you. But I prayed for you and hoped you would return to me. Seeing you before me now looks unreal. It looks like I am dreaming. I am so happy to see you.”
Yakolo looked around and when she saw that there was no one approaching, she held him in a warm but quick embrace.
“I am so happy that I am back, my heart. The experience at Yerwa is not something that I would wish on my enemy. I thank my maker for protecting me.”
They continued talking and laughing before they parted that night. Modu’s urge to see his friends had grown. Since no one knew he had returned, he planned to surprise them, especially with his new look.
That night, many of his friends did not recognise him. Though the moon shone brightly, his face had been disfigured by the absence of his most cherished beard. When they recognised it was Modu, everyone was happy he had returned home safely. Those whom he had tormented with his beard teased him. “Somebody’s pride and joy is gone,” one of them taunted.
“At least we can now have some respite,” another added.
Bakura was excited to see him because he also was worried when he heard the news of the crisis.
“We are so happy to see you. We heard so many troubling stories, but tell us what you saw, my friend,” Bakura asked.
“My friends, I saw a lot. On the day the crisis began, I was seated at home when I heard a big bang. The sound was so loud that it appeared as though the earth was quaking. I have never heard that kind of sound in my life. We learnt that the sound we heard was a bomb blast. Several other explosions followed before sporadic shootings rent the air. The gun shots sounded as though those shooting were in front of our house.
“My uncle ordered everyone to go into one room and lay flat on the ground. We all did. The shooting and blasts continued. I was so terrified. I thought that it was the end of the world and that we were all going to die. After a while, the shooting ceased and we stopped hearing sounds of explosions. It was a horrible experience my friends. But I thank God that I am alive to tell the story.”
When he finished, everyone was quiet. One of his friends broke the silence.
“Is it true that Mallam has been captured and that he has a gunshot wound on his hand?”
“So I heard. Many of these stories you hear, we hear them the same way too. Many people lost their lives and had to be buried in mass graves.”
Modu did not go to the tea joint the following day because he took ill, probably because of the trauma in Yerwa. His father called a pharmacist to administer some drugs while his mother and sisters nursed him back to health. His friends, family and relatives including Yakolo and her family visited him too.
After about a week, Modu recovered fully and returned to his usual haunt, Aliko’s tea joint. Sheikh Kaliph had been killed the week he was ill and Damari started experiencing its own share of guerrilla warfare. More security personnel had been targeted and killed by unknown gunmen. That night, it was all they talked about.
“I am really scared about the way things are going in this town,” said Bakura.
“They say it is the remnants of Mallam’s soldiers who have fled Yerwa to find refuge in Damari that are carrying out the acts, that the boys have pledged not to rest until they avenge the death of their leader,” another person added solemnly.
Modu piped up. “Let me ask you, do you think what they did to Mallam was right? He was peaceful until they touched him. And now, his soldiers are only avenging him. Did the soldiers touch innocent people like you and I? I believe whoever does not believe or worship our maker and his messenger deserves death. Mallam has said it, they are infidels,” he concluded.
They discussed at length that night and while Bakura and several others condemned what the unknown gunmen were doing, Modu was unequivocal in his support.
The news of Yakolo’s abduction did not only break Modu, it nearly killed him. She had been missing for two days and the last time she was seen or heard from was when she went to the market. Several others had been reported missing and this new trend worried the people in Damari. Previously it was security personnel that were the victims but civilians too had become fair game.
When they met at the shayi joint that evening, Modu, troubled, did not say a word. All he could think of was how to rescue the one woman who meant more to him than anything else in the world. He was lost for both words and ideas. The suspicion was that Mallam’s soldiers were abducting innocent people to get ransom to fund their insurgency. His head ached and he left Aliko’s earlier than usual.
That night, he lay in bed disappointed in Mallam’s soldiers. He did not think they would harm innocent people but he was clearly naive. His perception about them changed entirely. He resolved to fight them with his might or perish trying.
As he slept that night, he dreamt that Yakolo had been murdered and dumped at the bank of the very river they had first met. He woke up abruptly, sweating like he had wrestled a spirit. He could not tell anyone about his nightmare for he would not entertain any thoughts of losing Yakolo. When he and his friends congregated at the tea joint to have breakfast before they commenced the day’s work, Modu requested their attention. When he rose to speak, the passion in his voice drew the attention of others around the tea joint. Even passers-by stopped to listen to him.
“My dear friends,” he began, “We have seen with so much dismay what has befallen our town and community. What started as a war against injustice has turned to an unjust war. In recent times, our town has witnessed so much turbulence: mothers raped, daughters abducted, fathers killed. We have seen how businesses have declined and life has become difficult to live. The sad thing is that some of us have been the ones giving these evil people refuge. We, in ignorance, had thought that they were fighting for the cause of our faith and for justice but the events that unfolded in recent times have proved us wrong. Mallam’s deputy, now the leader of the group, launches merciless onslaught on both believers and unbelievers. We cannot continue this way. I have pledged my life to fight these people. I will not fear giving any information to security forces. Brothers, if you believe me, join me in this war to rid our town of terror.”
By the time Modu finished speaking, the crowd had grown large and Bakura who was beside him shouted, “God is great!”
The crowd joined and the chanting grew louder. Men, young and old brandished clubs and machetes as they marched the streets chanting. They went from house to house in search of any arms. The news travelled to other communities and they too spontaneously formed similar movements; the whole town was in chaos.
The searches continued and by evening, Modu and other young men around Damari Town had recovered many arms, uncovered bomb-making factories, arrested many connected to killings of people and handed them all over to security forces.
All these successes pleased Modu greatly but his joy was not complete. He had not found Yakolo, his heart. Relentlessly they continued the search, mounting check points at the exits and entrances to the town and communities within the town.
At night, they would burn tires and wood to provide light in the absence of the moon. There are always people stationed to guard these check points. Many of these men who had formed a force against terror fortified themselves with charms knowing how deadly the sheikh’s people were.
One day, news got to Modu that there was a house at Dusu suspected to be a place where abducted persons were kept before they were taken out of the town. A joint force of Modu’s men and security operatives went on a rescue operation.
It was a fierce battle between Mallam’s boys and the joint force, but after a protracted exchange of fire, the insurgents were overpowered. There were lots of casualties from both sides, but more from the sheik’s side. Modu was shot in the arm and he passed out and was rushed to the hospital. Many abducted persons were rescued and were reunited with their families.
He saw the familiar figure through his blurred vision the following morning, but it seemed he was dreaming. As his sight became clearer, he saw Yakolo seating by his bed at the hospital. She was one of those who had been rescued in the operation and she had insisted on going to see him the same day she was rescued but had to be prevented from doing so. Very early the following morning, she begged Bakura to take her to the hospital. She sat by his bed looking worriedly at him.
When he realised it was his lover and not an apparition, he almost jumped out of bed but was held back by Bakura. He had forgotten that he had a wound on his hand. The bullet had been removed and the hand bandaged. He laid back quickly as pain shot through his arm.
“My Modu! I thought I would never see you again. I am sorry you sustained this wound while trying to rescue me. You had to take all this risk for me?” Yakola asked.
“I will take even more for you, my love. I never lost hope of seeing you. I can only thank God for giving me another opportunity to see you again. I have now pledged my life for you and for the people. I will spend my life exposing the lies told by Mallam’s boys. My love for you is everlasting,” said Modu.
“I will love you till I take my last breath. I love you so very much,” said Yakolo.
As the two spoke affectionately to each other, Bakura left them in their own world and stood at a distance with others in the hospital ward looking at the love birds.
Modu was indeed in another realm, one in which love and resolved his naivete and shaped the rest of his days.
THE END
- Modu’s Resolution || Abba Adamu Musa - February 12, 2022
As I started on this I didn’t drop out of rhythm. Your plot is good. Had me teary at the lover’s reunion. I am from Yerwa, you did your research. This story though fictional has underlying info to what transpired.
Oh, I almost forgot you wrote all these. And gave Modu a standing ovation as being a sweet lip poet 😉.
I enjoyed this.
More publications. I am following all your handles to get updates on new writes. ✌
Lol…
Thanks a lot Roy.
This comment means so much.
I greatly enjoyed this. Will patiently wait for more.
My heart “beated” fast while also awaiting news of Yakolo. I love the end cos am fed up of present world tragedies.
Some people follow blindly and only a few of the blessed get to retrace their steps. Kudos ABBA 👍🏽