Born on a Tuesday (14 page)

Revelations

It has been four months since Malam Abdul-Nur returned from Saudi Arabia with a turban and a new movement in opposition to Sheikh. It feels like four years with how popular he is, especially among motorcyclists, tea sellers and butchers. No one knows how he got all the money he used to set up his foundation. And no one is asking. All we know is suddenly there are black-and-white banners, flags and stickers everywhere that read either ‘Mujahideen' or ‘Sunna Sak.'

Many of the young people who used to be with us now follow Malam Abdul-Nur. They have left the open arms of Sheikh and fallen under the strict hand of the new leader of Firqatul Mujahideen li Ihyau Islam, who I hear has organised them into units and teams. Each unit is made up of fifty people and each team is made up of five units with a team leader. The team leader collects taxes from the unit leaders and people can receive loans to start new businesses or expand old ones.

A few weeks ago they had a clash with the police. Up to two policemen and ten of their members died. They beat up anyone who tries to make trouble with them and they threaten nonmembers who have similar businesses around them.

Malam Abdul-Nur now preaches openly against us, mentioning us by name, mocking us in his sermons. Last month Malam Abdul-Nur challenged Sheikh to a doctrinal debate about whether it is haram to go to university and work for the government. Sheikh agreed. They decided to do it in Saudi Arabia, where they were both travelling, away from the distraction of screaming followers. Sheikh had the debate taped and the CD was just delivered to us by post. He has asked me to arrange for it to be played in the school.

Even our school has taken a massive hit. Many of our older male students have dropped out and act as thugs for Malam Abdul-Nur. I am not sure if it is the hope of money that lures them or the fact that the Mujahideen movement is something new. Everyone likes something new. Eventually people get tired and some other new thing takes over. It isn't grounded. Something that has no roots and springs up with leaves and branches everywhere is bound to crash from the weight. They can't see this now. But soon they will understand their mistake. At the last meeting we had with Sheikh, Alhaji Usman and the other trustees, we agreed that as long as Malam Abdul-Nur was not harassing or attacking any of our people, we would just watch and see how things turn out.

Sale doesn't work on Saturdays. This is a source of great relief to me as I open Sheikh's former office in the mosque to rest before I call the zuhr prayers. I still call it Sheikh's office even though it is now mine. I still see myself as a visitor especially because of the big shelf that has all of his books.

Just before I push open the office door, I look to the right and see a key in the keyhole of Jibril's door. He is hardly ever here these days but he still keeps the key. Since Malam Abdul-Nur started his Mujahideen movement, Jibril comes in only after maghrib prayers. I thought Sheikh would object to Jibril still using that room but Sheikh told him that as long as he wants to keep coming back, he will be welcome.

I open the door and on the bare bed is a sheet of paper with my name. I dial Jibril's number and it is switched off.

‘I have packed to stay with my brother,' the note begins. ‘I will still try to come and see you. I didn't want to go but you know how my brother is. He doesn't even want to see me around this area. Please apologise to Sheikh for me. Don't try to come and look for me. It will put me in trouble.'

My eyes cannot focus on the book I am reading because of this headache. I haven't had any food since last night. When I step out, the sun is so hot I feel like turning back and sending one of the boys in the mosque to get some food for me from Sheikh's house. But the reward of seeing Aisha is worth being burnt by the sun.

It is not Aisha, but Zulfau, her sister, who brings out the food flask and hands it to me looking away.

‘What of Aisha?' I ask.

‘She is not around,' Zulfau says, and starts walking back in.

‘Where is she?'

She turns into the house without even looking back. I peep in and see Aisha walking past.

‘Aisha!' I call out.

She quickens her pace and disappears into the compound. It feels like being sliced in the heart with a butcher's sharp knife. I walk out into the street feeling the sun even hotter than when I set out.

Black smoke is rising in the distance. I can hear the chants of a crowd. I should just head to the mosque but I turn off the road in the direction of the smoke and the screaming. I see a boy coming from there and ask what is going on.

‘They are burning books,' he says.

‘Who is burning books?'

‘It is the Mujahideen people.' He wants to add something but looks at me suspiciously.

‘What is it?'

‘Our malam says they are infidels led by a convert who is trying to lead Muslims astray.'

‘Who is your malam?'

‘Malam Mohammed Sani.'

Mohammed Sani is one of the new dariqa malams. He was a student of Abduljalal, whom Sheikh often had heated but friendly debates with. He disagrees with us but we always get along fine. Sometimes during Ramadan we all break fast together.

I reach the source of the smoke and find a huge crowd. People are throwing books and papers into the fire. Malam Abdul-Nur is supervising the burning, adding kerosene any time the items being dumped seem to be overwhelming the fire. Every time the flames leap from the pile the crowd screams: ‘Allahu Akbar!' There is excitement on their faces and many are jumping and pumping their fists in the air. Malam Abdul-Nur has told them that before they can truly join his movement they must burn any school certificates they have. They are also burning the books by Hausa writers because those books corrupt women with tales of illicit love affairs. And they are burning CDs of Hausa movies, which he says are products of Kano, a city of corrupt wealth, usury and decadence.

They are burning things with so much zeal, if Malam Abdul-Nur sees me spying on them he just might throw me in the fire. I leave before anyone recognises me.

I don't know if asking Sale to teach me how to use the computer makes him instantly hungry or if he just doesn't like me. As soon as I come for my lessons, he remembers that he needs to go to Saudatu and makes me wait until he slurps his way through his koko or munches on kosai and bread. He never offers; he just makes me sit through the whole process. And I hate the smell of food if I am not eating it. I have tried coming at different times of the day, but it is always the same.

Perhaps he thinks I will get tired or upset and stop coming. I don't care really. Once I learn enough, I will tell him my thoughts about his behaviour. But then Umma used to say that sometimes the people we call wicked are just foolish and that, while it is easy to repent being wicked, it is hard to stop being foolish.

I need to get my head around Microsoft Excel. Even with the many commands I have to learn, Microsoft Word is easy. Excel is so complicated it gives me a headache, the kind that makes the right side of my head throb with pain. At least I can practice alone when Sale is gone for the day.

Jibril's eyes are swollen and red. They have been this way for the past week during which we have been secretly meeting behind Sheikh's millet farm. Every day I ask what is wrong, he says it is nothing. Now he is gritting and grinding his teeth and breathing hard.

‘I have to move again,' he says.

‘Where to now?'

‘I don't know. He has bought a huge farm outside the city and he is moving away with all his people. They have just finished building his own house and many tents around, where the people will stay. The farm is in quite a remote place. I have never gone, but they say it is like three hours away from the border. He is calling it the hijra.'

‘Is that why you look so ill?'

‘I have not been sleeping,' he admits finally.

‘Because you are leaving?'

‘No, something else.'

‘What is it? Do you want me to beg you? I have been asking you for days now.'

‘She is pregnant,' he whispers.

‘She is pregnant! Pregnant?'

He nods.

‘How did this happen. I thought you said she was taking those pills.'

‘I think the pills we got from Chuks didn't work.'

‘Trouble! Kai! I told you to be careful, Jibril!'

‘She says that she discovered one month ago. But she says that after that he has slept with her at least twice so there is no way of him discovering that it is not his. Honestly, I am worried. He will kill me if he finds out. Now she wants to tell him that she is pregnant.'

‘Then don't go with him, Jibril.'

‘I don't want to leave her.'

I want to slap his mouth.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I like her.'

‘You like her? To sleep with her is one thing, now you like her?'

‘Yes.'

‘What does that mean? You want her? You want to marry her? What?'

‘I just like her.'

‘You are crazy!'

‘I know.'

As he turns to leave he says to me, ‘Will you forgive me if I tell you something?'

‘Kai, what can be worse than this, Jibril?'

‘Just say you will forgive me.'

‘I will forgive you.'

‘You remember when there was the fight about who put an X on the mosque?'

‘Yes?'

‘It was me who painted it. He asked me to do it. I didn't know why but he made me swear not to tell anyone.'

‘It's OK,' I say. But I am angry at him for making me keep all these heavy secrets. I walk away before he tells me anything worse.

This is the first time people will be seeing the debate. I had advised Sheikh to hold off the distribution of the free CDs until after we show it on a projector. Everyone inside our school premises is helping out, arranging chairs and mats and weeding the grasses that have grown beside the football field. Sheikh has asked everyone to let their wives come out and watch the video. The women will sit in the opposite direction with their own screen, separated by a wall of white cloth suspended by two iron rods. I do not understand how this will work but the man setting up the projector has assured me that they will see and hear the exact same thing. The armed policemen that will stand guard together with our boys from our newly formed volunteer guard have already arrived. They came in two vans with eight men each. I greet their leader and ask them if they need anything.

‘My boys are thirsty. They have not drank anything since morning,' the man with a huge belly and a rifle hanging from his shoulder says.

‘Give me ten minutes,' I tell them.

I ask one of the boys who came with his motorcycle to take me to Sheikh's house, where food and drinks are being prepared. I hope that at least some of the snacks are ready so I can add them to the drinks.

‘They are making zobo, ginger and kunu,' Aisha tells me when she meets me in the zaure. There is so much noise coming from inside the house with all the women who have volunteered to help cook.

‘Salamu alaikum,' Aisha says.

‘Wa alaikum wassalam. Two days. One never sees you.'

‘Yes. They say, “Eye, who do you take for granted? The one who you see often.”'

I laugh. I ask for sixteen packs of snacks and a mix of all three drinks together with water.

‘Did you come with a bus?' she asks.

‘No,' I say, ‘we came with a motorcycle.'

‘Then how are you going to carry all these things? Sheikh also wants you to go with some of the CDs so you can lock them up in one of the classrooms or in his office.'

‘Don't worry, I will go with the food and come back,' I say and smile at her.

She shakes her head and mumbles, ‘Men though! Why go through all that trouble?'

She counts sixteen sachets of water and a mix of sixteen sachets of other drinks in separate polythene bags.

‘All we have now is the meat and masa,' she says.

‘That's fine,' I say.

She is not wearing a full hijab and neither is she wearing green. I want to tease her but there is already a big frown on her face from having to cook all day and she might not find it funny.

‘You need to call before you come back or send someone to come back so we can get everything ready for you to just take.'

‘I can only call if I have your number,' I say to her.

‘You mean you don't have my number?'

‘You never gave it to me.'

She mumbles something and starts to call out her number.

The policemen are excited that they have a lot to eat and drink. I worry at how it only takes a few sachets of zobo and meat for them to start calling me oga. But for their guns, they all look useless. The boys of our volunteer guard are smarter than these men.

I call Yushau, who was recently chosen by Sheikh to head the volunteer guard, and tell him to be extra vigilant because these policemen look like they came for the zobo and whatever cash we will give them before they leave. I like Yushau. He is very stern and takes his job almost too seriously. But he is a very humble person. He keeps all the boys in line and never complains about anything. Sometimes I want to tell him to relax and that this is not a real army but I like his zeal.

I wish Jibril were here to help me organise things. He no longer uses the same number and although he has called me twice with a new one he has asked me not to call him because his brother would get suspicious and ask who it is. He is afraid of everything around him. He tells me it is all like an army training camp. In the new compound, where he lives, far outside the city, Malam Abdul-Nur now walks around with a gun.

Since Malam Abdul-Nur returned from the debate with Sheikh in Saudi Arabia, he has been making his people train in the bush as if they were going to war. They travel there at night and they are all made to put on blindfolds so they do not see how to get there. There, they fire weapons and a man from Chad teaches them how to dismantle, assemble and clean guns. If you do not oil guns, Jibril said, they can jam when you are trying to shoot. When I asked if he also had been learning how to use the guns, he went quiet. He asked me to send him recharge cards so he could call me and I sent him a text with two recharge card numbers this morning. I worry for him. He is terrified because already, Malam Abdul-Nur has shot someone in the thigh who was caught trying to leave the premises. ‘He even has a little cell, where he keeps people who have committed offences,' Jibril said. He has made me swear not to tell anyone.