Monthly Archives: May 2014

Halima – The Death of a Dream 4

Read Halima – The Death of a Dream 3

The human mind is built to respond to terror in so many unimaginable ways. Some shut down completely in the face of terror, their mind just regresses back to TABULAR RASA, others go loco as the sheer force of it all causes some neural connections to come apart, and yet, some break down as the enornimity of their fate bears on them, they lose their will and the terror seeps into their soul disarming them, denying them of the rage needed to fight back, the rage required to survive in the face of an inhuman madness. The later was my lot as I heard those words escape the mouth of this human beast in front of me.

In that moment, an old quote came to me like an evil spell confirming my fate . . . “The death of a will is far more traumatic than the death of the body” . . . where did I get that from?  Uhmmm. I remember, that quote is from one of the many books I’ve been trying to get into over the years. Isn’t it funny how you would wax intelligent when intelligence is the very last thing you ever needed?

The echo of his words was still playing in my head like a broken record “kao mu wanna!” Bring this girl!  Those words broke me in place no sledge hammer would ever have been able to cause a dent.

As though heeding the command of a sultan two young brutes rushed forward and seized me in both arms locking me in their vice like grips. At this time the number of assailants in our dorm had grown to over 15 armed and extremely excited men. As they half dragged and half pulled me toward the door, he turned around and issued a stern warning to his cohorts “Wanna yarinyan na wane!”, That girl is mine!

Halima – The Death of a Dream 5& 6
The Halima Series is written by a good friend Chukwuemeka Ezeogu


Halima – The Death of a Dream 3

Read Halima – The Death of a Dream 2

They walked in with so much alacrity; they weren’t in any kind of haste. Like a predator that already has its prey cornered they strolled with the gait of conquerors. Their heads were covered with checkered kaffiyehs and their eyes were so red that in the gloom of our dorm you’ll think it was all pupils. The machetes they held were dripping with the blood of my friends. Blood rose on those blades up to their rubber heads. The kind of dread they evoked had no dictionary meaning, it was something only the human soul could understand.

In the few minutes they were in our dorm, they saw us completely. All of us in various stages of the nakedness required for sound night sleep in the terrible heat of Northern Nigeria. All of us at the very early stages of womanliness with curves in their first trimesters, a body being moulded by unseen hands. All of us a picture of unfolding beauty.

As we all looked on in that terror induced stupor, transfixed, glued to the very spots we stood on like gazelles caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, we watched them approach us only this time their fear ingraining countenance had something else on it.

  Even in our terror, the matured ones among us knew what that look meant. In that moment of sudden realisation, their whimpers began to climb in some sort of musical crescendo. Like the increasing buzz of an approaching hoard of insects, our whimpers grew into wails as the younger ones among us looked in the face of their seniors and saw the meaning tattooed on them.

Now death wasn’t our only fear but the molestation that would precede it. They will murder our innocence before they kill us innocents.

While some of us cried for mummies and daddies that were ignorant of our present plight, others said the Fatia and every other prayer they could conjure up in time of desperate need.

Then one of them walked up to me, looked me over as I automatically tried to pull my wrapper over my almost naked body and see if even in face of death I could preserve my decency – night gowns were an anathema to the kind of weather we had in the north. He brought his face few inches to mine and there was this repulsive stench spewing from the gap in face that’s called a mouth, the only smell more offensive was that emanating from his body, the smell was a smorgasbord of sweat, filth , local gin, marijuana, gum and something else that I couldn’t quite place. All of this revulsion was supressed by the fear the look in those eyes commanded. The next words that came out of his mouth sealed my fate while at the same time it revealed the fate of the other girls in my dorm.

Halima – The Death of a Dream 4

The Halima Series is written by a good friend Chukwuemeka Ezeogu

Halima – The Death of a Dream 2

Read Halima – The Death of a Dream 1

The screams I heard jolted me, I work up with a start – I noticed there was no sweat on me – this is not a nightmare. In a minute I was awake and alert and in that same minute it came to me –  The sound of young boys, my mates, some of whom I laughed with just yesterday only now they were just voices screaming in alarm and dread as machete  blows severed their connection with the living.

Just voices. In my terror I couldn’t put a face to their screams. Could that be Musa? Oh my God, is that Abdullai? And then, that one sounded like Aminu . . . the confusion, the madness. All of these in that sudden minute of earthly alertness.

As I broke free from my initial panic arrest, the terror rushed into me, it over flooded me like a tsunami. Fear like a vice gripped my heart, that kind of fear that strangles reason leaving only one thing in its wake – that unnatural wait for a certain end. DEATH!

Amidst chants of “Ya Allah!” and “Allau Hakbar”, the cacophony of the dying voices of my friends continued like a meaningless adlib.

I pinched myself to ascertain my consciousness, the pain I felt was all the confirmation I needed. Somewhere deep within me, beneath all the fear and terror and panic, sanity was beckoning on me to snap out of my reverie and begin the race that could so easily be my only chance for survival. But before my terror gripped brain could issue the command to the centers responsible for flight, our door gave way to the booths of two of our assailants.

Halima – The Death of a Dream 3

The Halima Series is written by a good friend Chukwuemeka Ezeogu

Halima – The Death of A Dream

Dear Friends, I promised to feature Halima on this blog. With over 15 epistle and counting, I hope you like what you read.


The rousing began from my subconscious. My last lucid memories were those of an engulfing drowsiness, now that I think of it, I remember laying down the notebook I had been trying to cram things from, I also remember clearing a patch on my book clustered bed, and then my memories dissolved as I surrendered to a dreamless sleep.

Then the buzz began like a finger poking my consciousness, calling me out of that almost opiate state of sleep into something I was never going to be prepared for.

In that surreal confluence of sleep and consciousness I thought my mind was replaying some horror I’ve heard of in recent times – horrors that are almost becoming our new norm. But it never occurred to me that before that day dawns my own horror would begin.

My name is Halima  . . . they took me

Halima – The Death of a Dream 2

The Halima Series is written by a good friend Chukwuemeka Ezeogu.

Random Thoughts on Nigeria et al … Halima

No matter how much we are prepared for life, it always proves to us that we are never prepared well enough. In a twinkle of an eye, I have crossed the Atlantic, seen a red Indian, stayed for weeks and seen the other side of Amerigo’s discovery.

In all of these, I have had my challenges of which might have slowed me down but never stopped on my track. The tornadoes came around but i was too heavy for the devil to lift. It is fun to stand on the Rock, not that sinking sand of evils and sinful thoughts.

For over a month, the Nigerian atmosphere has been filled with 1st the Double Nyanya bombings and 2nd and more wildly spread, the kidnapping of the Chibok girls. Propagated by the twitter hashtag #BringBackOurGirls, the story of the kidnapping of over 200 girls from a secondary school in Chibok by the Islamist terrorist group, Boko Haram is really surprising.

There have been different sides to this Chibok story but many things seem not to add up:
1. Borno state has been under emergency rule for a while now but the Boko Haram situation has grown worse with various attacks on villages and ambushes on the Military.

2. I had thought the Nigerian Military will wipe out the terrorists but I may have been naive. Some reports say the soldiers are ill equipped and poorly motivated.

3. How over 200 girls were transported from their school to the Sambisa forest without any security noticing?

4. This is 1st time that Boko Haram has waited as long as 3weeks to claim responsibility.

There are so many other things that are more than hosting cardboards of #BringBackOurGirls. Why some harbour belief of the girls not being kidnapped, majority are praying for the girls to be gotten back.

So the international committee has their torchlight on Sambisa forest, let’s see how it turns out, especially when America is involved. Whether this is politicised or not, Nigerians are beginning to look beyond what they see. They are exponentially getting closer to their flashpoint.

What have the girls done wrong in seeking education? Why are their dreams on the verge of being dashed?

In line with the happenings in North East Nigeria, I will be posting a friend’s piece titled HALIMA. Watch out for Halima, it will give you a better picture of Western education and Christianity over there.

As for now, pray for Nigeria. Remember God doesn’t hearken unto the prayers of the unrighteous. Change before you pray.