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