A Collection of Short Stories

Olisaeloka Onyekaonwu
Jibril
After making certain the machine guns would not disappoint, Abu Danjuma walked
determinedly out of the armory. Beside him was his assistant commander, the lanky Umar,
who was notorious for severing his victims’ testicles before pulling the trigger.
The two walked out of the bungalow, into the large open field hidden in the heart of the forest,
to examine the vehicles that would be used to carry out the crusade.
“You look disturbed, sah,” Umar said.
Abu Danjuma gave a wan smile. “Do I?”
“Yes, sah.”
“I’m not.”
“It will go fine, sah. You have never failed. Tonight we will prove our faithfulness to Allah.”
“I do not worry about failure,” Abu said. “I only worry that there will not be enough people to
kill.”
***
The first time Baba woke me up in the middle of the night was the day a scorpion stung my
younger brother, Salim. Baba would later take a lantern and start a midnight hunt in the house
for scorpions. He found none. When I went outside to know what was happening, I saw my
brother, stripped waist down, his buttocks glistening, oily. Mother was rubbing something on
his behind and he was screaming as though he was being circumcised a second time. That
was three years ago.
The second time Baba woke me up from sleep at midnight was today. My eyes snapped
open and I found myself gazing upwards into the horrified face of Baba.
“Get up, Jibril, get up now!” he instructed in panic. His breath smelt like cow dung.
53