A Collection of Short Stories
Tales-from-the-Other-Side-2015 Tales-from-the-Other-Side-2015
Olisaeloka Onyekaonwu Jibril proud, cries of “Allahu Akbar!” Then I knew at once who they were. And my heart froze. RUN! I spun around and darted towards the bush where Baba had killed a ram during the last Sallah. I ran and ran until my feet no longer felt the earth, until I felt I was flying. But that feeling did not last long. My leg hit a stone and I found myself lunging forward, head first, into the bush. I dragged myself to my feet in an attempt to run further into the bush, into the dark. But I staggered, then fell. The pain, like a river surging through a broken dam, spread quickly from my foot to other parts of my body. My mouth snapped open in a scream, and suddenly, a large palm covered my mouth. *** “Are you blind?” Abu Danjuma roared. “Can’t you see that he is just a boy?” “I didn’t shoot, sah,” Umar said innocently, lowering his gun. They were beside a van. “Is the boy dead?” Abu Danjuma asked. “I don’t think so.” “Then go and find out!” Umar, gun in hand, went. *** I opened my eyes and I saw Mallam Usman looking down at me 55
Jibril Olisaeloka Onyekaonwu “You survived, Jibril,” he said quietly. His red eyes seemed to be saying a lot of things, things I did not understand. “You made it.” I moaned. It was morning and sunshine was pouring its rays into my face. I blinked. There were trees and leaves and grasses everywhere. Everywhere was silent. Then, I heard birds chirp. I gazed feebly at him and I wondered why I hated him so much. I didn’t like Mallam Usman. There was no reason; just a baseless animosity. The first time I saw Mallam Usman was the morning he came with his brothers to ask for my younger sister, Zainab’s, hand in marriage. I hated him at sight. I didn’t like the way he laughed, the way his eyes brightened. And his voice drove me nuts, made my stomach spin around until I felt I would vomit my bowels out. The man is brutish. I believe it was a mistake that Zainab gave him her hand and became his sixth wife. One day, I know, Zainab will realize that she made a mistake. She would run home, and never wish to return to him ever again. My hate for Mallam heightened when the man returned from Mecca and everyone started treating him as though he was some demigod. They started calling him Alhaji. I didn’t like that. Mallam should not be called an Alhaji; he does not deserve the title. He does not deserve anything. “Sannu,” I croaked. It was hell to speak. “W—where are we?” Mallam Usman hesitated and said slowly, “I dragged you out of the village at night. I don’t know this place.” “W—what?” “I don’t know where we are,” he said, and suddenly, tears dripped from his eyes. He didn’t wipe them off. It was as though he didn’t notice them. Then, in a deep, soulful voice, he said, “The vandals attacked our village and killed . . . they killed people. My wives are . . . are gone and my . . . my baby was b—urnt a—live. My Aisha was burnt.” He burst into tears. 56 Tales from the Other Side
- Page 13 and 14: Angels of Redemption Hymar David an
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- Page 91 and 92: Sour Kisses Jennifer Emelife
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- Page 98 and 99: The Indomie Man Michael Ogah
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Jibril<br />
Olisaeloka Onyekaonwu<br />
“You survived, Jibril,” he said quietly. His red eyes seemed to be saying a lot <strong>of</strong> things, things<br />
I did not understand. “You made it.”<br />
I moaned. It was morning and sunshine was pouring its rays into my face. I blinked. There<br />
were trees and leaves and grasses everywhere. Everywhere was silent. Then, I heard birds<br />
chirp. I gazed feebly at him and I wondered why I hated him so much.<br />
I didn’t like Mallam Usman. There was no reason; just a baseless animosity. The first time I<br />
saw Mallam Usman was the morning he came with his brothers to ask for my younger sister,<br />
Zainab’s, hand in marriage. I hated him at sight. I didn’t like the way he laughed, the way his<br />
eyes brightened. And his voice drove me nuts, made my stomach spin around until I felt I<br />
would vomit my bowels out. The man is brutish. I believe it was a mistake that Zainab gave<br />
him her hand and became his sixth wife. One day, I know, Zainab will realize that she made a<br />
mistake. She would run home, and never wish to return to him ever again.<br />
My hate for Mallam heightened when the man returned from Mecca and everyone started<br />
treating him as though he was some demigod. They started calling him Alhaji. I didn’t like that.<br />
Mallam should not be called an Alhaji; he does not deserve the title. He does not deserve<br />
anything.<br />
“Sannu,” I croaked. It was hell to speak. “W—where are we?”<br />
Mallam Usman hesitated and said slowly, “I dragged you out <strong>of</strong> the village at night. I don’t<br />
know this place.”<br />
“W—what?”<br />
“I don’t know where we are,” he said, and suddenly, tears dripped from his eyes. He didn’t<br />
wipe them <strong>of</strong>f. It was as though he didn’t notice them. Then, in a deep, soulful voice, he said,<br />
“The vandals attacked our village and killed . . . they killed people. My wives are . . . are gone<br />
and my . . . my baby was b—urnt a—live. My Aisha was burnt.” He burst into tears.<br />
56<br />
Tales from the Other Side
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