"Ibrahim, Ibrahim, where is that boy. Am sure he's lost in those stupid books of his again.
My dad's voice echoed from a distance. I ignored it as I was deeply absorbed in a new book about aeroplanes and technological advancement.
Since I was a child, I have been fascinated by anything that moved in the air, even though I had not left my hometown in Maiduguri state, Nigeria. I used to run fast whenever I saw a plane moving in the sky, hoping the pilot would see my little image.
Every Saturday, my grandmother Ina would take me to the neighbour’s house to watch movies featuring modern planes and pilots dressed in their stunning uniforms. That evening we watched "pearl harbour."
Later at night, while sitting with my Ina fanning the flame for the evening meal, I became interested in joining the airforce academy after secondary school.
The sight of my father’s image and slap on the back of my head woke me up from my slumber to reality.
“Stupid boy, didn’t you hear me calling you?" He said.
He hurled his slippers at me.
Immediately, I ran out into the hands of my Ina.
“Litape, Litape – books, books, he said in Hausa language."
"If you spend all your time on these books, who will do the farm work. After secondary school, it's over; I won't hear any more about all these modern technologies."
"Ahmed, leave the boy be. He just wants to follow his dream." My Ina said as I hid behind her.
"I have had to care for this family alone since his mother died, and now he is almost 18. He should learn some sense of responsibility, mother."
"But dad, it would be perfect if I joined the airforce, so I could bring more money to you and Ina. We would be able to employ more workers, and you wouldn't have to work so hard anymore. I thought I had convinced him.
“You see what those books have done to his mind. See how he talks to me, telling me what I should do. Unbelievable." He said as he left the barn.
“Ibrahim, I know you want to follow your dreams, but you must do the farm work. You can't sit in the barn for hours daydreaming and expect your dad to be happy. You know he works hard to pay your tuition fee and feed you. Ina said.
"Ina, I'm sorry for making you both upset. I got caught up in my books and forgot to help at the farm.
"The market day is today. Your dad needs every hand he can get." Ina said, giving me a warm hug as she sent me on my way.
Under the hot sun, after two hours of selling and bargaining with annoying customers, we eventually sold off most of our crops, except for the tomatoes that my dad asked me to give to beggars outside the gate.
“Dad, don't you think it's too much. We could still sell them off at half price."
“Ibrahim, we made a lot of profit today. Giving this to those in need doesn't make us poorer." He said, gently.
After sharing the last tomato bag, a farmer ran into the market, with blood dripping over his shoulders, screaming in Hausa. Sun keshe nee “They have killed me.” He said.
Amid the chaos, some traders gathered around to treat his wounds as he explained what had happened. Strange herdsmen had invaded his farm; their cattle ate and destroyed his crops. After his wife requested, they leave, one of them stabbed her with his knife, and they attacked him. The sight of blood everywhere made everyone cringe in fear. This was Ibrahim's first time witnessing a grown man's pain.
"Ibrahim, take the basket and go home immediately. It's not safe here." His dad said.
"Dad, but I can't leave you here alone."
“I said; go now. And lock all the doors. You know what to do if you see or hear any strange noise."
"I ran as fast as I could that day without looking back."
When my dad came home around 10 pm, he sustained an injury on his arm. My Ina boiled some hot water to tend to his wounds.
"Dad, are you alright." I held him tight.
“Yes, go to bed. Things just got a little out of hand. Go to bed."
"Go to bed, Ibrahim, while I tend to your father." My Ina instructed, closing the door behind me.
A few minutes later, I slipped to the door, ears dropping, snatching some of their conversations.
"What have you done to yourself." My Ina said, gazing at my father intensely.
"There is no doubt they would come for us now, and they won't stop until they destroy everything."
"Mother, we couldn't just let them go like that. They killed that man's wife and injured him. We had to serve them a lesson."
Ina stood by the fireplace, her hand to her mouth. She seemed to be contemplating something.
“I have a bad feeling about this. You know those herdsmen belong to the Boko Haram group, and we all saw what they did to the villages in the remote areas. It's only a matter of time before they attack."
"Mother, I won't let anything happen to you and Ibrahim."
"I know, Ahmed, but these are terrorists with AK-47 rifles. Even the government can’t stop them. What will you fight them with shovels and rakes?" She laughed as the tears poured down her cheeks.
"When your father and I lived in the East, I witnessed the Biafran war, so I know how people suffer from such violence."
"We knew this day would come. It's all about saving Ibrahim now." Her voice trembled with fear.
"What do we do now, mother."
"His teacher once told me about a man who smuggled people to Europe through the sea."
“Oh, mother, I wouldn't forgive myself if something went wrong."
"There are a few pieces of gold jewellery your dad gave me as my bride price. We will sell everything."
My dad looked surprised when I opened the door, "Haven't you
been sleeping?" He said.
"I'm not going to Europe. I will protect you both," I said, holding my Ina as my eyes misted.”
"You are just a child, Ibrahim." My dad said, moving towards the fireplace.
Several weeks later, someone set our barn on fire while we were sleeping.
"Mother, take Ibrahim to the underground barn."
We hid in there, hoping my dad would return soon.
Suddenly I heard footsteps, and Ina covered my mouth with her hands before I could utter a word.
“Ina suke, where are they," One of the herdsmen said in Hausa. Another one searched everywhere, holding a rifle. They left, and I heard a gunshot and a scream. I recognized that voice even in my sleep.
It wasn't until the morning that we stepped out of the bunker, and I saw my father's body lying in a pool of blood. Ina sat beside him, sobbing. In 6 years, she'd lost a daughter-in-law, husband and now her only son.
"I will seek revenge. These terrorists must all die." I said.
"Your dad died because of this same patriotism."
"I have lost everything, Ibrahim. I can’t lose you too."
My dad was buried beside my mother and his dad, and the following week my Ina took me to Lagos to meet the smugglers.
"I paid everything. Take this money; you might need it." She said, kissing me on the cheek.
"Ina, but I don't know anybody in Europe. How do I survive?" I said, confused and afraid.
“You are a man of your own now. Just follow my voice and it would guide you always.” She gave me her chain, which was given to her by her father.
A few days later, we'd set sail with many people on board. I'd never seen a small ship before. The smuggler gave us life vests, some with holes in them.
What if something happened, I thought as I fell into a deep sleep.
A few hours later, someone shook me. "Wake up, boy! Wake up! The man beside me said, his face filled with fear.
"Look, there's a sea patrol. You need to jump."
Some of the passengers jumped into the cold and dangerous ocean. I stayed inside the boat as the police took us to shore. It was a camp on the Greek Island for people who tried crossing the sea. There were lots of children, women, and men of all nationalities. I shared a tent with a few older men who bullied and called me names. In the camp I experienced hunger, became ill and some nights I would lay awake thinking about my Ina, but I had to be strong.
Later I began assisting a teacher in the camp. She went through the secondary school syllabus with me and gave me books to read. My teacher had a few connections and had put in a good word for me. After being adopted by a family, I learned the German language completed my secondary school and gained admission into the university. I had tried to contact my former school in Maiduguri to find out about my Ina. I was told that she passed on a month ago. While in school, I dedicated my time volunteering to care for people who’d risked their lives to cross the sea in search of greener pastures.
Years later, after graduating, I landed an excellent position with a non-governmental organization helping refugees worldwide and in the Northern region of Nigeria. For the first time in years, I visited my father’s farm. It appeared deserted, and almost everyone fled the area due to the ongoing crisis between the individuals, the military and the terrorist group called Boko Haram. I stood in the middle of the farm, and my mind drifted back to when I used to sit with my Ina, listening to her tell stories in the moonlight. My hometown was a place of peace, and the market attracted traders from all over Nigeria and neighbouring countries like Chad and Cameroon. All that was left were abandoned villages, scattered families, and bombings traces. My home had been ripped away from me, and now I'm an alien in a foreign country. It would be nice if more people understood that migration isn't a choice. I thought as I watched a young boy push his deflated tyre.
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