Chapter 1

In the second quarter of the year 1999, when Nigeria was celebrating the successful transition from the Military to a Civilian government, which changed the system of doing everything in the Country. The small, quaint town of Dukawa, in the outskirts of Kebbi State, of the Northern part of the country was suffering one of the worst droughts the world had ever seen, a village of 'nomads', and about four hundred and twenty kilometers from east to west. It used to be surrounded by lush forests, home to several monkeys, hyenas, and poisonous reptiles. Tuwo Shinkafa a special rice flour, was a staple in the diet of their culture. With no high calorie food, their men and women looked slender and straight in a good way. All that changed in the terrible hands of the drought, so terrible that the terra firma seemed like brass. Withered trees dangled like rags, roots twisted in an awkward crook, and if a stranger visited at night when the wind blew noisomely, and shook the exsiccated trees; he would think that the devils were in a revelry. Not only this torture affected the human life, both the flies and bugs became scarce and passive during the day because of the blistering temperature. Right from time immemorial, Dukawa village had always suffered from droughts and famines. But none was as serious as this one, which had wreaked havoc and was still raging.

There was little or nothing to eat, not to talk of their many cows to feed. Because of this, some herdsmen had to lead their cattle to the Southern parts of the country where there was no drought and fodder was plentiful. Down there, these herdsmen made themselves odious by killing off the peasant farmers and sending their cattle into the farms to eat up the crops and trample the rest before moving to another location for a repeat action. They even carried assault rifles which were illegal to carry about except by soldiers.

Back in Dukawa, the drought spread like a wildlife; rivers dried up. Unharvested food shriveled in the soil. With little or no relief from the government, every town did its best to conserve its resources. It was indeed a tough time to be in, especially the women who had to be with the children back home. Their eyes were always at the door in anticipation of their husbands' return.

In the Eastside of the village was an old and dilapidated building. The roof, utterly ruined and a part of the wall had broken down. Built with the purpose of schooling the natives by the first Roman Catholic missionaries, but after they met with a violent opposition from the nomads, they abandoned the project and fled for their lives. The project fell into decadence and housed several wild creatures. But the building came alive and renovated by the government, when Ibrahim came back from the overseas. Ibrahim was a fair, handsome man with a strange looking v-shaped mole between his eyes that made him look more like an Indian lady. His hair was rich and silky, totally different from his people and attracted lots of bullying from his elder brother and friends out of envy when he was yet a boy. Now, he preferred to go skinhead to blend into the crowd. There was nothing Ibrahim hated more than walking on the street and people staring and pointing fingers at him. He truly looked out of place, but handsomely.

Ibrahim was a bright physicist who just graduated from a prestigious institution abroad. He was the second son and most beloved of his father, Kabiru Abdulsalam, the tribal chief of the village. A godly and religious Alhaji who ruled in uprightness. His mother was the delectable hajia Shadia, the granddaughter of Usman dan Fodio, the famous revolutionary who, in the jihad around 1804, created a new Muslim state. According to the story, his mother suffered from multiple miscarriages and afterwards, became sterile for a long time, which made Alhaji Kabiru marry another woman, named Bintu. Bintu was the daughter of a powerful Muhajir from Gatu, a neighboring village, known for their fierceness in battle. In less than nine months, Bintu begat Mubarak, followed by five other beautiful girls.

As the household grew, Alhaji Kabiru's love for his first wife remained unfaltering, despite her barrenness. This did not sit well with Bintu who coveted the position of Shadia; thus she incited her children to be foul-mouthed towards her co-wife.

But fifteen years after the birth of Mubarak, when hajia Shadia had given up hope of ever bearing a child of her own, she conceived and gave birth to Ibrahim. On that special day, a strange star appeared in the sky. The clerics and shamans all prophesied that he would be a mighty person. The vision came right into play. From his tender age, Ibrahim was different, for he loved arithmetic and his scientific dexterity was glaring for all to see. A blatant departure to his simple nomadic tribe and Mubarak hated his little brother for being different. Not just for being different, but also for stealing their father's love and attention from him. Because there was no kind of business transaction that Alhaji Kabiru wanted to undertake without Ibrahim's involvement. They travelled everywhere together, and Ibrahim would act like the middleman, reading any form of contract and interpreting it to his father. Alhaji Kabiru understood how gifted Ibrahim was, and keeping him in the village would not do him much good. So he sent him abroad to study to put all his knowledge into good use when the time came. Not because he cared about having a scientist in his house, but because he believed in the prophecy. After all, stars did not just appear on the christening of every child.

Bintu perceived this strange favoritism as pure witchcraft! She feared Mubarak might be shortchanged out of his inheritance, if anything happened to Alhaji Kabiru, and she knew there were no better people that could look out for her son than her own kinsmen. Being raised in a clan of warriors gave her a pure insight into how solidarity worked, and she knew it would come in handy in the future. So Bintu took Mubarak to Gatu, her village, and made a request to her kinsmen that her son be initiated into the Tamarisk secret cult. An old and formidable Fulani group of ferocious herdsmen with octopal roots into terrorism and kidnapping, and also known for their brutal killings in various states of the country. Their covert dealings with top government officials transcended tribe and culture with the agenda of toppling the stability in the country. The name 'Tamarisk' was mentioned in hush amongst various Fulani clans, shunned from the elites in the court to the Almajiri on the street.

The moment Ibrahim returned to the village, the first thing he did was to make peace with Mubarak. To do away with their childish bickering, but Mubarak clarified they were of different mothers. Each time both brothers talked, it only ended sourly. Ibrahim realized that being away from the village had not diminished Mubarak's hatred for him. In fact, Ibrahim feared it was more, but the only difference was maturity. They were both grown and living separate lives and minding their business. Ibrahim spent his time in the old building, which was now converted into his laboratory, where he treated sick humans and cows. When he wasn't vaccinating the cattle or educating the people on personal hygiene, he worked on his revolutionary time machine that could enable a smooth teleportation of his tribe to another timeline where the animals could graze peacefully and enjoy a time not destroyed by pollution and drought. This project was his life work, fueled by the suffering of his people, and he knew that if his machine was successful, a lot of things would change for the better. No more would they have to worry about climatic change, and not just for them, but for the country at large. As always, Alhaji Kabiru was behind his son's dreams and supported him both morally and financially. Even though he understood little of its scientific jargon, he just knew Ibrahim would be a mighty person according to the prophecy.

During the preceding week, the town buzzed about this new technology that would modernize their nomadic life. They pasted flyers on any available space, be it on the wall or withered trees, for anyone who cared to attend the official launching of the time machine. Women prepared themselves for the dainty food they would cook on that day for the guests. Young maidens beautified their bodies with henna, none wanted to miss this very great event, and apart from that, it was an impeccable opportunity to meet the perfect man. But not everyone was glad, like Mubarak, who believed nothing good could ever come out of his over pampered brother's dream. Besides, their tradition of open grazing had helped them to interact and trade with people of other tribes, and this boosted their economy. He feared that if they embraced this new technology, a lot would change about them and their culture. The more the people talked about the invention, the more angry and depressed he became.

This quiet afternoon, Mubarak sat in his hut, which did little to protect him from the scorching heat. Sweat ran down his body in torrents. His piercing dark eyes were completely lost in thoughts. His hands trembled as he squeezed the flyer as he had always done in anger. Each time he set his eyes on the flyers hung on the wall, a sudden urge seemed to come upon him. He didn't know when he had evulsed so many papers, which he took home with him to channel his anger on. The Launch was the next day and Ibrahim would be the champion of not just their village but the entire country. He pondered if it was the prophecy foretold many years ago that was turning into a reality.

An icy sigh erupted from his throat, 'how can the gods be this cruel?' he thought aloud. His face reddened with contempt. He wondered why it had to be Ibrahim that would bring about this change. If he were honest with himself, he did not care at all if it were a beggar on the street, but why Ibrahim? Since the day Ibrahim was born, his life had been filled with all the good things of life. No doubt, Hajia Shadia was into dark magic! That was the only reason his mother Bintu had said it many times. Mubarak shredded the last paper, cursing under his breath, and in that moment he noticed a movement at the window. Quickly, he sprang to his feet, and as he moved closer, he saw a black hawk with a white stripe. He knew this was no ordinary bird, but the courier of the Tamarisks. Mubarak reached for the bird and removed a small piece of paper entwined in its powerful talons. As the note was removed, the bird flew into the sky.

Follow the secret maze that leads into the world of the unknown…

Mubarak became stunned. It had been six months that he reported at the old camp. Deep down he could feel all was not well, but he would not dare refuse their call. They were his kinsmen, and his mother Bintu had said times without number that only the Tamarisk would usher him into the future, not his brother's silly time machine or his leprechaunish father. Quickly he wore his Kaftan, wrapped his hair with a turban, and picked up his walking stick, and, without a second glance, dashed out of the room.

Outside, little boys around the ages of ten, six, and four played with a bicycle tire; driving it around the open compound with a stick. Their skin was tanned with blisters appearing on their back and arm, axiomatic of the hotness. Enormous heads and protruding stomachs, but it was impossible to miss their piercing eyes like their father. As Mubarak locked his door, Usena a fair and beautiful teenager who was in her second trimester, ran out from the adjacent hut and knelt before him.

"My husband, don't be angry with me, your food is almost ready"

His eyes widened in surprise. He had forgotten about his lunch. Anger washed over him for Usena's sluggishness, and because of her sluggishness, he would have to go on an empty stomach.

"Foolish woman, you are so lazy!" he bellowed.

"Please, my husband, it was__"

Mubarak shoved her aside and stormed out of the compound without a second glance. Slowly, Usena rose to her feet, weeping. She did not understand what she would do if Mubarak divorced her. These days, he complained about everything she did and feared he might send her back home for some home training. Usena held her head and wept, wondering what she would do when such a thing happened. Because her parents would not hesitate to kill her for bringing disgrace to their name.

* * *

Mubarak walked down the barren land, dried leaves crackled underneath his feet. Desolate was the sight of the area once covered with lush trees. As he trekked further out of the village, there were two men sitting on a motorcycle a few meters away from the border of the village. Mubarak folded his arms in an X-shape across his chest, and the men reciprocated with their arms crossways their chest in acknowledgment. Mubarak hopped onto the back of the bike and zoomed off in full force, raising clouds of dust. They crossed several other surrounding settlements. Soon, they arrived at a big rusted gate buried deep in the bush. Two hefty Tamarisk men draped in black garment, clutching guns, made haste to open the gate, and they drove in.

Inside was a community of its own. Several tents littered the premises, occupied by little boys, not over fifteen years of age. Scrawny children snatched from their mother's breast and trained to be a Tamarisk, complete beast devoid of any emotions. Their eyes were empty shells as they gathered around a bonfire, relieving their exploits in hush tones. Stationed in every corner were grim Tamarisk men, equipped with guns as if they were about going into another civil war. Then one of these men led Mubarak to a detached hut in the corner, totally obscured by the vast canopy of gigantic trees. As Mubarak followed the man from behind sheepishly, he wondered if there was a need to be led, as if he was a stranger. He knew every nook and cranny of the mazy place. But again, as a Tamarisk, they had to show devotion to the great Sheik! Mubarak winced, he hated to be alone with the great Sheik! A man who seemed to see through anyone. Immensely vast in knowledge and history of the country. He was a commander in the Nigerian Army during the civil war, but a bullet to his spine wrecked the promising future that laid before him and sent him aground only to resurface as the Sheik. The invincible father of the fearful Tamarisk, receiving top government officials from distinct parts of the country in his dark cubicle, the same room Mubarak was walking towards.

Mubarak heaved a sigh and pushed the door open. It was warm inside, as always. The aromatic candles flared. Several pictures of different heads of state, and ministers with the Sheik hung on the wall. In the corner, the Sheik sat in his wheelchair. Pious vibes flowed from his old shriveled frame as he counted his prayer beads, and suddenly, Mubarak became consumed with a feeling of filth.

"As-Salam-alaikum"

Mubarak made the X-shape across his chest and genuflected.

"Wa-Alaikum-salaam" the Sheik replied.

Mubarak straightened and pulled a chair closer to the old man. A terrible silence hung in the room as the sheik continued to recite his prayer. Mubarak lowered his gaze, racked his brain on why he was summoned, and hoped he hadn't their many laws.

"many years ago, a strange set of people with pasty skin and terrible smell whose Empire the sun never sets on, came to our land, they came with a big lie that we were one Nigeria__ they made us believe in a future that was naught!"

Mubarak's heart sank. He only heard this epithet for admonishment. As he raised his head to look at the Sheik, he found his bleary eyes boring into him.

"Why did it take you so long to inform us about your brother's scientific invention?"

Mubarak's heart skipped and trembled in his chair.

"Did I offend you, as a father?"

Mubarak fell to his knees and cried.

"No, No, No, my master… I didn't, I didn't"

"You did not think it's necessary," the Sheik interrupted.

"Mubarak, you should know better. You are one of the illumined! There is no such thing as a coincidence in this life. Your brother studied abroad and suddenly, he is building a time machine?"

Their eyes met, and Mubarak's eyes widened in utter wonderment. He hadn't considered the possibility of Ibrahim in league with the evil reptiles disguising as those foreign humanitarian organizations.

"Your brother is not alone! He is in league with those lying bastards to destroy our land, our tradition! Open grazing is our tradition"

"My Lord, I have thought of the possibility but my father is in support of him"

"Your father has sold out!" the Sheik spat in disgust. "He is a disgrace to our clan!"

Then the Sheik raised his hand, and Mubarak stood up and sat down on his chair.

"I don't blame you, Mubarak, you behave the way you do because you have a fraud for a father"

"My master, what can I do to correct my mistake?"

"Kill him!"

Mubarak froze in fright.

"My kinsmen would not allow me to live if I did such"

"They will kill you if you do not have a plan"

The Sheik smiled and placed his prayer beads on his laps and retrieved a map from the table.

"There is a time for everything under the sun. The South has grown fat from the milk and caviar of the evil white people, and it's time to give them what they deserve"

The sheik's eyes glowed with pure evil, and his body shook uncontrollably.

"You speak in riddle, my Lord"

"Ninety percent of the food of the population comes from the North, yet the Government has done nothing to help us, to relieve us of our suffering! By opening all borders, so we can roam with our animals. Why? Because they consider us animals stupid… but not anymore! We will invade the South, we will steal their land, rape their women and kidnap their children"

"You are all wise, my master, but how can we achieve this? They are way ahead of us in everything"

"We have the numbers! The entire land is ours, bequeathed to us by Allah. So we are going to take back what is ours! Enough of roaming the parched lands, we will march to the South and purge the land of their wickedness"

The moment the Sheik finished his harangue. Mubarak became enraged and his chest heaved with emotions. The Sheik knew just the right words to make him feel better. By the time Mubarak left the terrorist camp, his mind was resolute, to squelch the pain inflicted on him by his father.

* * *

The Tamarisks dropped Mubarak off by the border, the same place they had picked him up, and he walked back into the town. As he walked, the waning moon cast menacing a glow on his face. His feet felt so heavy that the hatred of his father was the only thing propelling him further into the night. Inside his father's compound, which was quite desolate, almost everyone had gone to bed except for a few servants attending to some household tasks. Mubarak sneaked into his father's tent, where he saw Alhaji Kabiru seated on the chair and watching the ten o'clock news.

"Father?"

Quickly, Alhaji Kabiru turned to see Mubarak standing by the doorway; covered in dust. His face contorted in anguish.

"Son, what are you doing here?"

Mubarak walked towards his father and paused. He looked at the king-sized bed in the room's corner. Suddenly, Mubarak felt small again, like those days when he would hide under this bed because his father would never allow him to sleep beside him. But when Ibrahim came along, Alhaji Kabiru allowed him to sleep beside him even up to his teenage years. Resentment washed over him.

"My father, I am troubled"

Alhaji Kabiru gave him the questioning eyebrow.

"About what?" his father asked.

"About tomorrow__"

Alhaji Kabiru heaved a sigh and reached for a glass of water on the table.

"Yes, you should be. A significant change is coming to our town"

"And are you happy about it?"

They locked eyes for a minute, then Alhaji Kabiru shrugged.

"Yes, I am. It is in the prophecy! Your brother is going to lead us into tomorrow, and everyone will follow"

As his father finished talking, a blinding rage consumed Mubarak, and he reached for his father's neck and squeezed tightly. The glass cup fell from Alhaji Kabiru's hand and shattered on the ground as he struggled, but his strength was no match for his son's rage. His face was purple. Thyroid cartilage snapped and his body sagged. In that harrowing moment, fear overwhelmed Mubarak as he regained consciousness. He stared at the lifeless body on the ground for a while, totally dazed. His eyes darted around to see if anyone was watching, then he lifted his father and placed him gently on the bed. He spread a sheet over him in respect and slipped out of the room.