Chapter 2
At the first crow, when Alhaji Kabiru did not come out to the mosque for prayers, the servants knew something was wrong. Immediately, they dashed to his quarters, only to have their fears confirmed. His body was as cold as ice. The entire community was thrown into mourning. No one could believe what had happened to Alhaji Kabiru. First, the people were in a denial mode, and the next moment they were in a complete state of shock. Ibrahim, draped in his Danshiki, ran out of his house, his body trembling in fear. Nothing seemed to add up. He was with his father before the time of his usual ten o'clock news. They both discussed the invention, and he promised to be there. There was no sign of any ailment or irritating impediment in those eyes of his, which shone brightly as he fancied himself on the high table, receiving dignitaries. The moment Ibrahim stepped into his father's compound, every hope he might have nursed came tumbling down. For there was a lot of pandemonium, old and young men thronged to Alhaji Kabiru's hut, which was locked. In the corner, a group of women wept uncontrollably. Ibrahim's heart pounded so fast that it felt painful to breathe. He knew the worst had happened.
As Ibrahim walked towards the threshold of his father's hut, his mother caught his wrist, and when their eyes met, Ibrahim understood the agony she embodied. Acrimonious tears stung his eyes. He wondered why this fateful thing should happen on the happiest day of his life, but ironically, it would be the saddest.
"You can't see him now, the clerics are in there"
Ibrahim bit his lower lips nervously.
"Why did it have to be today?" he asked amidst tears.
"Nay, nay, don't question Allah!"
She replied almost in a whisper, and wiped his tears with the back of her hand.
"But no matter what, you must launch your project"
He froze in shock.
"How dare you, mother?"
He asked angrily and knocked off her hand.
"How can you even suggest such a thing when my father is lying down there?"
"Because this is what your father wanted."
Ibrahim paused for a minute. He knew his mother was right. But honestly, he lacked the strength to go on without his father.
"Don't let shaitan destroy the work of light," she implored him.
Ibrahim rubbed his birth-marked forehead in confusion, something he always did when he stressed.
"Mother, I cannot," he said despairingly.
"You must! If not for anything, for your father, for me, and for your clan"
His eyes darted to the sad-looking people standing by and somehow he became strengthened. As it pained him to admit it, he knew the show must go on.
"What about Mubarak?" he asked.
"He was here not quite long, don't worry, everything is under control"
Ibrahim nodded glumly. Somehow, he felt uneasy. He did not know if it was his father's fateful health or the impending launch. But he restrained himself from an unnecessary argument with his mother. As if she could see through his fears, she reached for his forehead and blessed him before he left the compound.
* * *
Around noon, when the sun was sizzling hot, a vortex materialized in the town's corner and Zillah El-zamuni stepped out of it. She was a tall, fair and slight creature, garbed in a black dress with long sleeves matched with a black hijab and a nose mask; only her emerald eyes revealed she was a stranger. The village appeared desolate, and Zillah feared if she was in the right place. She retrieved the flyer from her bag to double check the address. As she started down the dusty road, she came across two young boys rushing off to the eastern part of the town where the show was about to begin. Straightaway, the boys knew Zillah was a foreigner, and they were reluctant to disclose any information, but Zillah told them she was from the neighboring village. To some extent, the boys relaxed a bit and allowed her to tag along.
Outside of the laboratory premises, a crowd formed a circle around the doorway. The elderly men sat on two benches in the front row, while the rest stood behind. Women with their children tied to their back in anticipation of what was about to unfold. Now, Zillah found it difficult to blend into the crowd, as she was a head taller than everyone in the place. Her heart raced, a bit terrified that someone might discover her identity if she pushed to the front. So she stood at the back, clutching her bag.
Not long, Ibrahim came out holding a round shape stainless timepiece that looked like an eye. The surface was covered with protective glass, with two symmetric needles ticking slowly. There were two buttons on the left side of the machine with detachable straps. For a few minutes, Ibrahim was speechless and his chest throbbed. A sudden stage-fright came upon him. 'What if it doesn't work?' he pondered. His mother would be so heartbroken, and not just his mother, but the entire village. He shut his eyes and sucked in air, and when he would open them, he found his voice.
"Thank you all for coming around. Today has been tough for all of us"
Ibrahim cleared his throat and moved closer.
"And I promise not to waste your time"
He strapped the device onto his wrist, and it made a clicking sound.
"For generations, our tribe has been marginalized, buffeted by the catastrophe of nature.. but that ends today! For I present you the Ark, it will lead us to the future not destroyed with pollution and drought"
He raised his wrist, and the glint of the metal blinded the crowd momentarily. Zillah knew this Ark was the authentic one and her journey was not in vain.
"Let the Ark mark a new chapter in our lives. See and be amazed!"
As he lifted his finger to screw the upper button by the side of the Ark, the crowd screamed in happiness. Suddenly, a volley of gunshots rent the air, disrupting the joyful atmosphere, replaced with a great agitation. Mubarak and seven other Tamarisk men stormed in, clutching their rifles.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ibrahim asked.
Mubarak thumped Ibrahim on his chin and as he stumbled, one of the Tamarisk held him down.
"Our father is lying down there unconscious, and you are here gallivanting with some stupid machine"
Then Mubarak turned his scowled face at the elderly men trembling on their seat. Color utterly drained from their faces.
"You old fools! You come here to see what? We are nomads! Our tradition is open grazing. Never in our history had we used the white man's magic. Haven't we leant enough from these white devils? They bite and blow us breeze yet we are quick to embrace their lies"
One elder, who couldn't stomach Mubarak's rudeness, summoned courage.
"We cannot cut off the throat because it's infected with goiter. Yes, the white men have done us countless wrong, but now is the time to embrace change"
Mubarak glared at him with his finger on the trigger. Contemplating whether to pull it.
"Go offer thanksgiving to Allah, he is the reason your head is still sitting on your neck"
The old men glanced at themselves in total bewilderment. They couldn't believe their eyes. This was not the Mubarak who had grown amidst them. Now courting the baneful cult of the Tamarisk, they understood everything he said was no empty threat. The Tamarisk had been behind several heinous crimes and sacking of smaller settlements, and now it was the turn of Dukawa to face the brunt of their wrath.
In the corner, Zillah watched closely. She did not understand what was going on and she hoped no harm came to the machine. For she had travelled far to come and see with her eyes and was convinced that the Ark was the original piece of specimen. She would rather have twenty heads rolling on the floor than leave the machine. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her compacted sword; in case the assassins were feeling stupid.
Mubarak fired more volleys of gunshots into the air.
"Go home, there won't be any show today!" he bellowed.
Madness broke forth in the crowd, both old and young ran helter-skelter. But Zillah stood her ground, watching what they planned to do to Ibrahim. Then Mubarak turned to leer at his brother, still pressed to the ground. He snapped his finger, and the Tamarisk released his grip on Ibrahim.
"You won't be lucky the next time," he said between clenched teeth.
Mubarak and his Tamarisk brothers dashed to their parked motorcycles across the road and rode away. As they rode, billows of smoke rose, obliterating the sky momentarily. Ibrahim remained on the ground. There was no strength left in him. This was his life project and his brother just destroyed it before it could have a life of its own. He buried his head and wept with his heart aching. All his life, he hadn't felt this much pain before as he had felt in that moment. Hopelessness washed over him, and anger at his brother's backwardness.
"Hello" Zillah whispered
Ibrahim thought he heard something. He raised his head to behold Zillah towering over him. Greenish eyes gazed at him, such as he had never seen in his village except in the occidental. Quickly, he rose to his feet and dabbed his face.
"Um, pretty rough day, right?" she asked, smiling.
Ibrahim stared blankly at the tall woman standing in front of him but couldn't place her face. Zillah smiled behind her mask. She understood what was playing on his mind.
"Pardon me, doctor Ibrahim. I am Leila Mogaji from the neighboring village__ I came to see with my eyes, the miracle of your invention"
Ibrahim heaved a sigh and nodded in retrospect at the setback.
"I am sorry for disappointing you. I guess I have more work to do to ensure that none of this ever happened"
"I must confess, backwardness is in our blood, and I fear it might take you a lifetime to do that," she chuckled.
Ibrahim smiled faintly, feeling a bit relaxed.
"Em, Doctor Ibrahim, I have been wanting to ask how you came about this machine."
She gestured at the dazzling piece of metal. But the moment Ibrahim opened his mouth to respond, a young boy ran into the compound, panting for breath. He informed Ibrahim that his father was awake and wanted to see him. After that, he took to his heel without looking back. Ibrahim was thrilled. Sparks of excitement shot through his body; he turned to regard Zillah, but she was gone. His eyes darted around in confusion, because she couldn't have walked past him without him noticing her.
"Hello, Leila?"
An icy chill went through his spine. He couldn't believe he had been talking to a ghost, but that was the least of his worries. He dashed out of the compound and into the dusty street. The orangey colored sun was disappearing. Time was incredibly shorter during the day and longer at night, which was better for him. Because soon the incident would be a thing of the past. All he wanted to do was throw himself into his father's arm, just as he had always done when he was young. But his adult-self screamed at him and a momentary shame washed over him, too glad nobody could read his thoughts.
* * *
By the time Ibrahim arrived at his father's compound, it was already dark. He walked past a handful of men gathered by the doorpost of the hut, discussing in hush tones, and pushed the door gently. Inside a dimly lighted room, pungent smell of herbal concoction saturated the room. Alhaji Kabiru laid unconscious on the mat. His chest heaved in great labor as he struggled to breathe. Seated beside him were two clerics chanting 'Allahu Akbar' and gripping their prayer beads in anticipation of a miracle? For a split second, Ibrahim stood by the doorway, sickened by the pathetic sight. This could not be my father! He moaned. The father he knew was a strong ebullient man who could travel for days with his cattle without food, except for water and nuts. Super brave and never afraid to fight off any wild animals that crossed his path. For sure, that man was gone. Whatever was on the mat was just his shell.
Slowly, Ibrahim moved to where his father laid and sat close to him. As he held his hands, the tears which he had been trying to hide came down in the torrent. He wept for all the misfortune that had befallen him. Deep within him, he knew if their father were to be his normal self, Mubarak would never have had the guts to disrupt the launching of the Ark. Suddenly, Alhaji Kabiru's hand twitched.
"Father?"
Swiftly, Ibrahim leaned closer, and the clerics chanted, which made it difficult to hear anything. He put his hand around his father's neck and tried to raise him up, but Alhaji Kabiru held his wrist and summoned all the strength he could muster.
"Your brother did this!"
It chilled Ibrahim to the bones, and his face lost all its color. How is this possible? He questioned in utter bewilderment, ears buzzing as if they might explode. It was axiomatic that Mubarak had sold out to the Tamarisk; that was why he ruined the launch. Everything he did was premeditated! And he seethed with anger. This was the final straw. Mubarak had to pay for this spitefulness. But just as he was about to return him to the mat, Alhaji Kabiru tightened his grip on his wrist with bulging eyes.
"Find the star that leads home"
Ibrahim looked at him, presumed he was talking about the timepiece. He shook his head and cooed his father back into a reposed state. Ibrahim was so consumed with wrath that the failed show became the least of his concern. He laid his father on the mat, and for a split second, cast a wry glance at the clerics. He wondered if they were allies with the dreadful Tamarisk. His anger seemed to melt away, supplanted with fears, because if they were, his father would not survive till daybreak. No matter how hard he tried not to pay attention to all the hideous tales of the Tamarisk, he knew the evilness they could commit under different guises. Ibrahim shut his eyes and muttered a brief prayer of protection because in that moment that was all he needed. Then he dashed out of the room, hoping against all hope that his prayers were answered and he would find his father when he returned.
As he ran down the road, consumed with blood rage. He thought of different gruesome ways to kill his brother, but none seemed doable. But whichever way, he just knew Mubarak had to die! For taking away the one person who meant the world to him.
"Mubarak!"
He screamed and ran into Mubarak's compound. There was an awful silence hanging in the air. Everywhere was dark, and the door leading to several huts belonging to the womenfolk in the compound were shut. But Ibrahim was too blind with rage to notice any sinister thing. He kicked the door of Mubarak's hut open, and Mubarak froze in the middle of his packing blitz.
"What have you done?"
Ibrahim asked and charged at him. But Mubarak grabbed Ibrahim by his wrist and shoved him against the wall.
"How can you do this to our father?"
Ibrahim pulled himself from the ground and once more dashed towards him. This time, Mubarak thumped him on his jaw and Ibrahim flew backwards.
"And what are you going to do about it, you little worm? Our father was a disgrace to our clan!"
Ibrahim's body racked with excruciating pain as he rose. He balanced his hands on his waist, to catch his breath, wishing he had superhuman strength to take his brother down.
"No, Mubarak, you are wrong! Our father is a good man, and all he ever did was secure a sustainable future for his people. Do you know how many of our people die of hunger and thirst regularly?"
"That is why we have to go back to the old ways. We are herdsmen, nomadic people"
"Reason with me brother, I am not trying to change the old ways, I just want to make it better"
Mubarak looked at him with an awful glower on his face and clenched his fist.
"You are not my brother!" he said in utter contempt.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Tamarisks marched into the hut, clutching their guns. Ibrahim became utterly terrified, and his eyes darted around.
"Save whatever reservation you might have, for the Tamarisks will take over the town and anybody who tries to stop them, I mean us, will be slaughtered!"
"Okay, okay, I will leave right away and we will speak of this no more," Ibrahim replied in a trembling voice.
Ibrahim perceived this was a tough situation and for him to stay alive longer enough to save his parents, he had to be smart. But Mubarak burst into laughter, and his laughter made Ibrahim even more terrified. Ibrahim swallowed hard and stared at his brother. He just knew that his end had come.
"My brothers would need a doctor. A journey to the South is not a small one"
Color drained from Ibrahim's face. His heart pounded heavily and his legs became jellied.
"Please don't make me do this. Take all you want! But please let me go!" Ibrahim pled.
Mubarak smiled with a smirk on his face, as a feeling of awe swept over him.
"It's too late for that," Mubarak replied.
Immediately, one of the Tamarisk standing behind whacked Ibrahim with the butt of his gun, and he blanked out. Then the Tamarisks bound and gag Ibrahim, while Mubarak finished with his packing, and they all slipped out into the night.