You need to read this beautiful 'War for God' story

Limah was upset. She didn’t understand why she had to leave her home. No, she did understand, but she wasn’t ready to accept it. The truth was too painful to her. She shifted, uncomfortable on the floor where she had laid a matress, her companions Aisha and Hauwa were snoring heavily like steamrollers.

The room was stuffy, the ceiling fan above rolled lazily, twirling in circles, but not cooling the room at all. In her own house, a six bedroom duplex, she had her own room to herself. Complete with full air-conditioning system and a private toilet and bath. Unbidden, a fat teardrop fell from her right eye and immediately, the floodgates were let open, her body was racked wit painful sobs.

Her whole family was putting up with their family friends for a couple of days before they finally migrated. They were leaving Maiduguri. Forever. The only home she’d ever known. This was where she had her friends, her school, her childhood, her whole life.

And now they were forced to leave it all behind. To move to a new place and start new lives afresh. Because they were Christians. The message had been simple and clear. It was scrawled boldly in Hausa on the wall of their house. ”Arne Ne”, meaning ”They’re Infidels”.

They had also drawn a gun beside the message. The interpretation was clear; they were infidels, and they were going to be dealt bullets if they didn’t leave. So leave, they will. The family two streets away who ignored a similar message last year were all murdered in their sleep a month after they’d gotten the message.

Limah sighed deeply. It hadn’t always been like this in Northern Nigeria. Not at all. Once upon a time, it was peaceful and there were no death threats. Her childhood had been fun, muslims and the very few christains had cohabited in peace.

Why, on Sallah day, they got so much meat and food from neighbours and friends that she ate till her teeth ached. In fact, while her milk teeth were falling off, two had come off while she was muching sallah meat. But those days were long gone now. Muslims and christians were now at war. Brothers and sisters who had once eaten from the same pot now turned their backs on each other, all over whether one called the Supreme Being Yaweh, or Allah.

Limah and her family were Bura, not Hausa, but they were northerners all the same. Her name was Halimah, but everybody called her Limah. Over there, in Northern Nigeria, the people were mostly muslims, but a fewer percentage were christains. Limah’s family was one of that fewer percentage. At first, while she was growing up, it hadn’t been a problem. Both christains and muslims had respected each other and their religious preferences.

Until a few years ago. A bunch of rebels had gathered arms and started killing christains all over the country. They claimed western education, technology and christainity were evil and unlawful in Islam.

One of Limah’s uncles was an imam, the old man said he was yet to come across such a thing in the Holy Quran and in all the Ahadiths he’d read. Obviously, this band of bandits were just illiterates that are not properly indoctrinated. Really and truly, education is very important, and knowledge is light. Ignorance, or half education is a very very bad thing.

Limah heaved the world’s heaviest sigh. She was just 13 years old, and the transition from child to teenager was hard enough on her. Now she had to leave her home, and all the comfort she’d ever known. She had to start life afresh; new schools, new friends, new teachers, new neighbours. Limah was a bit scared, and very uncertain.

She didn’t know what the future held, she didn’t know if Jos town that her family was planning to resettle was safe enough, afterall, it was still northern Nigeria. She cackled a bitter laugh. Nigeria, her motherland, the giant of Africa, the land where milk and honey flow was a lot like her at the moment. Trembling, shaky, and with a very uncertain future.

What would God think of ignorant creatures spilling blood, innocent blood in His name. And the incompetent Nigerian government that didn’t have a solution to this menace, as well as a million other problems plaguing the nation.

What could she do? She was just another unlucky Nigerian, and her government didn’t give a damn about her, or any other citizen for that matter. Her whole life had been upturned. And she was starting it all over again. Far from all she’d known. And in a new world.

Fatimah is a writer, an aspiring baby girl and a Bobriskyy stan. Check out her awesome writings on the wanderinglass.com and follow her on Twitter @FlawlessMilo

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