Satans and Shaitans

by Obinna Udenwe

  ‘Who is the girl my son is carrying around in his car, Veronica?’

  Madam Vero was shocked. She looked at him and then at the huge guard seated by the door.

  ‘I don’t understand, Chief?’ Her hands were behind her back and she was uneasy. She had lived with him for a long time and was like a wife to him, so she understood his temperament.

  ‘I just saw my son driving with a girl in the front seat.’ His stare was enough to tell her that he was serious. He was demanding answers.

  ‘I met a girl today…’ Madam Vero recalled.

  She finally said, ‘Chief, she could have been any girl from the village, probably needing a ride home, they are so careless these days.’

  ‘I want to know who he has been visiting.’

  ‘Chief, we both know your son very well, he doesn’t visit anyone but that priest. And you are embarrassing me. Do you think I would allow any girl into this house, flouting your orders?’

  Madam Vero turned to walk away and the Chief looked remorseful. He loved her in his own way, for caring for him, his son and his household.

  ‘Wait, I am sorry. But you know how much I value his future. His talent. Women will destroy him like they did to other great artists before him.’

  Madam Vero turned back towards him, ‘But you will end up destroying your son yourself, agwagom gi, I have told you.’ They stared at each other and she walked out of the room toward the kitchen. She was one of the few people in the world with the power to walk away from the Chief and live to tell the tale.

  Once in the kitchen, she noticed she was breathing very hard. She drank some water. Fear gripped her. She knew better than anyone the consequences if Chief Amechi discovered his son had a woman in his life.

  Chief Amechi was still on the sofa waiting for his son to return home that night. He had changed into pyjamas and stretched out his legs on top of the glass coffee table. All his years as a footballer had kept him in good shape. The door clicked open, and Donaldo walked in.

  ‘Where have you been, son?’

  ‘To the café,’ responded Donaldo and he headed for the stairs. His father called him back.

  ‘When did you start visiting the cafeteria?’

  ‘I was bored.’

  ‘Have you finished the drawings?’

  ‘No… I will do that tonight.’

  At that instant, his father sprang to his feet, ‘You are a fool, Donaldo. You are toying with your future and talent! I saw you tonight, with a woman in your car. Perhaps you were taking her to the café, or somewhere else. Have you started messing about? And you forgot to complete the work. I am supposed to take it with me tomorrow.’ He was facing Donaldo. Madam Vero was now standing by the door to the sitting room, ready to run in and intervene.

  ‘There was no girl in my car!’

  ‘Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, you fool! You are just like your mother. Liars! You will end up throwing all your efforts to the mud. You are a fool, Donaldo!’

  Donaldo said nothing and just stared at his father. The mere mention of his mother made him weak. It made him hate his father even more.

  He summoned courage and said, ‘How dare you insult my mother—’ At that, his father swooped on him like a kite about to carry off a chick. He punched his son on the nose. Donaldo fell down. He was about to hit him again when Madam Vero ran in.

  ‘You will kill this boy, Chief!’

  ‘Stay out of this, woman!’

  Madam Vero held his hands, forcing him away from Donaldo. Donaldo just stared. His nose bled. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

  ‘I hate what you are doing to him, to this house!’ Madam Vero was shouting.

  ‘Listen, boy. Women have led to the death of so many great men. Name them. You know the list. Be careful. Otherwise, you will join the list.’

  He turned and stormed out of the room. Madam Vero rushed to Donaldo and tried to help him but he pushed her away.

  ‘I hate him! I hate you! I hate everyone.’ He walked out of the room. It was a lie and Madam Vero knew it.

  He did not answer his phone that night when Adeline rang. The next day, he did not answer because he was afraid she might ask him to come over. He did not want her to see him like this – swollen face and bloody nose.

  Whoever joins himself to another in a good cause

  shall have a share of it,

  and whoever joins himself to another in an

  evil cause

  shall have the responsibility of it, and Allah controls

  all things.

  Surah 4:85

  The Holy Qur’an

  SEVENTEEN

  Wednesday, 24th February 2010

  Alhaji Umar Hassan woke up in the morning feeling happy. While his heart was not completely at ease, he knew that at the age of sixty-eight he had lived a long life, and a good one for the most part. He had enjoyed life. On the matter of the jihad, he trusted his younger brother to take action if he died. He regretted that he had no taped conversation or a single document to prove what he knew. But Malik had the names of all the members of the Sacred Order who were a threat to his life.

  That morning, as he got up, his happiness enhanced by the fat young woman who shared his bed, he went into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stood under the warm, cleansing stream of water, letting it fall all over his head and body.

  The knock on the door had come several times before the woman lazily raised herself from the bed and, using the duvet to cover her nakedness, walked to the door. Without making enquiries she threw the door open.

  She opened her mouth to ask the hotel attendant what she could do for him when the young man pushed her into the room. She hit the ground so hard that cries of pain escaped her mouth. Her hand dropped the duvet, revealing her voluptuous breasts at which a gun was now pointing.

  ‘Shhhhhh!’ The intruder placed the forefinger of the hand he ate with on his lips. Alhaji Umar Hassan heard the woman’s scream and rushed out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his body. He saw the man who was in the room.

  ‘Simon!’

  ‘Alhaji!’

  Fear like he never knew gripped him. ‘Spare my life. I plead with you, Simon. Oh Allah! Have mercy on me, Simon.’ The Alhaji was facing him. The naked woman was crying and crawling backwards in fright, till she was in front of the Alhaji.

  ‘How much did they give you? I will double it. I will triple it—’

  The intruder cocked the Bersa Thunder 380 semi-automatic pistol in his left hand. The Alhaji began to say the Shahadah rapidly: ‘Ash-hadu an laa ilaaha illallah Wa ash-hadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah. I bear witness that there is no God but God and that Muhammad is His messenger…’ And the bullets came. They travelled in a split second. His forehead opened and the bullets entered. His brain splattered on the woman, on the bed, on the table, the chair and on the wall.

  The gun had a silencer, but the woman’s wails pierced the intruder’s ears. He shot her once in the chest, between her breasts. And her head rested on the spread out legs of her lover.

  Chief Donald Amechi’s convoy drove up to Akanu Ibiam International Airport in Enugu, and as he boarded the flight to Lagos en route to Italy, his phone rang.

  A familiar voice spoke, ‘It is done, Sir.’

  Chief Donald Amechi smiled sinisterly.

  ‘May the Almighty God bless all your endeavours, Simon.’

  And then he rang off.

  EIGHTEEN

  Friday, 26th February 2010

  It had never been hot in Katsina like it was that afternoon. Five Toytoa Hilux trucks sped recklessly into the fenced compound of the Centre for Islamic Knowledge and parked at the back of the quarters. Over fifteen young men, dressed in army camouflage and carrying guns, stepped out and walked up to their leader who was standing in front of the mosque.

  There was no wind. Everyone was sweating as the radiance of the sun burned down on the brown sand.

  ‘Izzay el-sehha?’ She
ikh Mohammed Seko asked.

  ‘I am fine, brother. Khalas, it is done,’ Abouzeid responded. He approached the Sheikh and they shook hands. The other men stood watching, their heavy AK-47 rifles hanging on their shoulders and in their hands.

  The Sheikh approached the men and shook their hands one after the other.

  ‘Alhamdulillah! Today we have opened a new history in Nigeria. Today our actions have made the souls of our ancestors, our fathers, rest in peace with Allah. The infidels who are a threat to the religion of Allah bleed. What a great honour you do to the world with your actions! Do not ever think that the actions you take today will go unrewarded. Chchchchh!’ He made a sound with his tongue in between his teeth. ‘No. Allah sees all things. He rewards us according to our deeds. And what greater reward is there than that due to a mortal who paves the way for the religion of the true God? None. It is a delight that we have lost no man. It is a sign that the Almighty is our guide. Abouzeid, please bring me my Holy Qur’an.’

  Abouzeid hurried away. He returned shortly with the Holy Book and handed it to his boss. By then over forty other young men, smiling and talking happily, had joined the group. The Sheikh opened the Qur’an and began to read out loudly: ‘“Surely those who guard against evil are in a secure place.” You, standing here today, are the ones the Holy Qur’an talks about. It reads: “In gardens and springs, they shall wear fine and thick silk, sitting face to face; thus shall it be and we will wed them with Houris pure, beautiful ones”.’

  The joy of the men resounded through the whole compound, disturbing the children in the classrooms.

  Then the children’s voices rose in crescendo up to the heavens as they recited anasheed in their classroom, unaware of what was happening in front of the mosque.

  ‘I cannot thank you all enough. What do I have to give? Nothing. But your rewards are in heaven. My duty is to make the earth as comfortable as possible for you while you await a greater comfort in heaven. Comfort that no man could ever fathom or explain. Abouzeid will give each of you a parcel. You are dismissed. Go in peace and with the blessings of the Almighty!’

  The men filed away. They were going to return their weapons.

  ‘Brother, I owe you my life—’

  ‘Do not say that, Sheikh,’ Abouzeid replied. ‘Who am I without you? You brought me out as an Almajiri. And gave me education and a better life.’

  ‘May Allah guide your path. Give each man twenty thousand naira. I must go back to my studies now. In the evening, I will make the announcement. Jama’atul al-Mujahideen Jihad must take responsibility. Do we fear for a cause we have chosen?’

  ‘No.’

  Sheikh Mohammed Seko’s masbaha with its ninety-nine beads of coloured amber rattled as he crossed his hands behind his back. He began to walk back to his quarters, Abouzeid following behind him.

  Oh, how I draw nearer to my destination. Fools. Fools. They believe whatever they are told, he thought and smiled to himself.

  ‘You are happy, my brother,’ Abouzeid said.

  He turned and faced Abouzeid and took his hands. ‘Thank you. Thank you.

  NINETEEN

  Saturday, 27th February 2010

  Adeline sat on the sofa reading Ayi Kwei Armah’s The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born. Her parents had returned. Her mother was in the kitchen making supper.

  Her father watched a recording of one of his evangelical missions in Ghana. As he watched, he envisioned himself changing the world, turning it into the kind of world he wanted – a world where he would be equal to the Pope or even greater. He wanted to be worshipped and adored. He was already accomplishing his dreams. He preached about a world where men and women adored Christianity and honoured Evangelist Chris Chuba as a representative of Christ on earth.

  He had always preached that he was a messiah sent to heal people of all illnesses and diseases. He pressed his message hard on all the ears that listened to his sermons every day that to see God, you must obey Evangelist Chuba. You must listen to his words, his sermons. You must follow his church, The New Christ Mission International. You must abandon your own denominations and religion.

  He felt he was destined to do what he was doing, because he now controlled people – people from every corner of the earth.

  If he called for donations, they rolled in from different places. He had foundations and old people’s homes. He had clinics and hospitals and orphanages in almost every country. In Africa, he cared for homeless people. In Europe, he cared for drug addicts and those living with HIV and AIDS.

  He preached against violence and adored discipline. He condemned gay marriage and fought against it with his great influence. He advised world leaders and men of God. Old, poor women across the world would call his hotline and donate their last penny to his church after his sermons. His schools scattered all over the globe were free of charge. He was generous, or so people thought, but they paid a great deal from their voluntary donations. And as he watched the video, he was happy with himself. At least he had succeeded where others had failed.

  He had a lovely home, a lovely wife who would cry if he asked her to. She would jump if he wanted. A daughter who was the epitome of the life he wanted people to lead – one of chastity, discipline and an unwavering love for Evangelist Chris Chuba. Those were his words. Sprawled on the cushions, he smiled to himself.

  His wife walked in and announced, ‘The food is ready, darling.’ Whenever the Chubas were in residence, the maids worked harder to please them. Everyone in the house prayed more. And every morning, by 5.30am, they would gather in the sitting room to pray until they had pulled down heaven or the angels in heaven covered their ears.

  Adeline joined her parents and Miss Spencer at the dining table. She greeted them before they dished up the esusa soup and pounded yam. It was a rule that she greeted her parents before and after eating. The Evangelist said grace for almost four minutes before they began to eat.

  During supper the Evangelist studied Adeline. ‘I have noticed your temperament has changed. Why are you so happy?’ he asked her.

  ‘And she looks more beautiful,’ her mother added.

  Miss Spencer looked at Adeline. She winked.

  ‘So how do you like the presents?’ her mother asked. She was an attractive, statuesque woman and her gown was made of Ankara.

  ‘The presents are fine. Thank you!’

  After the meal, Mrs Chuba prayed for a minute. Miss Spencer served red wine.

  ‘So when do I start college, Dad?’

  ‘Soon—’

  ‘When is soon? I have stayed at home for a very long time. I need a change of environment.’

  ‘A change of environment? Very well, next year, you will complete the JAMB form and sit an entrance exam for Madonna University.’

  ‘Dad! That place? It’s like a convent. No one can visit you, or if they do they only give your visitor a few minutes with you. The students are like inmates in a prison yard. You can’t even use certain mobile phones.’

  ‘And what is the problem with that? Are you expecting visitors?’ He looked inquisitively at his daughter. ‘It is a highly disciplined instutition, that is true, and that is what I want… discipline, discipline, oh Jesus, discipline! That is what I preach. And that Catholic mission college will guarantee it.’

  Fear gripped Adeline – she had hoped to join a local college, she could not go away, not now she had found Donaldo. ‘But Dad, I thought you hated Catholics.’

  ‘I appreciate anyone who will groom my daughter to the standard I want.’ He coughed. Miss Spencer quickly poured water for him. Their eyes met. She looked away.

  ‘But Dad!’

  ‘Adeline!’ It was her mother who spoke now. ‘Listen to your father. He will never lead you astray. He won’t advise you wrongly. He is a special advisor to many world leaders. Do you know that your father gives advice to the President of the United States of America? Please, my daughter.’ She reached for Adeline’s hand, but she removed it, distraught.

  Mi
ss Spencer felt sorry for the girl, and spoke up. ‘I think Adeline has a point. All through her life, she has lived a secluded life. She has never experienced freedom. She has always been either at boarding school or at home. Going nowhere—’

  ‘Carol Spencer!’ Chuba shouted. ‘Mrs Chuba and I will be the ones to decide what is best for our daughter. Be quiet, you idiot!’ He regretted the words he had used immediately. How could I have allowed Satan to push me into calling her an idiot? he thought. ‘Leave! Leave before I… I commit another sin!’

  Miss Spencer got up and left.

  Turning to Adeline, he said, ‘I will speak with the priest who runs the institution, and you will be admitted.’ Turning to the maid Ngozi who was clearing the table, he said, ‘Now, get my Bible.’

  Determined not to cry in front of her parents, Adeline excused herself, went to her room and locked the door. She was glad that her parents were leaving again in two days.

  Mrs Chuba stared after her daughter long after Adeline had left the dining room. She regretted scolding her child, but wished Adeline could understand what a great life her father could offer her. She turned back to look at her husband, his face contorted in concentration as he read from his Bible, and she sighed.

  The story of Chris Chuba and his wife, Franca, was a long and complicated one. When he joined the Sacred Order, his church was gaining worldwide popularity and he had just bought many hectares of land at Abakaliki and built the Sanctuary – a complex containing a big church, a mansion with rooms for all his pastors, a pastoral school, an orphanage, a boarding school and a day school. The Sanctuary had a double fence and every sports court you could think of. People came there for pilgrimage. It had cheap but well equipped lodgings. Chuba would carry out power packed crusades, ministering to people and healing the sick, claiming that he had powers to heal people suffering from HIV and AIDS.

  It was at the time when the Sanctuary was newly built that he met Franca, who was twenty. She was a Catholic but she often came to his church to give talks. He met her on one of these occasions and admired her. She was beautiful, fair and tall. She was an angel and he called her that.