Early life and childhood
Being the 2nd daughter to my mum (Ummi) and the 3rd to my father (Mallam), I came from a practicing Muslim home, raised by both parents who constantly prayed both mandatory and voluntary prayers, constantly reading the Qur’an. The home that understood learning as a constant pursuit and religious obligation.
The routine of the house to all of us was wake up for Fajr prayer, read your Qur’an, take your shower, rush your breakfast and be ready to school, after returning from school, eat lunch, change uniform and go to Madrasah were Mallam is the proprietor and also a teacher. After returning from the madrasah, we pray, eat dinner with Mallam, and have a long conversation about animals and his life experience in the village. This was the circle, the only thing that keeps changing is the conversation during the nights.
Mallam was intentional about us attending a missionary school, he was a driver with the Nigerian Mining Cooperation and had minimal western education but extensive Qur’anic knowledge, his dreams while we had our night conversation sometimes was for one of us to be a doctor, one an engineer, another a lawyer and one to study English language, and to all have a beautiful life. Like every African father he dreamt, how if we are educated we will make him proud as a father and also an advocate of education in our local community.
My mum, growing up, had always been going to school, teaching community women who came to our house to learn subjects like Qur’an, Hadith, Fiqh (jurisprudence) while she took her lessons at night from scholars, she learned English, Mathematics alongside Fiqh.
Seasons have come and gone, I noticed that people no longer came in numbers as they usually did to see Mallam, he is now always at home and in his room in darkness and silence, we later heard that the Izala movement has split due to internal issues. The controversy has seen the birth of religious discussion and debate, creating a divide within the Izala movement, some looking at the leadership in Kaduna while others looking at the leadership in Jos.
Mallam’s school was taken over by a faction of Izala Jos, of which he no longer is a member.
It was on a Friday after we came back from school, the atmosphere was stiff and unfriendly, we heard that there was a crisis in town, with a lot of people uncertain about what’s happening, the following morning we were awakened with the sound of gun shots and flames. The environment was chaotic with people running to no specific destination, our house was full with different people seeking refuge because Mallam is a community and a religious leader.
I was at a complete loss of what was happening in my community as well as our house, people were coming in and going out. Houses had been burnt, and many killed, there was a seemingly absence of security forces. By evening time, the environment was so quiet and desolate, that you will think there is nobody alive. The night was long and dark, we couldn’t find a place to sleep with my siblings because of the crowd in the house, some women and children were lying on the floor helplessly and hopelessly, some children were crying while some were clinging to their parents in fear of the unknown.
My siblings and I slept in Mallam’s room, there was no space for us in the house, he asked us to sleep on his bed, as I lay down on his bed, I couldn’t fathom what had happened that day and what tomorrow will hold. I kept waking up at intervals, and whenever I woke up, I saw Mallam praying or prostrating in prayers, the night was too long for me.
After Fajr prayer the next morning, the food was just manageable looking at the crowd, gunshots were heard and flames were seen from close proximity making it clear that the enemies were near, we were asked to all leave the house and go to the police station which seemed safer. The crises had intensified, houses burnt were more than that of the previous day.
Upon reaching the station, it was as though all the people living in our community have gathered in the station, Ummi, only seven days earlier, gave birth to my little sister Radiya, living in the police station was the worst experience but the terrifying feeling was how people kept coming and informing family members about the death of their loved ones.
News reached us that Mallam’s school was burnt, our house was burnt and Mallam alongside his students were killed. Ummi was holding Radiya close to her chest, we were all crying and grieving, we slept at the station because we still couldn’t go home, the road wasn’t safe, and by evening the security forces had arrived and the crises had subsided.
In the morning, we got the news that Mallam wasn’t dead, our house wasn’t burnt, but his school was burnt to ashes, two of my uncles were shot, the road was cleared and security presence was felt. We left the station to return home, but little Radiya’s health was jeopardized and after a time we lost her to pneumonia. On our way back home there were corpses of people by the road leaving me with nightmares that kept haunting me for long.
This period has set the ball rolling for subsequent conflict, distrust, resentment, among us and our neighbors, people were living with invisible wounds. I see how people, including my father, were struggling to adjust to a new life, most people were overwhelmed with grief and didn’t know what to do and how to cope, many of my neighbors left the community and never returned, a 24 hour curfew was placed, making life feel so empty and meaningless.
Normalcy was back and life was back to a certain level, we resumed school and I feel I am looked at with distrust, our community started segregating, economic hardship crept in to our society, youths were going into drugs, teenage girls were getting pregnant, homes were no longer peaceful and I wonder, really wonder, how our lives had turned just within a spate of time. My grandma was psychologically affected but not only her, the people as a whole were traumatized. The community turned violent with a high level of poverty.
Few years later, I noticed Mallam’s constant stay in the house, he no longer goes for official travels to the Eastern part of the country and bringing us garri, coconut and palm oil, but I never gave it a thought. On a Monday morning I was driven home for school fees for the very first time in my life, I was overjoyed, I moved with my classmates happily until I reached my area, then I started feeling uncomfortable with the looks from people’s eyes, then it hit me, something was really wrong. I met Mallam in the house and he asked Ummi to go to our school and plead on his behalf and write an undertaking. After we left his room, I asked Ummi what was really happening and she said the Nigeria Mining corporation has been liquidated by the Government, I still remember asking her, what it meant? And she said Mallam had lost his job…
*Sumayya Abubakar is a development worker, she is an educationist, and peace builder. She runs a schools system for marginalised populations on the Plateau and environs and can be reached at sumaiyaabubakar92@gmail.com
