CHAPTER 11

Hamza, still reeling from the shocking performance by Sani, wandered through the camp lost in thought. He couldn't shake the image of the terrorist leader playing the guitar and singing with such emotion. Questions swirled in his mind, but he realized he might have to wait until tomorrow to seek answers.

As he ventured deeper into the camp, Hamza found himself in an area where the terrorists were visibly present. Their hostile glares bore into him as he cautiously approached. Feeling their contempt, he lowered his head and asked, his voice soft and polite, "Excuse me, do you know where I can find Usman?" The men seemed poised to rebuff him when a stern voice from behind interrupted.

"What's going on here? Aren't you supposed to be at your posts?" the voice inquired, casting an authoritative gaze upon them. The men hastily replied, "We were just about to go to Usman, sir."

The speaker was a towering figure, resembling a bouncer from the movies. His height and build were a rarity among the Hausa. He gave Hamza a cold look and simply ordered, "Follow me." Without waiting to see if Hamza obeyed, he began walking away.

Their path led to the sturdiest building in the camp, where Usman abruptly turned to Hamza and delivered a stern command, "You stay here from today. Don't move around." Hamza nodded in gratitude, sensing Usman's evident displeasure with him. But Hamza had bigger concerns occupying his thoughts.

The furniture was a mismatched assortment. A wobbly wooden table, surrounded by rickety chairs and stools, dominated the room. In one corner, a leaning bookshelf held a jumbled collection of well-used books and magazines. Opposite it, a metal cabinet overflowed with a disorganized mix of clothing, documents, and personal items.

The walls bore patched holes and cracks, adorned with faded posters of political figures and radical slogans. A cracked mirror hung near a small washbasin, and a worn curtain barely provided privacy.

Despite the disorder, the room served its purpose, offering shelter and a semblance of privacy in challenging circumstances. It epitomized life within the base—functional, devoid of luxury, but a place where occupants made do with what they had.

...

As night blanketed the camp, the moon's dim glow cast eerie shadows. Suddenly, shouts pierced the silence, accompanied by the clamor of bells ringing urgently. Someone was attempting to escape, and the night promised to be long and turbulent.

Startled awake by the commotion, Hamza leaned out of the window, trying to make sense of the chaos outside. A figure rushed past him, frantically knocking on doors and shouting that someone had escaped. The door swung open, and Sani emerged, his stern countenance sending the messenger crumpling to the ground after a harsh slap. Sani scolded the man for his incompetence before exiting the building.

Hamza, standing nearby, couldn't help but notice the stark transformation in Sani's demeanor. This was not the same man who had smiled and played the guitar earlier in the day. Sani's face now bore an expression of cold determination.

Outside, pandemonium reigned as all the children, both boys and girls, were summoned to gather. The night hung heavy with a sense of impending dread.

Sani addressed the assembled group, his words laden with ominous weight. "Today, we will set an example for all of you to witness the consequences of disobedience," he declared before turning away. In the distance, the sound of approaching vehicles grew louder.

Two young boys were forcefully dragged from one of the vehicles, their screams piercing the night. A man rushed to Sani, reporting, "Sir, these were the two that escaped." Sani ordered them to be brought to the front.

As the terrified children were dragged to the forefront, fear was palpable in their wide eyes. Goosebumps prickled their skin, and the tension in the air was suffocating.

Hamza, watching from the window, could hardly bear to witness the unfolding tragedy. He silently prayed that Sani would show mercy, but deep down, he knew the chances of that were slim.

Sani fixed his unrelenting gaze on the hostages, warning, "Anyone who dares to attempt escape again will meet this fate." He grabbed a rifle and aimed it at the children, firing two shots that sent their lifeless bodies crashing to the cold, sandy ground. A haunting silence gripped the camp, broken only by the terrorists raising their weapons and chanting "BE WARNED" before the camp descended into warlike cries.

Hamza, still reeling from the horrors he had witnessed, slumped onto the couch, tears streaming down his face. His mind raced with thoughts of how he could escape this forsaken place and ensure his survival. Hamza, still reeling from the shocking performance by Sani, wandered through the camp lost in thought. He couldn't shake the image of the terrorist leader playing the guitar and singing with such emotion. Questions swirled in his mind, but he realized he might have to wait until tomorrow to seek answers.