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‘No, but you were born into it. The – great – Mohammed Yusuf
was your father,’ he paused, ‘and you ran away after he died – age
fifteen.’
Again, I said nothing, but for him it was more than enough. ‘I
must admit, I have been following you for a while now and, like I
said, I am here to seek your assistance.’
‘What if my assistance causes more harm than good?’ I knew what
he wanted.
‘Your lack of action will inevitably cause more harm than good,’ he
said morosely. There will always be more fighting, more war, more
sacrifices, and more tragedies before there is peace. However, it is
important, Mr Yusuf, that you take a side in conflict if you want to
remain human.’
‘You want me to lead you to Sanin Yusuf ’, my brother. All the
trouble he had caused. The only thing that protected me from dying
at the merciless hands of the Boko Haram was our shared blood and
I wished now that could have been enough for me to take no part in
the whole affair.
‘There was a rumour that he was there to ‘overlook’ the attack.’
The American pressed, ‘have you seen him since?’
I became silent again. Yes, I had seen my brother, multiple times
privately and when I asked him about his actions, his eyes had
gleamed triumphantly and I knew that when my own brother saw a
dead body he couldn’t even see their wounds. He had told me, ‘they
were only war casualties and they died in the right cause.’ I had
nearly choked on my bile.
‘Mr Yusuf, it does not bode well for your people to withhold vital
information. Eventually action must be taken; there is always a point
of change when you refuse to turn a blind eye. How many more
innocent people must die before you reach it?’ The Westerner spoke
urgently now, his words strong, breaking through my final barrier. I
laid down my neutrality like a lamb, ready for the sacrifice. I could
no longer remain a mere civilian. I had both the power and means to
intervene.
My love, Quivina, flashed through my mind; the letter she had
sent in secrecy last night lamenting her sister who was stolen by the
Boko Haram months ago. Her surprise that she had enough tears to
spill for her Aunt’s little boy in Cameroon, snatched just the night
before and forced to join the sect.
The Lambs
Of War
12