3 Weeks ago, the Syrian government agreed a ceasefire with the Free Syria Army.
Air conditioned and blacked out luxury buses were subsequently sent in to pick up the soldiers of the Free Syria Army with free passage guaranteed.
Many thought they wouldn’t make it, that Bashir Assad and his cohorts would renege but war is a tiring thing. They kept their word. The soldiers were ferried to freedom out of Homs, which had been under siege for almost two years.
Now, let me address Abubakar Shekau, self-styled leader of Boko Haram, directly; unlike the soldiers of the Free Syrian Army, there will be no safe passage for you. Your days are numbered. You will not pass go. They will hunt you down and drag you in shackles into a court of law. That is the fate that awaits you, and if you decide to fight it out then, hear this now; there is a bullet in the rifle of a US marine with your name on it.
I grew up in Kano. I played on the streets of No-mans-land and Sarkin Yaki just outside Sabon Gari. I visited friends in Sabon Gari from Burma Road to Church street. I remember the Zamani book shop where I bought most of my novels. We had Sunday brunch in Bompai, ate Yogurt at UTC on Bello Road and went shopping for brocade materials on Ibrahim Taiwo. Kano was where I had my first kiss. But now I may never return there.
Jos was the second northern city that I fell in love with. It was where I matured into an adult as a student of the University of Jos. That was the city of peace where I met most of my best friends; Peju, Ralph, Dave, Helon, Olu, Abdul Jabbar, Terh. We met in school and there was nothing haram about it.
We were taught and we learnt and studied hard so we could affect our world for good. Look at all of us now, spread across the world using our knowledge to change the world. How can that ever be haram?
Today, we weep over the blast in Sabon Gari and the Jos terminus market. Terminus Market, that hulking mass; the only mall we knew before we even knew what the word meant.
It was a marker, a place where you found your bearing. No matter how lost or drunk of foolish you were, once you got to Terminus you would find a bus or cab to take you home.
Now, we will not remember it for what it was, a cornucopia of tastes and sounds and wares. Now, we will remember it as a place of death.
But, we will also remember it as a signpost of the end for you and your cohorts. The end is nigh and you are running scared. These attacks speak of desperation and nerves but believe me my dear man, you have nowhere to run.
You have reached your bloody TERMINUS!
PHOTO CREDIT: http://rt.com/news/160304-nigeria-twin-blasts-victims/