Dirty Diamonds Of Boko Haram Part 1

By Eze Eke

Copyright 2016 @ Eze Eke

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EZE EKE [[email protected]]

This is strictly a work of fiction modeled on
a few facts made public by the media. Names, characters,
businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to Nigeria, the land
that has endured so much conflict and still stood supreme. To all
its citizens who have died, suffered untold hardships and grieved
as victims of these conflicts.

Second and no less important, this book is
dedicated to the ‘gallant’ men and women of the Nigerian Army who
have fought the rapidly spreading evil menace that is BOKO HARAM.to
a standstill in this country while other countries around lay
helpless to them. In their numbers did they die while the citizens
stayed safe. A few rotten eggs do not make the entire nest bad. The
Army of Nigeria is a thing of pride to the land.

Thirdly, to the millions of people, dead and
alive, who have been victims of the BOKO HARAM terrorists and the
war on the extreme Islamic sect in their different countries...
Lastly, to the billions, dead and alive, who have been victims of
different conflicts and terror groups in our world, both past and
present.

We the people that live pray for the
forgiveness in that we refused to take notice of or help you all
until it was too late.

I dedicate this book to you all.

Before embarking on the creation of this
novel, I did a lot of research on the religion it touches most of
all…
Islam
. This I discovered....

Islam
and Christianity are not that
much different. In fact, they are very similar in too many ways.
Firstly, their holy books, the Bible and the
Quran
, seems to
have been coined from the Hebrew Torah, there are simply too many
identical chapters, verses, characters and quotations in all three
holy books to indicate differently. Their ideology and philosophy
are basically the same, and interestingly all three holy books have
five letter words as name! Finally, both Islam and Christianity
seem to share the same fate in the hands of mankind, in that their
teachings have been manipulated, twisted and translated in all
kinds of ways over the centuries to give birth to all manner of
religious movements and sects. This issue is particularly worse in
the case of
Islam
due to the ‘
Jihad’
factor.

Highly intelligent individuals twist the
truth of the holy books into what they want it to be and feed that
to the gullible and feeble of heart who desperately and earnestly
seek some deeper meaning to the chaos that is life. Culture comes
to bear and the result is a new ‘religious sect’.

Originally began as an Islamic fundamentalist
group by a man of powerful personality, Mohamed Yusuf, who, until
his death in the mid-2000s, lived in Maiduguri, Bornu state,
north-eastern Nigeria, the
BOKO HARAM
sect has grown so
quickly to become a very powerful and well-equipped militant group
today, fighting a full-fledged war with the armies of the four
different nations centered around the Lake Chad, battling them all
at the same time even as it unlashes bloody terror on thousands of
innocent people.

The
BOKO HARAM
terrorist doctrine
which is similar to that of
Al-Quoda
and
Islamic
State
, pushes
Islam
to the most ‘
extreme
levels’
. Their laws and principles bring death and destruction
to everyone in their path particularly the ‘
infidels’
even
as
NORMAL
ISLAM
brings peace and enlightenment.
Same Islam, same Quran, different doctrines.

Please, be you a Muslim or not bear all the
above in mind as you read this book

The aim of this work is not to insult,
degrade or abuse in any manner one of the greatest religions in our
world today but it is to entertain even as it cunningly brings to
the attention of the world, first, the difference between a true
peace loving Muslim and an Islamic terrorist. Secondly, to bring to
light, the plight of millions of innocent Muslims the world over
who have been victimized because of the violent activates of these
so called extremist Islamic sects [hardened criminals and
terrorists who claim to be true Muslims].

More of this issue is addressed on my
Facebook page click
here
to
see.

*******

POLOUGE

The village was located in one of the most
remote areas of north-western Bornu state, the poverty stricken
north-eastern most state of Nigeria which was being torn apart by
the violence and bloodbath unlashed by the extremist Islamic sect,
Boko Haram. The village was less than a mile from the
Nigerian-Niger international border and its nearest neighbor was
another remote village a clean eleven miles away on the other side
of the border in the Niger republic.

The village had a history that dated as far
back as the ancient and mighty Bornu empire that conquered and
ruled over most of northern Nigeria and its West African neighbors
for hundreds of years, forcing the Islamic religion on so many
tribes until the Fulani warriors from the west overran it and then
the more powerful British colonial government arrived with their
superior ‘
firearms’
in the early nineteenth century to put a
halt to the rapid expansions of all the Muslim empires and kingdoms
of the north, eventually destroying most of them.

Five hundred years ago, at the height of the
mighty Bornu empire, the village, lying on one of the most
convenient trans-Sahara trade routes as it was, had been a
flourishing outpost for merchants laden with goods of slaves,
natron, kola nut, cotton, ivory and ostrich feathers, heading into
Chad and then Fezzan were a series of well spread out watering
wells and oasis led deeper into the great Sahara Desert, connecting
to North Africa, Tripoli in Libya, the cities of Egypt, and then
the Mediterranean Sea itself, beyond which lay the great
civilizations of Turkey and the Ottoman empire.

Fourteen times in five hundred years, the
village had been sacked, burnt to the ground and completely
destroyed by enemies of the Bornu empire, six times by the terrible
Bulalas from the east, three times by the Hausas from the west,
twice by raiding parties of Tuaregs, the blue man on swift white
camels from the north, the Tubus then arrived and, lastly, the
Fulani warriors from the west. Each time the village was left a
desolate burnt-out ruin but each time it always found a way to
spring back to life again like a new flower in the middle of the
empty flat semi-arid plains.

As recently as a hundred years ago, the
village had still been a flourishing outpost where traders and
travelers stopped over to get supplies and water their horses and
camels as they plied the ancient trade routes across the open
borders between Nigeria and its land locked neighbors, the French
speaking Niger republic to the north, the French speaking Chad
republic to the north east and the French speaking Cameroons which
was beyond the great Lake Chad and directly to the south-east. But
things had become so much different now. With modernization had
come cars and lorries which led to the creation of special roads
and railways directly connecting the major border towns and cities
in each of the four countries through legal border crossing where
rude and corrupt immigrations and customs officials held away. And
then there were the heavily armed military border patrols that
halted all free trade and movements across the borders, calling
them illegal; they had become increasingly vigilant and violent due
to the new terrorist and economic problems besieging the region. No
one used beasts of burdens in a major way anymore and so the old
trade routes which, unlike the new roads and railway that went in a
direct straight line to its intended destination, actually led from
one watering spot to the next as it progressed through the draught
ravaged region, had all but dried up. Although the natives could
still trek freely across the open borders to visit their kinfolks
in the other villages as they had been doing for hundreds of years
before any borders came into existence, there was no business or
trade, and with the absence of any roads or form of legal border
crossings within fifty miles, the village had all but dried up now.
It was just a cluster of a few old mud buildings and huts on the
flat semi-arid landscape, very poor and backward, all alone and
completely forgotten in its corner by the federal, state and even
the local government. The village had no basic amenities whatever,
no clear cut roads led to it, no electricity or pipe born water,
there were no hospitals, clinics or even mobile communications
service for miles around. The only health care the villagers had
access to was provided by a group of Christian missionaries who
came up in a bus three or four times a year from the south-west
while the only source of water was a very deep well cut into the
hard earth six hundred years ago to tap into a cool underground
stream. The water hole only flowed during the rains that came
briefly once a year.

The village had a population of over a
hundred and fifty illiterate adult natives of mixed Kanuri, Shewa
and Fulani extractions. The men were very few but the women were
many, most of the men married several wives and the result were
many children. The main religion was, of course, Islam but there
were several Christians too, converts of the Christian missionaries
that often visited the village. A big ancient tree, the only major
tree for miles in every direction, was situated in the open square
in the middle of the village where the water well, the old relic of
a mosque and the new hall were. The vast shadow cast by the giant
tree and the other lesser trees gave the area adequate protection
from the terrible wrath of the sun which was a prolonged daily
ordeal.

The villagers were mostly nomads by culture
so quite a few domesticated livestock roamed about freely, fowls,
rams, sheep and goats, these were the only real prized possessions
most families could boast of. Those that could own cattle bred them
carefully like it had been done for centuries and kept them
together in small herds, looked after by groups of young men and
naked boys who kept them away from the planted crop-fields where
the village grew its food. The lean long horned beasts moved freely
around the flat countryside as they gazed on the sparse growth of
grass and bushes.

Just outside the village was the only modern
structure in the entire area. It was the highly secure residence of
Alhaji Aminu Usman. The unpainted, barbed wire topped, high fence
and solid black gates gave no real hints of immense wealth but
within was a big spacious compound with a fine stone tiled floor
and there sat a large ultra-modern six-bedroom bungalow with an
outbuilding to the rear for savants and employees. The interior of
the bungalow was lavishly furnished and the servants quarter had
more luxury than anything anyone could boast of in the village.
There was, indeed, a very good reason why the poor villagers swore
by the wealth of Alhaji Aminu Usman.

No one really knew what Alhaji Usman did for
a living, it was a constant subject of speculation among the
illiterate villagers but everyone agreed that he was incredibly
rich now, definitely one of the richest men in the entire world. He
was also incredibly generous too. He donated gifts and food stuffs
freely to the village at every opportunity, religious festival
periods, whether Christian or muslin, were ‘free for all’ feasts
that lasted for days. Alhaji Usman had been responsible for the
careful renovation of the old mosque but most importantly, he built
the new hall and equipped it as a free cinema for all. Wires on
long poles brought light to the village square from the huge
generators in his compound which came on and stayed on anytime the
Alhaji was in residence. The village square would be lit up by
strategically placed bulbs and the large flat screen television in
the hall would become the center of attraction for the entire
population of the village, both old and young alike. This was the
only form of electricity and modern entertainment they had ever
known.