Musa Abduljalal Aliyu
My brother, held tight to his
belief like a limpet holding onto algae,
chewing it off a hard rock. So when
he joined Boko Haram, we only saw it
on the leaf he left us that read: I have
left to strive in the path of my Lord. Ya
Ilahi, I agree, belief eats at
a man’s reasoning like death feeds on
our days. For how else do you explain
a man’s hijra from his family to a people
who find comfort in killing? On the news,
a few weeks later, it was reported that
Boko Haram ransacked a village &
reunited scores of women & children
with their Rabb. Father, seated opposite
me, walked his eyes from my face to
my hands—that were on my lap, shaking—
& said: family isn’t all about blood, it’s
the question of the heart. If your brother
truly loved you or me, he’d not have
left. Months
later, after ishā, brother walked into my
room, smiling, it was as though a
ray from an early morning sun fell on his
face. Won’t you offer me shayi, akhi?
He asked. As I opened my mouth to
reply him, father fell into the room, like
he was flung by a typhoon. Good evening,
Baba, brother said. Perhaps, you
should leave, I said.
Father returned with the police. & after
they handcuffed my brother, he stared
into father’s eyes & said: you’d regret
this. Time had made me dig a grave in
the heart of my heart & buried the
remains of my brother.
Fifteen men broke into our house at
midnight—I could still see their
faces even when I closed my eyes,
one of them hit father’s head
with the butt plate of a rifle.
& my brother brought out a pistol &
entombed five bullets in our father’s
chest. When the thoughts of this chaos
threatened to explode my mind, I went
to the cemetery our mother was buried,
stood by her grave & said: Mama, Mama,
you told me my brother was an inferno
& father was a large body of water & I, I…
what did you even say?—I was the
boundary stopping them from swallowing
each other. Mama, you have to wake
up & teach me how to process all this
jeopardy.
Bio
Abduljalal Musa Aliyu is a school teacher and poet. He writes from Zaria, Nigeria. His work appears in Chestnut Review, Brittle Paper, Ninshar Arts, 3 of Cups anthology and elsewhere. His piece won the third prize for PIN’s 2020 Poetically Written Prose Contest. He is the third prize winner of the inaugural Writing Ukraine Prize. He rants on Twitter @AbduljalaalMusaZ