FICTION SERIES
Ali (Part 1)
“Ali… Ali… pass the ball!”
My little brother, Mustapha, called for me to pass him the ball. It was a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, and we were playing football with some of our neighbors on the street. Watching my 12-year-old brother weave through boys taller than him with such skill made me proud. I knew I had taught him well.
My brother dribbled past a tall boy, and the boy stumbled, falling flat on the ground. We all burst out laughing.
But the laughter didn’t last long.
I could hear the sound of three vehicles speeding towards us. My heart beat fast, as I saw men at the back, holding guns. They began shouting and shooting into the air.
“Ali!” Mustapha screamed my name.
“Run, Mustapha!” I shouted back.
We took off, racing towards our house. Our father was at the backyard, harvesting yam.
“Baba! Baba!” I screamed breathlessly. “Armed men! Armed men!”
Quickly, he ordered, “Close the gate!”
I slammed the gate shut. Baba hurried us into an old, abandoned water drum, big enough for both of us to crouch inside. Through a tiny hole in the metal, I could still see outside. My brother and I held our breaths, shaking.
Then the banging started. The gate rattled violently as the men cursed and shouted. “Open! Open! Or we kill all of you!”
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The gate finally gave way with a crash. My father had slipped inside the house to hide, but they found him, dragging him out from under the bed. I watched in fear through the hole. One man struck Baba on the head with the butt of his gun. Another kicked him hard with his boots.
“Bring everyone out now,” one of them shouted, “or I shoot you!”
They tied his hands and legs, beat him mercilessly, even urinated on him. I wanted to scream, before I could even pray for a miracle, the man raised his gun.
Bang!
The shot traveled through the house. Baba screamed in pain.
Mustapha gasped beside me, almost too loud. I clamped my hand over his mouth, trembling. The men stormed through the house, kicking over plastic chairs, smashing plates, throwing everything around as they searched.
Then one of them came near the drum. He kicked it so hard the metal rang. He aimed his gun straight at us.
“If you no come outside… I shoot my gun!” he barked in broken English.
My brother and I crawled out, hands raised high, tears in our eyes.
The man grabbed us by the collar and shouted to his comrades, “I find them!”
They beat us without mercy. In desperation, I swung my fist and landed a punch on one of them, right in the nose. Blood gushed out from his nose.
Enraged, he struck me on the head with the butt of his gun. I collapsed.
To be continued…
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