1998: March 22^ND

If not for the dull rays emitted from the bedside lamp, the room would have been in complete darkness. The windows were shut, the door locked and bolted. A large wooden table adorned with books occupied the greater part of the room; a vase carrying a smoky burning turare (traditional incense) lay on the table. There were three men in the room; two sitting on the 4x5 divan bed, one, fairly complexioned and aristocratic in mien, and the other frail looking in structure. The third man, dark, ugly, muscular, bare-chested and footed, was dressed with only a walki (skin wrapper), and rings of damara (talismanic amulets) on his arms. Standing as he was, unsmiling and frozen, he resembled an effigy of a 14^th century dakare (Hausa warrior).

“Do not forget,” said the fairly complexioned man, snapping his fingers obviously to add emphasis.

“Yes master,” answered the frail looking man.

“Do not forget,” he uttered again.

“Align yourself to the trunk of darbejiya (Nim tree), count ninety steps, stop, and place a mark. Then proceed to kusurwar gabas (east wing) count another ninety steps and place a mark. Do the same from the northern and southern wings, this will make a square, a square,” he repeated. 

 “Then, draw a north seeking arrow in the square, this will divide it into two equal halves, dig out two feet of sand from the left half, remember, left half.”

 He paused for a few seconds before he continued. “It will be there waiting for you, pick it up and deliver it to me.”

‘‘Yes master’’, the frail looking man, Bukar said enthusiastically.

“Do not forget, you will not do the digging or chant the incantations, Yalli will’’.

He turned to look at the muscular man, Yalli. The man nodded his head in affirmation.

“Yalli will.” He emphasized while nodding his head.

“Yes master,” Bukar answered again with the same vigour and zeal.

‘But master, I do..do.. do …no… not understand’’, stammered Bukar.

‘‘Don’t worry Bukar,” the master said, ‘‘the right pegs will fit in the right holes when the right hammer hits, don’t worry Bukar, I am a genius.”

‘‘Yes master,” Bukar said with fright written all over his face.

Then the Master commanded with an authoritative tone. ‘‘Now, you two get going”. The two men left the room as soon as the master had spoken.

The digital table clock, which has fallen off its stand and was lying back to the floor, on the Persian rug in the room indicated: 01:21 AM.

*

Sudden but powerful arms of fear gripped Bukar’s heart. His body was shaking, legs trembling, voice quivering. Four naked women surrounded the square, each holding a vase of turare. They were dancing in a slow, snaky, horrifying manner, as they also hum unto themselves some frightening unintelligible words. A man of the same built, resemblance and even regalia with Yalli was holding an acibalbal (a local lamp). Yalli was digging out sand, while another man, also dressed like Yalli was chanting some incantations:

“Barbushe ba a sa maka hannu

Kowakkira ka ya kai gwanki

Barbushe dan mutun dan aljan

Kowat tabaka yaga makanta

Barbushe dan azabar tahiya

Barbushe kai ka gyaran yatsu

yatsun rabin gidan tsumburbur

na tsumbura mutan tsololo

Barbushe dan mutun dan aljan

Barbushe wa mutun ko Iblis

Eeeeeeeeeeehooooooo’’

An hour and a half later, a call came through the Master’s A13 THURAYA satellite phone.

“I got it Master, I am conveying to you right now,” said the speaker at the other end.”

‘‘Okay, I am waiting,” replied the Master happily.

As the line went dead, the Master clenched his fist, raised his two hands up in a celebrative manner and whispered, “I am a genius’’.