Mama always says she’d give me the best. Sending me to Kaffir schools for Western education is what she calls the best, yet she runs a duqsi. Doesn’t she know Boko Haram? Western education is forbidden?
Enslaved by her, seventeen odd years, I got free on April 2nd. She wouldn’t have guessed I’d let my mind drift so far away. She always said I was destined for great things, but it didn’t occur to her I would ever steer my destiny.
On the evening of April 2 was my brother’s wedding in heaven. He had died for Allah when Kaffirs stormed Garissa University College. They wanted to kill him. He couldn’t let them. He blew himself up and killed more kaffirs.
It’s like Mother already knew. I found her at the duqsi. She was with other women. She was saying, “I feel agony and pain because I have lost my son, but I am happy because he is in heaven. He will marry the dark-eyed virgins. I already miss him. I will always miss him. I will never forget my Abdikarim. It’s not like we don’t love our children…”
Mother was surprised to see me. Somebody in her congregation winked at her, and she stopped abruptly, but I had heard everything. Obviously, I was not supposed to hear that.
“Fardosa,” she said, taking me out of the place she had banned me from stepping foot to because she wanted me to have a good life while she taught others the Quran and the ways of Allah. Why did she not want me to learn what she was teaching others? “You’re not supposed to be here,” she barked. “Go home, I’ll meet you there.”
You’ll never see me again. I almost snapped at her. I have big, wide and beautiful/lovely/lustrous eyes, like pearls, as the Quran says in Surat Al-Wāqi`ah 56:22 – 23. My breasts are round and firm. And I am a houri (virgin). I am what martyrs for Allah will get in paradise.
She always said I was a dreamer, for big things, but now I’m dreaming of jihadist things that’s making me run away from home and go to Somalia, things like having a taste of heaven here on earth by being an al-Shabaab bride and then join the harem of the seventy-two dark-eyed virgins to make love for eternity to martyrs for Allah in paradise, inshallah.
But my dream was cut short. Halfway through the long and bumpy Muhsin Bus ride to Mandera, where I was to meet Auntie Sherafiyah to take me to Somalia, I was arrested by the Kaffirs in El-Wak, blindfolded and bundled into an ATV. I am now cooling my heels off at stinking police cells somewhere I don’t know. How I wish our brave Mujahedeen storm here and kill ‘em all.
