The Terrorist’s Virgins

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Abubakar Ali Wafula became a terrorist because the sheikh said he would get an eternal supply of virgins if, and when, he died for Allah. His cousin, Zephaniah Wamalwa, had become the heartbeat of the nation from his part of the country when he married an Indian girl who was rebelling against her parents. Abubakar aka Hellon Wafula envied his cousin for having the prettiest girl in the county when the country recovered from the high octane media frenzy of the couple.

Abubakar could only imagine how lucky he would be having cardamom-skinned sylphlike virgin girls forever who were nothing like his charcoal-complexioned girls, thanks to his assimilation to Islam and joining the ranks of Harakat al-Shabaab al-mujahedeen.

Abubakar rained terror in Mombasa and Nairobi for all it was worth successfully, undetected and unscathed. His bank account, for which his mother was the beneficiary when his wedding was ongoing in paradise, grew fatter by the day.

The last mission was suicide. He wore the vest with determination. Wamalwa could have his share of bliss and glory on earth, but he, Abubakar, would have them for eternity.

When the moment came, Abubakar walked straight-facedly to his end as expected of the mujahedeen he was. The police outriders of the president’s convoy appeared, then the lead vehicles with the infamous MIB (men in black) flanking them.

Abubakar counted the cars as they crawled towards Uhuru Park until the right car then pushed his way through the thick crowd. When he was near he uttered the words: Allahu Akbar. That was the bit he liked – it sounded like his name.

“Take the president from here!” was the last thing he heard as everything blew to smithereens.


Abubakar slit open his eyes and stared up at a snow-white ceiling – paradise. A beautiful face loomed over him, a blessed bust hovering just above him exposing the softest creamy breasts he had ever seen. He cleared the cobwebs on his face and realized it was real. The sheikh was not lying after all.

“Where are the others?” he asked the lady.


“You are supposed to be seven…”

The nurse understood. The patient was dreaming. He was coming out of the coma. There were many explanations.

“Hey, easy. You survived. You are in hospital. You will be just fine. You…”

Abubakar did not want to hear that. He did not even hear that. All he wanted was his virgins.

Deaths of Right (Part II)

Take care of my children. His voice never left me. There were nights that I dreamed in such vivid detail that when I woke, I was confused, forgetting, for a fraction of a second, that I was in my bed. For the minutes that followed, the grief washed over me for the loss of a friend who had had my back, the uselessness of my life fighting for the imperialism of a country that didn’t care for me. Part of me wondered if the dreams would change, if one day they would be the same monochrome shadows of before Somalia.

Church Hypocritical

Rt. Rev. Bishop Alfred Rotich went straight to the Vatican after landing in Rome. It was the umpteenth time he was being summoned to the Vatican in the past one

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