Saved by my nightmare (A Nigerian Story)

CHAPTER 33

Kaduna, Nigeria.
2019.

A message beeped from Rayyan's phone, and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket.

'MTN' his notification read, and he groaned.

'Stupid network providers' he thought, annoyed  the Commander hadn't just told them when the next meeting was going to be straight up.

Glancing at the stack of papers on his table that he'd just finished assessing, his mood plummeted.

Most of the complaints had been about raids in many villages near the NDA.

A week ago when they'd been briefed about the possible uprising of militants around the country, the Commander had rightfully stated that their plan could be directed towards the military.

Only a few days ago, a village to the east of the NDA had been attacked, and a few hours later, another to the west had suffered the same fate.

For someone who hadn't been led to suspect that the attacks could be part of something bigger, they'd think it was some inter-tribal conflict that caused them.

But with the knowledge he— and the rest of the officers—  had, Rayyan couldn't help but fear the worst. One thing was sure, and it seemed everyone was slowly realising it, some faster than others........ War was coming for them, and they needed to be ready.

Breathing heavily, Rayyan caught his reflection the black screen of his desktop that he had let go to sleep mode.

The dark-ish patch of skin under his eyes, coupled with his dishevelled hair, and red eyes re-affirmed that he needed sleep.

He wanted it, but couldn't.

The past few weeks, memories he'd managed to escape for so long resurfaced, tormenting him emotionally.

***
Lagos, Nigeria
2011.

"Fadila leave that inhaler and come eat your food" Mrs Kamardeen screamed at her youngest daughter who was playing with the new inhaler they'd gotten her the day before, after the panic attack she got the previous day.

She'd been getting them more frequently the past week because of the sudden heat wave in Lagos

Fadila, looking on in fascination at the purple inhaler ignored her mother.

Rumaysa, unwilling to partake in getting her five year old sister to come to the dining table forked her fries, muching contentedly on them.

A knock on the door alerted the females of the Rayyan's arrival.

"Sannu da zua"(Welcome) Mrs Kamardeen greeted her son, handing him a plate of fries and a small bowl half-filled with ketchup.

"Ya Mallam Saminu?" (How is teacher Saminu?) She asked him.

Mallam Saminu had been Rayyan and Rumaysa's first arabic teacher, the man was old now and had been admitted since he developed stroke some months back.

Rayyan had gone to pay the man a visit earlier that evening.

"He's deteriorating" Rayyan said, a faraway look in his eyes.

Rumaysa looked over at her brother, squeezing his hands under the table with tears in her own eyes.

Rayyan felt a sharp ache in his heart. He was barely recovering from the fact that Maliya had left for school without informing him.

His heart, for some reason hadn't stopped aching since he heard that she'd left without a farewell. No heads-up, no calls, no note....nothing.