‘KAFFIR’

‘KAFFIR’ – By Dean O. Arutoghor

Wide-eyed with fear, I try to shrink into the corner of the wall just behind the door as the bearded, Mediterranean-looking man runs towards me.

‘Please, don’t kill me. Please, don’t kill me. I have a 2-year old son. I am begging you,’ I hear myself pleading.

He crouches in front of me as I lie wounded, no doubt about to finish me off like he has already finished off the other victims of his bombing. This must be him.

I try to hit out at him but I am too weak from the amount of blood spurting from my mangled right leg.

I grit my teeth, squeeze my eyes shut and await my fate.

Storried KAFFIR

‘Shhh. Shhh. I am not one of them.’ I open my eyes.

He hurriedly pulls his Islamic robe over his head and improvises a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood from my leg.

As he finishes tying the tourniquet, we hear the shooter cock his gun.

My rescuer immediately raises his arms, slowly rises to his feet and turns around to face the terrorist. The masked terrorist is holding the gun to my rescuer’s head.

‘Step away from the kaffir, my brother. Let me finish him off.’

My rescuer looks down at me and then looks at the gun pointing at his forehead.

I hold onto his leg, pleading for him not to leave me.

He takes a deep breath and finally says:

‘Not in my name, brother. You will have to shoot me first.’ His voice is both brave and nervous at the same time.

‘Have it your way traitor,’ the terrorist says, takes a step back and prepares to pull the trigger.

My rescuer shuts his eyes.

I shut mine.

Bang. Bang….

When I open my eyes, the terrorist is slumped on the floor in front of me. I stare into his dead eyes as blood trickles from the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

I look up to see an armed policeman now pointing his gun at my rescuer.

‘He saved me. Please, don’t shoot him. He saved my life.’

The policeman looks quizzically from me to my rescuer and then back at me.

I raise my arm.

‘He saved me. He saved me. He saved me…’ I beg.

Slowly, very slowly, the policeman lowers his gun.

Storried is Now on DreamAfrica

Discover DreamAfrica - Voices, animations and films from Africa and around the world.


Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

‘KAFFIR’

By Dean O. Arutoghor

Wide-eyed with fear, I try to shrink into the corner of the wall just behind the door as the bearded, Mediterranean-looking man runs towards me.

‘Please, don’t kill me. Please, don’t kill me. I have a 2-year old son. I am begging you,’ I hear myself pleading.

He crouches in front of me as I lie wounded, no doubt about to finish me off like he has already finished off the other victims of his bombing. This must be him.

Newsletter

Subscribe to our emailing list and get notified of the top stories on the web.

Scroll to top