Biafra: My Beloved Country Home.

By Okereke Pascal Cato

Many years ago, a torchbearer was born in the land of the rising sunone of the four promised who would show the light unto our people for the ultimate march to freedom. He was born to light up the path to the unseen future that is wrapped in the cloak of a terrible past, coated in blood.

The wise ones tell that no matter how men twist it, truth is capable of straddling the millennia and remain inviolate. Do you know the truth about the genocide the world chose to deny?

This is the story of my beloved Biafra, of her people, her heroes. Listen to the story of the pains of my people and the wars that never end. Hear the strident voices of the peoples cry for freedom and the echo of their undying resolve. Let there be no doubt that as long as the earth abides, the sun shall rise again in Biafra.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524680831

Okereke Pascal Cato

PASCAL CATO OKEREKE is a Biafran. He hails from Mbaise in the Eastern Region of Nigeria. He is a foreign Languages expert, an actor, a producer, an editor and a writer. This is one of his published fictional works. In this sensitive book, Pascal Cato has deftly mirrored the trials and travails of his people and their cries for freedom through a gripping and timeless blend of the evocative and the imaginary.

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2017 Okereke Pascal Cato. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/04/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8084-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8083-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedications

Acknowledgements

Prologue

The Prophecy

Ruled by Chaos

The Genocide the World Denies

The Torchbearer

The Nightmares Never End

The Gathering of Arcane Forces.

Tears for Beloved Biafra

Truth Died in the Land

You Can’t Delete the Past

Never Again!

Blood Calls for Blood

Venting the Bile of Repressed Animosity

The Shame of Our Whoring

Sunrise in Biafra

DEDICATIONS

* To Mazi Nnamdi Kalu.

For rekindling the fire of patriotism in us. You are a living legend.

*To Dim Chukwuemeka Odimegwu Ojukwu.

You bore the torchlight of the struggle with courage into the unknown. You awakened our consciousness and made us acknowledge our unique identity. You gave us hope and a nation. You are Biafra.

*To all the oppressed people of the world.

Let the name of Biafra be the symbol of your struggle. Freedom is yours to take.

My special appreciation goes to all pro-Biafra groups from the South-East and South-South:

*Customary Government of the Indigenous People of Biafra(CG-IPOB),

*Movement for the Actualizaton of the Sovereign State of Biafra(MASSOB),

*Biafra Zionist Movement(BZM), Afra Descendants Movement(ADM),

*Ohaneze Nd’ Igbo,

*Eastern Veterans Social Welfare(EVSW),

*Bilie Human Rights Initiative(BHRI)

*Biafra Descendants Movement(BDM).

*Radio Biafra,

*Biafran Central Council(BCC),

*Eastern Peoples’ Movement(EPM),

*Movement of Biafrans in Nigeria(MOBIN).

*The Anang Front,

*Biafra Liberation Council(BLC),

*Anioma Biafra,

*Biafra Reporters and Biafra Voice International(BVI).

*Bonny Indigenous Group,

*Biafra Nations Youth League (BNYL),

*Great Commonwealth of the Niger Delta.

*Supreme Council of Elders of the IPOB,

*Biafra Women Leaders

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my loving wife- Mrs. Margret Okereke – (Cara mia)-, my wonderful children: Pascal, Pascaline and Emmanuel; this book is for you.

To Mazi Okereke U.S, Stephen C. Okereke, Sir Modestus Okereke (aka Biafran Commander), Mike Dibia Okereke, K.C Okereke, the entire OKEREKE clan- and Ms Maureen Adimorah for all your logistic support and for giving me every opportunity to make this dream come true.

To Idowu Adesco -my friend and my brother; for believing in me and showing me what it means to have a friend.

To Pharm. Okwuchukwu Njike- for your painstaking pieces of advice.

To Ada Chinyere Cummings -for your encouragement and kindred spirit.

You all saw something in me when I didn’t see anything in myself.

"Come to the edge, He said.

They said, we are afraid.

Come to the edge, He said.

They came.

He pushed them…, and they flew"

Guillaume Apollinaire.

PROLOGUE

There is a spiritual eclipse upon the land. When the eclipse reaches its highest point, the demons of destruction will start to dance.

The time of horror and the days of slaughter hasten to come. Nay, they are not yet with us. In the darkest days, havoc and vengeance shall confront each other at the base of the crescent moon. When the dark night is sated with the sap of the crescent moon, the rising sun will spread its warmth all around and edge the clouds in gold.

Look into the roiling storm in the horizon. See, the sanctuaries of the restless spirits of dead Biafrans have been irreverently upturned by the arrogant swagger of the oligarchs! Woe to the land called Nigeria; for the spirits of vengeance are clawing their way out of their restless graves to the Northern gates.

Somewhere far beyond this visible realm, ancient forces are gathering. Frenzied winds of woe are escalating through the desert, the forests and the mountains in the northern lands. Strange exhalations shall issue forth from the hollow rocks and deep crevices of the North. Frenzied youths, reeking of inebriety shall walk on the footsteps of their fathers and shall carry out mayhem upon the commands of their new gods to self-destruct by an awesome storm of hate that might never be sated. The evil horde that will destroy the enemies of my people shall come in the name of a god. Their lust for blood and carnage is unrivalled. Soon, the macabre dance will begin. The enemies of Biafra shall be rooted out like vermin from their lairs and destroyed.

THE PROPHECY

My story starts in a little village called Nomo, a land once beautiful and bountiful but now little more than a memory. No, it isn’t my story. I am in it, but I am not the main character. I want to tell you the story of my beloved Biafra, about her people and her heroes. Let me tell you of the pains of a people and the wars that never end.

Many years ago, the blood of over three million Biafrans soaked the earth in a gory orgy of bestiality. A gift unto humanity was callously wasted. Yet it was foretold in the old prophecy. Was it not written in the ancient scroll that my people would undergo such terrible tortures and pains at the hands of their neighbours?

These were the words of Chukwuabiama, the mighty god of the Biafrans, the lord of all spirits, and the fearsome lion with the voice of thunder.

"Woe unto the Hiboes of the lineage of Yisreal, for they have fallen into the lair of ‘El-Aboki’ of the lineage of Cain-the abominable. He is a terrible enemy who makes his bed in blood and whets his appetite for violence in carnage and savagery. You have sold yourself to the heathens and the uncircumcised who do not know my will over your life. Gather your children together, for you are surrounded by false friends and avowed enemies.

Woe to the city of blood called Nigeria, a land full of lies and plunder, dancing on the piles of the dead bodies of her children.

Because of your wickedness against my children the Hiboes, I shall sow poisonous weeds among your seeds. I shall fill the mouths of your teachers with dishonest words, and their lips shall utter peace while their arms bring violence. You have sown the wind and shall reap the whirlwind. The hands of my avengers are upon the bow. Their arrows shall strike your heart until victory is achieved.

You have shed the blood of saints and the innocent; and you poured their blood upon the altar of your idol gods.

Your land shall groan because of the wanton lust of the harlots amongst you who build their realms by unjust gains and upon the ruins of many.

When the days of your woes shall fall upon you, you shall remember how the mothers of my people were dashed to the ground and their children were cut to pieces; for the same shall happen to you.

Your women shall be made barren, and your menfolk impotent. If they rear children, I will bereave them of every one. Those who escaped destruction shall perish by the snares that will be laid on their paths, and the hostility of their idol gods shall know no bounds. Your high priests and imams have profaned your mosques and temples with blood and sodomy. Therefore, your land shall be blighted and your roots shall wither. I shall give you rebellious leaders who shall be steeped in corruption and perfidy. The destruction you have done on my people shall overwhelm you; the roar of battle shall arise against you from many sides.

The east wind shall come, the wind of destruction shall come upon you from the wilderness; your springs shall become dry, and your fountains shall spew dust and sand.

Your young men shall shun knowledge and multiply ignorance and violence. Because of your abominable deeds, the earth shall shake and tremble; the sun and the moon shall darken, and the stars shall no longer shine. From across the desert, a bloodthirsty hound shall sweep across the north and shall fly a dark flag that drips with blood and horror.

Wail, you foolish sons of Cain, for the end of your reign is near and you shall soon be consumed by sorrow.

Because of my people, the Hiboes, I filled this land with good things. You find grapes in the desert and oil in the marshlands. I buried treasures and gems for you to find, yet you lust after the blood of my chosen ones.

For so long have you dined upon the spoils of my people, casting lots for their wealth while my people died in hunger. Yet you were not satisfied.

Alas! The day of your judgement is near. In a short while, the new wine shall be snatched from out of your lips.

I will swiftly return upon your own heads the evil you have done. And the butcher of the north shall bear the mark of his bloodguilt upon his forehead.

Your virgin daughters shall be sold to your kinsmen for prostitutes and as beasts of burden.

All that you did to my people shall be done to you. And in that day, you shall weep blood for tears and there shall be none to give you succour. I will give you over to ruin and your people to derision; You will bear the scorn of even the nations that are not worth a tenth of your strength.

But for the sake of my people and those who fear me in this land, I shall relent and your salvation shall come from the East. Your greatness shall come from the industry of my chosen ones.

In the last days, I will remove the proud and the haughty from among you. The inheritance of my chosen ones shall be sheared off, and they shall dwell as a sovereign nation in their land. They shall not be one with a people that worship the things that I created. And when the seasons of tumult are over, the sheep and the goat shall graze in peace, each in his own portion of the land once again. My mouth has spoken it, and it shall surely come to pass."

This was the recorded prophecy by the priests of the oracle of the hills, as spoken by the great god of the Hiboes, my people who live in the eastern region of Nigeria.

Have your ever wondered about the wanton bloodlust of the Cain lineage? Many do not realize that the curse of blood cast upon them in times past still haunts them and gets renewed at the turn of every lunar circle. Whenever the moon god they worship frowns at their apostasy, they hasten to shed human blood for sacrifice to atone for their iniquity. But instead of obtaining remission, they unwittingly evoke more damnable curses upon their lineage.

It is believed that the incendiary proclivity of the enemies of my people, as well as their propensity to violence, is closely linked to a curse that was placed on them in times past. It was a curse that could never be broken except by the blood of other innocents.

The enemies of my people do know that a terrible curse was placed upon them. It is impossible to escape the inexorable law of karma. Those who trample upon the weak will later be trampled upon.

Legend has it that as life’s breath was being squeezed out of the Biafrans during the genocide that was carried out by Nigeria, they appealed to the earth mother for justice and laid a curse upon their killers.

They said,

Because of the blood of the innocent that you have shed, the curse of the inferno, the hanging sword of cruelty, and the boiling cauldron of the blood of vengeance shall overhang your land and shall cry out every half lunar cycle for retribution. This is our request to you, mother of justice, you who never harm any man with clean hands. Avenge our innocent kin butchered in cold blood at the prime of their life! Can a man stand before you if his mouth is laced in perfidy? You rout the wicked when they exult themselves against the defenceless. Look down in anger at this evil horde. Afflict them and silence their arrogant boast, for they claim that they were born to lord it over all others. Avenge the blood of those pregnant women who were bisected and their innocent babies yanked out screaming from the womb, only to end up in the evil mortars of some fetish marabous. Our spirits stand guard and shall watch over this land for the fulfilment of our prayers until the sun burns itself out of fuel and falls into the earth.

It was a terrible curse. The earth mother heard and registered the curse in the wheel of time.

Eyewitnesses said that the dying Biafrans also left a message for the remnant that shall come, unto the survivors of the wars and all that was prophesied in the holy scroll. They spoke of the east wind that shall blow. But no one seems to understand fully what they mean by the east wind. The only thing we understand is that it has to do with series of intractable events that will take place before the return to Biafra.

I know that some will take this to be a joke, but I assure you that the call by the dying to the earth mother cannot be ignored. Those empowered to read runes and understand mysteries have described the special omen that took place in those times as fearsome. It was told that as their life’s force soaked the hungry earth, the spirits of the Biafrans were released, endued with vengeance but mellowed with wisdom; the wisdom to fight back with a better tool. Those wise men and women who have read the portent of the times watch with bemused condescension at the vacuous pretentions of some self-styled behemoth bestriding Nigeria recently, claiming it was born to rule. At the time of the first provocation, Biafrans fought with catapults, cudgels, and knives against an army of trained soldiers and foreign mercenaries equipped to kill. Our enemies fought with tainted hands, but we fought for a just cause.

Today, a deepening darkness has begun to obscure the landscape, and none seems to cry out. But I know what I see. The viper has given birth to its young, and they have turned around to feed off the blood of their mother. The darkness Nigeria will soon face would make the times of war and pestilence of my people’s past seem like child’s play in comparison.

RULED BY CHAOS

Close to forty-eight years ago, I was but a young boy playing around the feet of my father, with my grandfather in the background, waving away the impertinent flies with his ever-present horse tail. I record these incidents as an eye witness because I saw them with the eyes of a child when it all first began. It was such a time of horror that our collective minds shared and would never forget.

How long shall the truth squirm under the shroud of pallid metaphors that still echo the gauche silence of your affected remorse? For how long shall the expelled placenta of a purulent national miscarriage still hang out to your shame? A land where the odious gets applauded is brazenly masquerading as the cynosure for decency and loyalty. What a shame to the Dark Continent.

The festering sore of these haunting wounds which you daily dress with green and white gaudy rags soaked in eloquent xenophobic deceit shall someday discharge virulent pus whose fetid odour shall rudely remind you that you are guilty of the sin of violation. Nigeria is always quick to harp on the sanctity of her constituent parts but is ever so hesitant to hasten the recovery of the encrusted malignant tumour eating away at her vitals. Those who dispassionately excised the Bakassi peninsula - a constituent part of the Biafran territory- for tactical expediency are snarling and rearing to use any means necessary to clobber us into submission. They have refused to grant divorce to those fettered into an unholy wedlock that was ill fated from the start. As we play in indolent complacency, the signs of violent confrontations are all too plain. It can and will happen again as ignorance breeds trouble from within.

*********************************

When I was but a little boy growing up in my father’s house, many things were said to me. Most passed like the proverbial excrement through the anus of a goose. But the words of my grandfather never left me, for they were the invisible hands that firmed my root and set my gaze on a future that held more promise than the past.

My root was humble and unpretentious. My father was a local primary school teacher as well as a farmer. My mother was a rural healer and used to help my father in the farm. We were three boys and one girl born to my mother. All the other children were born without any blemishes. I was not as fortunate. I was deemed doomed from the beginning. I was born with six fingers and six toes. At that time, this was considered very abnormal. There was no tradition about killing children born with such prodigious number of phalanges. Yet it was looked upon the same way a child would be looked upon who came to birth with teeth in his mouth. I was seen as an abnormal child. A local diviner was consulted. His verdict was damning. He said I was an enigma that the gods created in anger. I guess he was as blind as a bat. My mother was distraught. Ada Akajuru- my dear mother was inconsolable. She was made to endure all forms of humiliation and mistreatment from other women in the village. They jeered at her and said she had given birth to a monster. The village did not shun me outright; neither was I particularly welcomed. Mothers warned their children away from me. They called me a cursed child; for they believed that no normal child should be born with six fingers and six toes. My mother fought against all the mistreatment. My father distanced himself from me. I was an embarrassment to him. Mother said he used to push a finger into my mouth to check if I was growing teeth when I was only a few weeks old. According to superstition, babies born with teeth in their mouths were malevolent children or dark genies sent to torment their parents. I guess I was lucky he never found any teeth in my mouth. Other children taunted me. The village said I was a greedy child who had come to grab everything. They were wrong; not that their opinions mattered much to me. There was nothing to grab, anyway. I was just a child, born the same way others were born. I never asked to come to earth with more parts than other so called normal persons. In a land fertilized by ignorance and the fear of the unknown, superstition was a potent brew for the shallow imagination of the rural dwellers. I was ostracized from childhood and barred from playing with other children. I suffered the stigma of rejection all through my childhood. I understood early that I needed not play with other children around me to have fun. For me, adventure was in searching out what made your heart beat in excitement. And I found adventure in seclusion.

My father shuttled between his farm and the rural ota-akara school. When the school was not in session, he would revert to full time farming. In my earliest memories of him, he was a fairly traditional but good humoured man. He would frown at my mother whenever he caught her bouncing me upon her knees, while I’d cling onto her and shriek with joy. She would set me down nervously and wait for him to walk into his room before picking me up again. My mama used to say that I would crawl down her laps and follow my dad into the room but he never tried to carry me up in his arms. It was as if he was scared of me. My dad loved me in his queer way. He was a very strict disciplinarian. He was never too good at displaying affection; at least not openly. I don’t remember him ever telling me he loved me. I don’t remember anytime he hugged or even cuddled me. I could never picture him showing such emotions to any of us. I had seen other fathers dote over their children. For my dad, it was a show of weakness. I envied those others children whose parents showered such love unabashedly. Dad was very good humoured though. His uproarious laughter sent warmth into your heart whenever you hear him. If a stranger was around, he would glare at me and shoo me off. Run along now, son. Go play outside. Be a brave boy. He would pat me on the head and give me a light shove. I used to feel he wanted me out of the way to avoid embarrassments. I wanted him to hold me and tease me like my mom used to do. I wanted to hear him talk in endearing tones to me, not with a harsh voice as he usually did. I had tried a couple of times to walk up to him and tell him I loved him and give him a hug. At such times, he would hold me firmly by the hand and would look long into my eyes. His eyes would wrinkle in a warm smile and his lips would twitch. But he could not bring himself to tell me that he loved me. I waited for this to happen my whole childhood but it never did. Today as an adult, I miss my dad’s loving sternness and unwavering honest character. He was a man well respected and gained the respect of people around him. He expected the same from each of us kids. I miss the way he pushed me to be strong and to stand up for others when no one else did.

As I grew older, any time not spent with my mother or my grandfather, was spent in the bush by the shrubs or in the stream. My mother doubled as a local gynaecologist. Her father before her had been a powerful and venerated dibia from a neighbouring land and had transferred his craft to her. From her I learned a few things about the art of healing with herbs. But from the herbs themselves and the animals in the bush, I learnt the unspoken language of the forest which only immortals and the initiates hear and understand.

My earliest memories were of sitting by the fire on the raffia mat in my grandfather’s obi, the embers of the fire casting pale shadows on the rough walls, and listening to stories of the adventure of the wise tortoise; of monkeys and elephants, lions and birds.

Grandpa would patiently wait for me to finish my chores at home before inviting me to his obi for private lessons before bed time. He would first enquire if I had done whatever work I brought home from school. Then he would go into the ritual of clearing his throat and stuffing tobacco snuff into his large nostrils. I would wait for him to sneeze but he never did. Grandpa seldom shared the story of the adventures of his youth. As I grew older, he took time to teach me all about the traditions and the culture of our people. Often, he told the story of our origin. Whenever he did, I paid more attention. Grandpa’s stories about our people were very mysterious. The story took forever to tell. By the time I was in my third year in high school, I already knew the story of the origin of my people by heart. But as I listened to the troubled tales of the weaving trails and vanishing footprints of our family branch; of the bravery, the hurt and pain, I was always filled with pride in the knowledge of my ancestry.

As he wove the tapestry of our nebulous past, I strained my ears to hear the silent cries that echoed in the cavern of ancient times. I was careful not to miss the small voice of misery. Occasionally, I found the courage to ask the right questions. And the legends spoke about the heroics of my people and their travails through the millennia. This was part of the stories that grandpa told me.

"As an Nze na Ozo by birth- not acquired, it is my responsibility to pass unto you the knowledge of our past, so that we may keep our ancestors in our hearts and use the lessons learnt from the knowledge of our ancestors to form a better future for our children. It was my grandpa speaking. We had retired to his room after I had finished my usual chores and the others had gone out to play under the moonlight. Our ancestors were not used to living where we live today. Thousands of years ago, the Hiboe tribe came down to this place from Egypt."

Grandpa looked up to see my reaction. He saw the frown and the confusion in my face and smiled.

Yes, my son, the same Egypt where Moses of the Bible went to.

But grandpa, the catechist tells us that Egypt is in heaven!

The catechist is a fool. But, let’s not waste time on him. Let’s go back to our story.

"Eri, the fifth son of Gad of the Hiboes was the special adviser on religious matters to the fifth dynasty of Pharaohs of Egypt. A man of great tact and judgment, he soon rose into high favour at court, and won over the Pharaoh to himself. He was responsible for everything concerning religion and the Pharaoh could not take any decision without consulting Eri. He had the gift of revelation and was greatly feared in the court. He performed all the necessary rituals and his powers were recognized and feared. So Eri was in charge."

Grandpa, are we the sons of Eri? Are we from Egypt? And number three, how did we become free from Egypt?

Number one, yes, you are of the sons of Eri. Number two, no, you are not originally from Egypt. Eri is the fifth son of Gad, who was the seventh son of Yisreal, formerly known as Jacob. Number three, you said ‘free’, as if you were enslaved. No. Eri was not a slave in Egypt. Where do I start from? So many things happened. Kingdoms change and people change with it.

Start from the beginning, grandpa, the beginning. I want to know everything. My school teacher used to teach us about Moses and Pharaoh. He never told us about Eri.

This is why I must go back and explain what really happened and how we came to be where we are today; in the land of the rising sun. Grandpa adjusted his wrapper and threw a shrivelled bitter cola nut into his mouth before continuing.

"My grandfather told me that his grandfather before him told him this story and that it has been told and retold for millennia. The details are a bit blurred with time but the body of the story has not changed.

According to my grandfather, the Pharaoh who knew Eri died after many years. The one who took over from him was distrustful of the Hiboes. The new Pharaoh married a Syrian Princess. She came to the palace with her own diviners and sorcerers. Soon, they conspired against Eri and he was removed from his exalted post as the religious advisor. The religion of the descendants of Ishmael was sweeping through the land. The Hiboes tried to live peacefully alongside the Ishmaelite, but their treatment of the people became so brutal and harsh. Separation and freedom became the only choice. The final act of brutality that led to the rebellion was the treatment of some Hiboe young men who refused to serve in the high places of the new gods which the princess of Syria had brought to Egypt. The young men were forcefully conscripted and castrated. They were whipped openly to break their will and make them docile. The children of Eri refused to be enslaved or converted to Islam and decided to leave Egypt. It was difficult because they made up the major work force of the land. The original Egyptians were lazy and indolent. They feared that if the Hiboes left, they would face hardship and possible famine. The Egyptians decided to use coercion and violent repression to force the Hiboes to stay in Egypt. The Hiboes cried unto their God for salvation. One night, as Eri laid his head on his pillow to sleep, the God of the Hiboes appeared to him and gave him a prophecy. He asked him to write it down on a scroll. He told him to prepare his family and lead them away to the land of Cush, which he called the land of God. Eri took seven days to prepare for the journey. He made a replica of the Ark of the Covenant as he was directed by God and took the onyx of the house of Gad and his bronze sceptre. He secured the scroll of the word of prophecy on the Hiboes in a pouch made of animal hide which he placed in the Ark.

On the seventh night, he led a branch of the tribe of Hiboes out of Egypt into the desert to the ancient kingdom of Cush which you now call Ethiopia".

Grandpa, why did he lead out only a branch of the people?

They were the ones who agreed to go. The rest stayed back and were later set free by Moses. You already know that part of the story.

Yes, Oh Yes, we have read all about it in school and in the church.

"Well, the story you read is about the other branch that stayed back in Egypt. The Hiboes were a people full of industry whose love for adventure could not be tamed. They lived and multiplied in the land and were great merchants and entrepreneurs. Their peace did not last for too long for the land came under Muslim Ishmaelite attack. In the second decade of the reign of the first Negus nagast of the kingdom of Kush from the Oromos tribe, Eri of the house of Gad received another word of prophecy which came to him through the Levites who served in the place of worship. Eri was to lead the tribe once again out of the land of Cush across great mountains and seas to the land where the two great rivers meet. They were to settle in the land where the sun rises every day to smile at the green vegetation and the rain forest. It was a land of wealth and riches. That is the land of Biafra.

Grandpa, my history book says that the Yisrealites are whites. How could Eri be the father of the Hiboes if he was white?

Your history text books also portray the Egyptians as whites whereas the ancient Egyptians are dark. Eri was not white. Gad was dark complexioned as was his mother. His son took after him. That was why the Kushites could not distinguish them from other tribes around them at that time. They only knew them as an itinerant tribe that worshipped a god called Yahweh.

Not long after that prophecy, the jihadists visited the land of Kush and conquered the place. They moved towards the river basin where they could always get food and water. They followed the coastline until they arrived at the confluence of River Niger and Benue known as Ezu na Omambala. They moved five miles inland, settled in and started life there. When the inhabitants questioned him on who he was, he answered: ‘We are Ummah Hiboe, which