Lion of the Desert
I was with a friend who had a book in his hand titled, “Lion of the Desert.” I told my friend I authored the book. He was aghast. I asked him to open the dedication page. On the page, he found my signature and dedication thus: “I dedicated this book to the family of Khadijah.” He said: “But I borrowed the book from Abraham.” I awoke.
I felt happy in the presence of an elderly friend. We walked in a beautiful street. “There she is, your love,” he said and pointed to a beautiful lady. “You are to bring her under your control in your current state of mind,” he added. “Is that necessary? Don’t you think that a relationship should be based on natural love not force?” I said. He said nothing. We walked in silence. I awoke.
Do You Remember?
I was with my elderly friend. We continued to walk in that beautiful street. We met three pretty ladies. One of them wore a brownish veil. She coyly smiled; her face revealed a beautiful set of white teeth with one capped with silver. Her beauty carried me away, while the elder had set his eyes on me. He broadly smiled and said: “Do you remember her?” “Yes,” I heard myself say while in truth I didn’t. I awoke.
I watched a president’s convoy head towards a busy street. Heavily armed security personnel came out to make way through vehicles that jam-packed their path to the presidential villa. Someone seized the opportunity and slipped the president a note: “Abide by The Law.” The president smiled and blurted: “I am the Law.” I awoke.
I walked with Ali in a familiar terrain. We came upon Adam seated on a bench in a desolate park. By his left was his friend, a monk with rosary in hand. I knelt by his right and placed my hand in his soft palm while Ali stood aside. “Thank You,” I said. He said: “I am to thank you for honoring my IV. I have a report from the female spirit handling your affair that what you’ve been experiencing recently is the commemoration of the birth of Fatima, daughter of Muhammad, celebrated from 7th (Rajab) to 8th (Sha’aban). I made a copy for you here. Take time and have a look.” he said and gave me a peculiar silver-colored flash disc. “It takes three days to open,” he said. I awoke.
Beware of Love for Money
I searched for a peculiar collection of poetry in a library. The librarian was busy with some American visitors. “I am looking for a special poetry collection,” I interrupted. “Sure, there are some over there that might interest you,” She said and went round with me to a distant shelf. I searched while she watched. I came across a title embossed in gold. “Beware of Love for Money.” I picked up. “Are you writing a thesis?” She asked. “Yes, I am in a way,” I found myself say. “Where did you graduate?” I asked her. “I graduated from Bayero University Kano,” she said. “Then you must have tasted the pomposity of Kano City,” I said. “What about you?” She asked. “I am student of psychology,” I answered. “When did you graduate?” She asked. ”I graduated long ago. I am currently working on a poetry book and there seem to be a problem,” I said. “What problem? You are to solve problems and not be entangled in them,” she said. “Of course, I tried that methodology in the past. This time I want to explore new areas and touch new horizons,” I said. “Then you may want to borrow the book in your hand,” she said. “Wow, I am honored! Now I can borrow from you. I am sure it will be inspirational,” I said and awoke.
I walked towards east and at a market place heard sound of an approaching aircraft. People’s attention turned towards the sky. I saw a large egg-shaped space craft flew in a very low altitude and stopped right above my head for a few seconds then glided instantly out of sight. I saw letters and numbers on its belly before it vanished. My memory caught only one letter from the giant’s belly: “C.” I awoke.
Mary woke me up from sleep and asked for some money. I politely declined to part with any. She got annoyed and said: “What do you think money is? Shit! Revered and worshiped in the lower realm of the human beings. Money means nothing in the higher realm. Money is…” Mary was nude. I blocked my ears and concentrated my attention on her impeccable physique. I stole my hand into the rotund flesh of her ass and felt its inexplicable smoothness and warmth. She stopped to yarn; her anger melted. I pulled her down and fully engaged her when suddenly my daughter, Fatima walked in. I awoke.
The family of my friend Mohammed Kamil came to take refuge at my home. There were grown ups; males, females and children. I saw his wife from the Mandingo tribe of Guinea. She illuminated something about her husband and Gaddafi before I showed them around. Her husband, Kamil and I had lost contact since the demise of Sheik Abubakar Mahmud Gumi in 1992. I awoke.
The Red Wind
A red whirlwind rose and tried to entwine me. My instinct pressed on me that it was an attack on my wellbeing. My mind automatically began the necessary protective supplications for higher intervention. The red wind pinned me in its cellar and sucked from all the means of my subsistence. But I did not bulge. It saw the pores of my skin open and leapt to infiltrate through. When my plea reached an advanced stage, winds much stronger descended and smite the red wind. It flopped like a fallen log and fled angrily towards West, to unleash its fury on buildings and people along its path. I awoke.
Solomon visited to intimate me the nature of a particular power outage we experienced in our neighborhood. The source of my electricity was from Solomon’s compound. We shared the same meter and when the outage occurred, I thought he had unplugged my feeder as usual, every end of month – to ginger me pay my side of the bill. He said he came to tell me that the power outage I experienced was a general outage. He took me back to his house to witness something. I saw his tenant, an elderly man in battle with a teenaged boy. He tied the boy’s hands and feet to a pole. “He suffers from split personality disorder,” the old man said. “He will remain chained until he is able to renounce all the personalities he wears and becomes himself,” the old man said. Solomon brought me something to eat. I said: “How can I eat, having witnessed such cruelty in the unorthodox treatment of the youth?” Solomon smiled and said: “Are you sure this cruelty lies only in the unorthodox practice?” I said: “The orthodox practice has its cruelty too. The electrical shock they administer to the brain to block obtrusive intrusions shows how little their grasp on the issue of the soul. Split personality disorder is not that cumbersome. It is the simple case of transmigration. Accumulated history of the soul is something that can never wash away. The brain waves have a meticulous way of regenerating. No matter the amount of pressure to erase, they don’t. I pray they find a natural way to cool the brain, and encourage it to work naturally. Suffice it to say, something like Meditation which sifts brain reception and links it back to its original power source.” I awoke.
A man was busy on charity. He doled out dollars to a large crowd of people. He had a girlfriend highly condemned by a group of critics, jealous of her connection to him. One day, she set out to shut down the mouth of a particular critic who lodged in a prestigious hotel. She precariously climbed through the roof of the hotel to avoid the watchful glare of the paparazzi camped at the precinct of the hotel. She found her way into the critic’s room but found it empty. She sauntered around and finally found a joint where sexists gather in their art of conjugation. She joined the circle, taking a strong black male who immediately recognized her famous face but began to doubt his good fortune after his first round. She saw the wave of his doubt and quickly showed him her name, “Isabel,” artistically woven on the neck of her robe. His doubts dissolved. He drilled deep into Isabel’s flesh until he fagged out. But Isabel was as vibrant and desirous as ever. It was in awe that he passed her round to his group mates. And one-by-one, males and females – blacks and whites had their turn on Isabel until she satisfied all but herself. Isabel told the group to pass the word round that she would give out again next day. The next day was a work day but people left their jobs to come and have a taste of Isabel. It was no secret anymore; Isabel was out to numb the slanderous. She wore a white robe and black high-heels. “There she comes!” The crowd lustfully cheered. Then all of a sudden, the scenario changed. I turned into Isabel. I waved and walked towards the entrance of the Five Star Hotel. “Is this true I began to be carried away by thought…that I am this Latino celebrity?” I blocked the thought. I walked on as sexually as I could and enjoyed too, the cheery masculine and feminine crowd. I climbed on stage and stripped off. I awoke.
Sheikh Ahmad Tijjani (R.A.)
There was a crowd of people. We walked into a large complex to seek succor. I followed the trail of an aged man who walked with a silver colored staff. He headed towards an entrance and motioned me to follow. He said: “This is the gate. You seem to have forgotten.’’ I followed him into what looked like a large restaurant. He said: ‘You can come here every day, have any kind of meal you desire and feel homely.” We climbed some fleets of stairs. He led the way and I followed. I saw that he was handicapped. One of his legs was artificial. As we neared the landing, he accidentally slipped. I caught hold of him and for the first time we directly looked into each other’s eyes. He leaned on me and said: “Thank you. Please, what is your name?’’ “My name is Ahmad,” I answered. The old man’s face brightened up in excitement. He said: “Aha! Ahmad Tijjani! I am so glad to bear witness.” I awoke.
The Parable of Light
There was power outage a few minutes before sleep. I settled in the darkness for my journey. Sleep stole me and I began to see dots of light on something like a black board or a gigantic screen. Soon the rays of light had filled the screen and continued to fill the room. The light extended outside the walls of my domain. It covered everywhere. There was nothing to see but this illumination. I stretched my eyes deeper into the light to capture something but failed. I began to be bored. Then something prompted me to try to move. I moved and abruptly stopped to decide which direction to take. Something again told me to take the right direction. I did. I came to a spot that looked like the Milky Way. It was a cluster of galaxies brilliant as pearls and at their top, a bigger and most brilliant star that was the source that illuminated the rest. The vista was static from afar. But when I stood in the middle, I gleefully saw how the key pearls received from the source and transmit their light to the rest in the chain that illuminated our terrestrial world. A thought crept into my mind to freeze the cosmos system and take away the source whose beauty had stole away my heart. My body instantly enlarged and like a giant, I looked down to the table of pearls. I reached out my hand and took out the source. There was a faint spark then another black out. I came around in a different plain. I turned the knob of a door that led to the office of Ali whom I found to be of African descent. I ambled into the midst of his white council. “It is Ahmad!” The council members said while I stood by their door way. Ali passed through me, checked right and left into the corridor to see what the council had seen. I immediately realized the constraints of this current arrangement – one star in a moonless night. The council, being seers, had read my thought and they, before Ali could ask what it was, charged to seize me. I was invisible. Even so, their top brass had felt my presence behind the door. He slammed the door so hard to crush me. But I was not there. I awoke.
Hassan Sani Kontagora
I was in a military camp. Five of us were to represent Northern Nigeria in a military assignment. We appeared before the northern public before commencement of training. I saw a friend joined in a job with an intelligence officer. They turned into a body with two heads. My friend had the right head while the intelligence officer had the left. I greeted them and proceed to the seat of the elders. I saw Ali in the cheery crowd. Ali was so proud of me he said to his friends: “There he is our colonel.” The Northern elders were not on seat except one, Hassan Sani Kontagora. He was dressed in ash colored gown and seated on a silver colored throne. I shook his hand and excitedly said: “I am selected!” “I know,” he said. I thanked him and fell in rank with the rest. We headed for camp amidst the cheery crowd. “We should maintain full state of alertness during and after our training,” I said to the group. They served us a vegetable meal. After the meal, our trainer, a white female officer took charge. She taught us a peculiar form of martial arts. She sat us down after we had mastered the steps and introduced a topic on sex and Viagra. I awoke.