The steady thud of the drums echoed through the valley, each beat vibrating deep in Suleiman’s chest like a foreboding pulse. He stood frozen in his bed, his senses heightened, as if every sound in the village was magnified. This was no ordinary rhythm. It was the call to arms—a message from the insurgents, announcing their arrival.
Suleiman quickly dressed, grabbing his lantern. The village was already stirring, murmurs filling the air as more and more people stepped out of their homes, faces pale with fear. The sky was still dark, but the threat felt close, far too close for comfort.
Ngozi appeared at his side, her face set in grim determination. "It’s happening, isn’t it?" she asked quietly.
He nodded, unable to find words. The gravity of the moment was palpable, suffocating. They had known this day would come, but no amount of preparation could erase the sheer terror of hearing those drums—an unmistakable signal of war.
"We need to gather everyone," he said. "We stick to the plan. We don’t panic."
Ngozi agreed. "I’ll help rally the women and children to the safe zones. You should meet with the council."
They exchanged a brief, tense look before splitting up. Suleiman made his way to the centre of the village, his mind racing. The council would be waiting by the baobab tree, where they had met so many times before, but tonight’s gathering would be different. Tonight, the future of Abaji hung in the balance.
By the time Suleiman reached the tree, several council members were already there, including Bala, Aisha, and Othman. Their faces were tight with fear, yet each of them carried a fierce resolve. They had chosen to stay. Now, they had no choice but to fight—whether through action or will.
"The insurgents are coming," Bala said gravely, as if repeating the obvious would somehow make it easier to accept. "The drums… it’s the final warning."
Suleiman nodded. "We knew this day was coming. Our preparations—"
"They won’t be enough!" Othman interrupted, his voice quivering with fear and frustration. "How do we stop them? With what? Sticks and stones?"
"We stop them with strategy," Suleiman replied calmly, though his heart raced just like everyone else’s. "Our defences, the trenches, the escape routes—they’re all in place. Captain Musa’s men will assist where they can. But we must keep the village calm. Panic will destroy us faster than the insurgents ever could."
Aisha stepped forward. "We need to make sure the children and elders are taken care of first. If it comes to it, we evacuate them to the caves. The rest of us will stay behind and fight or resist. However, we can."
Othman wasn’t convinced, his eyes darting nervously. "This is madness. How are we supposed to resist men armed with machine guns and bombs? We’re just villagers!"
"We’re more than villagers," Suleiman said firmly, locking eyes with Othman. "We’re a community. Communities don’t fall apart just because some enemy come knocking on the door. They stand together."
Othman fell silent, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath. The weight of their situation was overwhelming, but Suleiman’s words resonated with everyone present.
"Whatever happens," Bala said softly, "we will fight with everything we have. Not just for ourselves, but for those who will come after us. If Abaji falls tonight, let it fall knowing we gave everything to protect it."
As the night wore on, the village was transformed into a fortress. People worked tirelessly, reinforcing their makeshift barricades, hiding supplies, and positioning themselves strategically. Captain Musa’s soldiers took up their posts at the village outskirts, and their expressions grim but determined.
Ngozi had returned from guiding the women and children to safety and now stood with Suleiman near the edge of the village. They both gazed into the distance, the horizon barely visible under the cloak of night.
"How long do you think we have?" she asked quietly.
"Not long," he replied, his voice thick with dread. "The drums were a signal. They’re coming—tonight."
She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly, though her face betrayed no fear. "I never thought it would end like this."
"It won’t end like this," Suleiman said, his voice laced with hope he barely felt. "We’ve come too far to lose everything now."
But as he said the words, the first signs of movement appeared on the horizon. Small flickers of light—torches, no doubt—danced in the distance, growing larger with each passing second. And then, out of the darkness, they appeared.
The insurgents.
They moved like a swarm, shadows blending into the night, their numbers vast. They carried rifles slung over their shoulders, machetes gleaming under the faint moonlight. Suleiman’s blood ran cold. They had come in greater numbers than he had ever imagined.
The first gunshot cracked through the night air, shattering the tense silence. A single scream followed, sending a ripple of fear through the village. But Suleiman knew better than to give in to terror. He rushed to Captain Musa’s side, where the soldiers were holding their ground, firing back at the insurgents with precision.
"How many do you think there are?" Suleiman shouted over the chaos.
"Too many," Captain Musa replied grimly, his gun blazing as he shot down an approaching insurgent. "We’ll hold them off as long as we can, but I don’t know how long we can last."
Suleiman looked back at the village. Fires had started to spread, and the sounds of panic were growing. "We need to get everyone out," he said. "The trenches—"
"Go!" Captain Musa urged. "I’ll keep my men here, but you need to lead the evacuation. Now!"
Suleiman didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted back toward the heart of the village, his mind racing. Everywhere he looked, people were scrambling for safety, trying to shield their families from the attack.
Ngozi met him halfway, breathless but focused. "The trenches are ready. We’ve started moving people."
"Good," he said, grabbing her arm. "We don’t have much time. Help me get the rest."
Together, they moved through the village, guiding the remaining villagers toward the safety of the trenches. Explosions rocked the air behind them as the insurgents pressed forward, their attacks relentless.
For hours, the battle raged. The villagers fought with everything they had—sticks, stones, anything that could be turned into a weapon. But as dawn approached, it became clear that the insurgents had the upper hand. The soldiers were running out of ammunition, and the village defences were crumbling.
Suleiman stood at the edge of the trench, his heart pounding as the final group of villagers disappeared into the safety of the underground tunnels. He could hear the insurgents drawing closer, their footsteps echoing in the distance.
"Go, Suleiman!" Ngozi urged, tugging at his arm. "You’ve done all you can!"
But he shook his head. "I’m not leaving. Not yet."
He stood his ground, watching as the insurgents came into view, their torches casting long shadows on the ground. This was it—the moment they had all feared. The final stand.
With one last defiant breath, Suleiman turned to face them, ready to defend his village to the very end.
End of Chapter Thirty-Seven