"Homes and businesses have been wrecked by firebombs, churches are blackened shells, and only Muslims are safe." Image courtesy of author. “The attack on our town began at midnight,” explained the district leader, a tall, slender man wearing a Manchester United shirt. “We called the security services immediately, and we kept phoning them, but they never arrived. So, the terrorists took their time, working their way through the streets systematically, house by house, killing the inhabitants and setting fire to their homes.” He nodded toward the burnt-out shell of a building, grass growing where once a family had eaten their meals. Now, chickens poked through the charred remains of their furniture.
“The attackers were here for four hours. They killed 484 people, and then they went away.” He spoke the precise Nigerian English of a man who once studied for Oxford and Cambridge exam board O Levels — the same year I did, it emerged, although three thousand miles separated us.
“What happened to the security services?” I asked him. “How far away is the barracks?”
