by Bello Abdullahi Wee
A barren landscape stretches to the east and south, ending at a blank stucco wall to the north. To the west, close to the epicenter, a gigantic castle rises into the firmament. The castle's firm fibers provide a solid foundation, like the Pyrenees, dotted with plump bricks. The baked bricks stick out intermittently like desert dunes. Climbing up and down the bricks is a new wave of attention-grabbing creatures—the black monsters.
The monsters, though few, crawl up and down the castle tirelessly. They have horns and thorns, large heads with compound eyes, and powerful jaws. They appear to have six legs, each with three joints and spikes protruding from a body that looks like a black exoskeleton. Their red eyes and jaws trigger chills, but their actions show no sign of danger. No groans emerge from them. The climbers mind their own business and quietly make their way to the top of the castle—multiple facades extending into space.
But are they harmless? Well, that remains to be seen. A turn of events is needed to see how these creatures react with the ecosystem, and perhaps, one may draw conclusions from their actions.
Then, in an inexplicable direct response to this wonderment, the castle shakes as if hit by an earthquake. Actually, it’s the work of an invisible force that strikes without warning and only manages to cause a slight shake. A few of the black monsters, however, lose their balance and topple over. As a matter of urgency, they sprint to the top, looking for sanctuary. Raucous laughter sounds from above—the work of an invisible, barbaric god.
From the look of things, these creatures are harmless peasants, gallivanting around, looking for food, scared of the invisible force and laughter. But who dares defy god? Perhaps the best way to conclude is to see how the black monsters host their peers or species of a lesser pedigree.
As if in response to the wonderment, once again, a dinosaur drops from the sky. The drop occurs some paces off to the east. It’s a dead creature with bloodshot eyes, four legs, and claws. Is it the invincible god playing games? Or is this manna from heaven? Again, that remains to be seen.
The black monsters have retired into the castle, thanks to the invisible force. Up north, however, a lone wanderer emerges from the confines of the stucco wall and heads for the castle. This one's lucky to have missed the invisible force by minutes. It scuttles across the vast terrain, unmindful of the open heat. Then it notices—or rather, smells—the prey. Almost instantly, it changes direction.
As the predator approaches its prey, it extends two sharp incisors that resemble sickles. It hesitates for a moment, perhaps to smell more of its victims or to take a moment to prepare before launching an attack. Eventually, it decides to strike, slashing into the carcass and using its incisors to rip it apart. Groans emanate from the body, but the hunter does not devour its meal. Instead, it goes on a mission to displace its target. Unfortunately, the physics of force and motion are not on the ravager's side, as the target is almost fifty times larger than the predator itself. Despite several attempts, the hunter fails to accomplish its mission and ultimately abandons the remains, darting off into the castle.
Not long after that, a constellation of black monsters spills from the castle. They ultimately crowd around the fallen prey and drag it back toward the habitat. Certainly, a co-conspiracy has been involved. Judging by the way the creatures pour out—in thousands—the newfound brunch must be a special dish in their world. Unfortunately, they can’t make it halfway to the castle. They are hit by bullets from above.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta…, goes the sound. One by one, they fall. The bullets seem to descend from a military tank hanging in the sky above and moving along with precision. Invisible bullets from the sky? A hanging military tank? It must be the work of that barbaric god. For sure. But why does he want to exterminate the black monsters? Monsters are monsters, anyway.
The sound of gunfire continues without pause, and the black monsters fall in droves. Realizing they are under attack, they abandon their meal and flee for their lives toward the safety of the castle.
“Run!” some of them shout. “We're under attack!”
Unfortunately, many of them do not make it, even to the foot of the castle, and collide with a sudden surge of water from the southerly wing. Some drown in the deluge, while others...
“Denge,” a loud voice booms, interrupting. “Come here.”
That's my mother calling me. Game over.
Nothing ruins a day more than being interrupted in the middle of a game of 10,000 Bullets, a fun game where you kill live ants as they emerge from their habitat. You don't need a computer or a PlayStation for this game. I often start by deciding on the number of bullets—usually set at 10,000—and count my kills afterward. The more dead ants, the higher the points. To get the ants out of their habitat, I set a trap.
“Denge,” my mother calls again. “Get away from that tree.”
I'm tempted to take one last look at the spot. A few of the ants have regrouped, likely planning to make another attempt at the brunch.
“I'll be back, you sons of bitches,” I yell at them.
Before I go to my mom, I should tell you a bit about myself. My name is Denge Sabo, and at age 10, I am the world's greatest ant killer. I am the barbaric god.
We live in Gembu, a quaint town in Northeastern Nigeria known for its rolling green hills, mini-forests and a plethora of white-washed bungalows with weathered roofs. A thriving metropolis for ants and bees. The townsfolk do not take pride in this unique coexistence, and this is why.
Every spring, a gazillion bees migrate in a massive, buzzing swarm. They usually don’t go far, clustering on a nearby tree branch or wooded structure. Then they begin the business of establishing their new colony and making sweet, sweet honey. Mmm! I love them bees. But don’t get me wrong. They sometimes sting. The ants, on the other hand, are a great nuisance. They burrow our most valued treasure, invade our food closets, and sting anyone standing in their way—even babies in their cradles.
Surely, someone needs to do the cleansing.
“Denge!”
Oops! My mother calls again. I’ll be back in a jiffy.
***
I left the habitation of the ants scratching my head vigorously. A new wave of black monsters had taken over my scalp, and I could feel them crawling around on my skull, causing a severe itching sensation. I wanted to pull off my hair, scratch them, and teach them a lesson. Perhaps I could crush them with my knotty fingers or throw them off my head and stamp them under my feet. But the ants were well placed to be exposed to my aggressions, and they were driving me crazy.
I found Mother sitting in a cluster on the veranda, and Aunt Beshin held a can of insect spray. Scribbled on it, in bold, italicized fonts, was the word Sheltox. They looked at me expectantly as I crossed the lawn to the veranda. Per routine, I sat on a mini stool and placed my head on Mother’s lap.
“How are you feeling?” Mother asked.
“They are still walking around in my head.” My way of saying not fine. Even as I said this, I scratched.
“Don't worry,” she consoled. “Your aunt just brought in a new insect spray. It’s called Sheltox. It’s deadlier than the others. By the grace of God, after two or three sprays, it’ll get rid of all the lice roaming on your head.”
Her words gave me hope. I looked up at the tin spray, following the descriptive word meticulously. I was so engulfed in trying to get the full details that I forgot about the routine of the moment.
“Put your head down, boy.” Aunt Beshin's words brought me back.
First, Mother put on gloves and washed my hair with soap and water. She sped up the drying process by jamming my head under the blow dryer. Then Aunt Beshin went to work with the insect spray. She splashed the Sheltox on the mound of black hair, caressing every part with her gloved fingers to ensure it penetrated deep into the skull. I felt a slight burning sensation as the chemical made contact with the skin, likewise the lice receded into the safety of the thick hair strands.
Done with the spray, Beshin packed her things and left. Mother, too, retired into the inner sanctum for late-morning chores. I was left alone on the veranda, feeling refreshed. I weighed my chances. The game of 10,000 Bullets was not over yet. I still had to diffuse a few thousand bullets to hit the target. But going back for the second round of the game would demand extreme measures. I'd have to be cagey about it. Usually, after every spray, I was supposed to sit on the veranda for the next hour to allow the chemical to dry up. To me, that’s a waste of game time, so I snuck through the back to the lone pineapple tree, wherein lay the dead baby-lizard and my weapons.
The ants swarmed in their multitudes. My absence sparked their audacity to come out in such sheer numbers. They succeeded in causing a slight displacement of the lizard, but were nowhere near the tree.
I studied the environment further before embarking on the kill. I could envisage having the greatest fun of my life killing all those black monsters. Nothing or no one could stand in my path right now, provided Mother and Aunt Beshin kept their distances.
I stooped low to pick up my weapons: a can of bug spray and a hard-soled sandal. As I stood up, I saw it. It hovered in front of my eyes. Wings flapped, buzzing incessantly like a vibrating cell phone. I was instantly drawn to it, not just by the buzzing sound, but also by the yellow-and-black stripes—my favorite colors.
I’m bringing home a baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me…
I sang merrily, admiring the insect in front of me and, at the same time, wishing for it to go away. But it didn’t. It darted to the left, then to the right, before sticking to my left earlobe. I tried to swat it away with my hand and partially succeeded, but it flew to my right ear lobe instead. By now, the buzzing intensified, and I became annoyed.
“Get off me, you stupid thing,” I said, flapping my ear lobes to get rid of it, but I was too late. It stung me. The pain shot through my head like a thousand needles. I was so angry I crushed the bee against my cheeks, slapping myself in the process. The bee sting and the sharp pain from the slap created a ringing sensation in my ears.
“Ouch!” I crouched low to regain my composure, dropping my weapons and burying my head in my arms. It took a while for the pain to subside and the ringing to stop.
I took a deep breath and stood up. One small nuisance out of the way. Time to get on with the game. But I was wrong. A couple of bees, then two or three more, appeared out of nowhere and battled for control of my face. I flapped at them continuously, trying to shoo them away, but it was no use. They kept coming back. Their incessant buzzing was driving me crazy, so I crushed them, just like the previous one, by clapping my hands in the space they occupied. But they were too fast for me. They zigzagged, changing positions every two seconds. My failures turned to anxiety, and then to frustration.
Madness set in. I hit them with a frequency beyond my comprehension. The bees saw the danger and zeroed in on my face. Then the real stings began. One bee bit the nape of my neck. I crushed it without even realizing it. Another bee ripped off a piece of my upper lip and got away with it. The third one tried to get at my eyeballs, but it nipped my eyelids instead. I smashed it, along with my eyes. My vision exploded with a blinding flash. In the ensuing frenzy, I stepped on slippery ground and fell on my back with a thud. The impact knocked the breath out of me. I lay still, eyes closed, working to catch my breath. The blinding flash gave way to darkness.
I opened my eyes to blurred vision, which gradually cleared. I grew thoroughly exhausted. The fall dislodged parts of the dead lizard, scattering ants over a large area. I took another breath and rose to my feet.
Bumble bees!
My heart sank at the sight of them, as there were too many to count. They rushed at me as if I were a flower.
Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
I made the final decision to terminate the game for the time being, since the bees turned trigger-happy for reasons best known to them. I could resume the game of 10,000 Bullets when the bees returned safely back to their hives.
Once again, I acted too late. Dozens of bees crowded around my head, sending me scampering for cover. Regrettably, there was no place to hide in the big backyard, which had nothing in it except the pineapple tree, a.k.a., the castle of the black monsters. Down below, the neighboring houses looked inviting. They were bungalows of the same make and the same backyard, bearing a pineapple tree or trees in some cases, a mark for all public housing projects. However, I quickly decided against it. I would not be laughed at by my friends for barging into their houses with bees swarming, screaming for help.
With so many attacking bees, it was difficult to focus. Somehow, I thought of my mother, and my mind settled on what to do next. I scuttled across the lawn to the main courtyard, then stopped dead in my tracks. Bees swarmed over the courtyard, occupying every breathing space. I never saw so many insects in my life.
“Mummy!” I screamed. “Help! Mummy, please help me!”
The call for help was answered immediately. Mother came rushing out of the house, her head covered in a white shawl. She grabbed my hand and dragged me across the veranda into the lounge as Aunt Beshin locked the door behind her. A small pack of bees made it into the room as well. Considering they were not of colossal amount, Aunt Beshin had a field day crushing them.
I was saved for the time being, but that did not reflect on my face because a gazillion others remained outside. There was so much buzzing. We beheld the mounting tragedy from the glass windows, whose shutters fit tightly to prevent any leak. I refused to go closer when the bees began to pound on the glass and window panes, trying to find their way in. When they couldn’t gain entry, they switched over to the door and attained some degree of success. In response, Aunt Beshin and Mother quickly rammed pieces of clothes into the tiny pores at the edges. Not even air could leak out.
I felt safe once more. But the sights and sounds outside the house strongly interrupted that feeling. How could you be safe with all those creatures flying around? No, we aren’t safe. Not until those insects leave our compound.
“Oh, Lord!” Mother exclaimed. “Bear us from this adversity.”
From the look on her face, she was scared, too.
“Where are they from?” Aunt Beshin asked.
“Search me.” Mother crossed her arms.
“I have never seen anything like this,” Aunt Beshin went on.
“Me neither.”
Mother looked at me, and her expression changed. “Oh, my God! Look at what they did to your face!”
I crossed to a standing mirror and gazed upon myself for the first time since being attacked. I looked like a battered case: face ashen and wet with sweat; eyes and lips swollen.
***
“I think we're in deep trouble,” Aunt Beshin said urgently, jolting me out of my thoughts. She excused herself to use the bathroom and emerged, looking horrified.
“What's going on?” Mother asked, just as perplexed.
“They've made their way into the bathroom.”
We all rushed to see for ourselves, and our blood ran cold. So focused on blocking the bees from the living room, we forgot to close the windows in the other rooms. The situation in the bedroom got worse. Little Adama and Asma'u began to cry on the bed. We managed to free them from the grasp of the deadly insects.
“We need to get out of the house,” Mother warned, locking the bedroom door.
“How?” Beshin asked. “We're surrounded.”
Mother fell silent.
Then relief came in the form of a voice calling out to us. Looking through the window, I saw my father with a man in dark blue jeans and a short, brown caftan. The man held a burnt-out tree branch, billowing with smoke. Dad covered his head with a piece of plastic. Despite the bee swarm, the two men made their way to the veranda.
Father ordered us to leave the house, which we did. Sandwiched between him and the man in the blue jeans, we hurried to our Range Rover parked out front. The driver was in position, waiting patiently. Mother, Aunt Beshin, and the two girls squeezed into the back seat. Abubakar and Abdulrahman sat comfortably in the front. As I moved to join them, a swarm of bees landed on me. The weight was so heavy and sudden my father and the man in the blue jeans had to retreat. That's when I realized—I was their target.
The bees clung to me from head to toe, turning me into a mummified hive. Dad and the man in the blue jeans did their best to rid me of the vile insects but failed. The stings kept coming, and my body felt as though it were on fire.
I lost my mind.
I ran, screaming at the top of my lungs, without regard for direction. The sprint helped shake the bees off me. I headed toward the mini-forest with the pond. No part of the neighborhood had been spared. As far as I could see, bees occupied all breathing space.
Gazillions of them buzzed incessantly, attacking whoever—or whatever—was unfortunate enough to stand in their path.
I spotted families taking off in their Range Rovers, unable to bear the blitz. The brave ones remained locked indoors, hoping the tragic incident would subside naturally. Some called out for me to seek refuge in their homes, but my mind was spinning. I didn't stop until I reached the pond in the woods, where I dove in with a splash.
***
The bees retired to their nests at dusk, and that night beekeepers invaded every home with the sole aim of driving bees out and using smoke to extract honeycombs. The man in the dark blue jeans was one of them.
After the honeycombs were tapped, he cornered me in a section of the house for a chat. He explained he found me in the pond. He believed the insect spray on my head stirred the bees, as they hate the smell of insecticides. Then he subjected me to a flurry of questions to quench his suspicion.
“What sort of game were you playing?” he asked.
“10,000 Bullets,” I replied.
“Describe it.”
“I have to kill as many ants as possible with 10,000 bullets.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Mother and Aunt Beshin interrupted the game. They had to shampoo my head with Sheltox.”
“What happened after that?”
“The bees came.”
The man considered this for a bit and then said, “Did you learn your lesson?”
I nodded. “The bees hate Sheltox. Never go near them when you are scented.”
“Ants and bees are great co-conspirators, boy. Remember that,” he said. “If they were humans, they could topple governments with their mass action.”
Imagine that! Ants and bees allied. From that day, I did not rule out the possibility of a collaboration between the ants and the bees to get rid of me—for good.
Author Bello Wee is a versatile writer and educator from Nigeria with a passion for storytelling and a tech-driven approach to learning. By day, he teaches Physics and Computer Science at Federal Government Girls College Jalingo, while also managing Africadiya Concept, a startup that develops and delivers skills acquisition courses. A finalist in the prestigious Diaspora Award by Kinsman Quarterly for his short story 10,000 Bullets, Bello demonstrates creativity and depth in his writing. His interests span creative fiction, screenwriting, and blogging, making him a dynamic force in both education and literature.
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