@ katsina times 

Around 2 a.m. on Friday night, I was waiting for Sahur time in order to eat and prepare myself for the following day, which was Saturday. Then I heard loud gunshots. I stood up and looked at my wristwatch—it was exactly 2 a.m. I said to myself, these soldiers are disturbing us too much by not allowing us to sleep every day.

The next round of gunshots was frightening. Everything in my room was turned upside down, with most items tumbling onto me. I stood up and recited the khalimatie shahada, wondering what had befallen us. Then I called my grandchild, Asmau, who was staying with me, but there was no reply. Asmau didn’t go to sleep until I lulled her. When she fell asleep, I left the bed for her and lay down on the mat. This was a habit I had picked from the Sardauna. He slept on the floor, on top of an animal skin mat or on his chair. He hardly slept at night. You would always find him holding Dalailu.

The Premier believed that anybody “who was looking for the gains of this world and the hereafter should not be sleeping. The rewards of today and the hereafter are not for lazy people,” he used to say. When asked why he did not sleep at night, he said, “A leader who is shouldering his subjects’ responsibilities should not sleep.” I think that was the secret of his success.

The Coup

By this time, the light went off, and I came out of the room. Amina came out of her room at about the same time, and we met in the corridor. We asked each other what was happening, but there was no answer. We hurriedly ran to the door leading out of the house. Then I remembered Asmau was still in the room, so I ran back to carry her. I was so confused I didn’t know what to do.

“Asmau Uwar Sarki, where are you?” I called out, and she answered. I found her under the bed, crying that she was going to be killed. I put my hand under the bed, pulled her out, carried her on my back, and tied a wrapper firmly around us. Hafsatu, instead of going out of the house, entered her toilet and hid there until she heard me calling Asmau. Then she came out, and we met in the corridor. She asked where the rest of the family was, and I told her everybody was outside. Hafsatu, little Hadiza Haiyyaye, led the way outside, and I followed her.

After we came out of the house, we continued hearing gunshots. Bullets were striking the roof and everywhere around us. We had to leave where we were staying and took shelter near Sallama's room. Moments later, we spotted him and went straight to him. A bullet hit the overhead water tank. Water poured down heavily and entered Sallama's room.

In a few seconds, Sallama climbed up to the Premier's room. He found him sitting on a chair. Meanwhile, the coup plotters continued firing shots into the Premier's room. Each time a bullet fell beside him, he would pick it up and put it inside a basket. The basket soon became full to the brim with bullets. The Premier didn’t move an inch, and Sallama asked, “Inna Sardauna?” meaning “Where is the Premier?” He answered, “Yes, what is wrong?” Sallama said, “For God’s sake, stand up and leave that place.”

The Premier heeded Sallama’s advice and left the bullet-ridden room with the holy book Dalailu in his hand. He removed the cap on his head and set it aside. Sallama held his hand, and they climbed down the steps together without shoes. The Premier asked where they were going. Sallama replied, “Why should we stay in that place for them to come and get you?”

But the Premier was not shaken by the coup plotters. He said, “Let them come and kill me. I know there will never be another Ahmadu Bello after my departure from this world. If they kill me today, will they ever kill somebody like me again in the future?”

Nevertheless, frightened by the gunshots, we started crying. Sallama told the Premier, “Look at your family down there crying,” as they descended the stairs. The condition we met them in was pitiful, but the Premier was able to hold himself. We believed he didn’t know what was going on. When he stood in our midst, I held his hand in concern and advised him to resign his appointment the next day so we could return to Sokoto, even if it meant walking on foot, because the disgrace was too much.

He raised his head and said, “Allah is everywhere.” We continued crying while others were busy praying, not knowing what to do. The Premier didn’t say anything else after that and held his rosary in his hand. He looked up and prayed to Allah, turning north, east, west, and south. He later told us he was praying for us so that Allah would protect us all.

Haruna, a cousin of the present Sultan of Sokoto, Ibrahim Dasuki, stood up from where he was sitting and came to us, saying we shouldn’t cry but recite Inna Lillahi Wa’inna Ilaihi Raji’un. So we recited the prayer, while those who could not were murmuring quietly.

We were in this situation when a security officer, whose house was close to that of the Premier, advised us to move away because the gunshots were getting closer. We moved to a safer area. Karima, one of the girls I was looking after, brought a stone and asked the Premier to sit on it. He said he would not sit down. After I persuaded him, he agreed to sit, but not on the stone. Karima sat beside him, and one of the workers sat near him too. Hafsatu covered him with her wrapper while the rest of us surrounded him.

While waiting for fate to take its course, we heard the main entrance door being forced open. Eight soldiers dressed in uniform, led by Major Chukwuma Nzeogwu, walked toward us. Major Nzeogwu was fully armed, with a machine gun on his shoulder and a torch in hand. They marched toward us in a single file without saying a word.

We later found out that they had searched the Premier’s room before coming down to where we were standing. We also understood that they fought with an Tauri (traditional guards) and the policemen guarding the Premier’s house, killing some before gaining access. While in the Premier’s room, they scattered everything they laid their hands on. During Sallah, the Premier usually stocked piles of clothes, such as wrappers and babbanriga, in his living room to distribute to people. Soldiers were not left out of the distribution of clothes. Because of the Premier’s generosity, he used to give soldiers big cows and five thousand Nigerian pounds every year.

The Premier had assumed duty by writing down the names of people, the amounts to be given out, and the clothes to be shared among the soldiers. When the coup plotters entered the Premier's room and did not see him, they set it ablaze with a match. The room caught fire gradually, but it did not spread until the Premier died. We later discovered that they had entered our rooms and scattered all our belongings before coming to us.

The moment we saw them, we cried, “Wayyo! Wayyo!” There were about seventy of us. The soldiers then told us to turn to our right in a single file, one after the other. From their intonation, we discerned that they were Igbos or Yorubas. They said they did not come to kill us, only Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto. The moment we heard their intention, we broke into tears.

“Sardauna, where are you?” Major Nzeogwu asked sternly.

The Premier stood up from where he was sitting and said, “Here I am. Who is looking for me? I am Sardauna. There will never be anyone like me, and nobody is like me.” We held him and continued crying. Before he sat down, he recited, “La ilaha illallahu Muhammadu Rasulillahi Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam.”

Before the soldiers started shooting, the children were driven out of the vicinity along with others. Only the wives, Asmau, Abdulkadir, Hajiyyaye—all the Premier's grandchildren—and two house girls remained with the Premier. They then asked us to separate so they could check whether he was there. From the first moment he rose from his seat, he did not utter another word. I believe he had already accepted his fate even before they shot him.

I assumed the role of a troublemaker because I confronted Major Nzeogwu and told him the Premier had left in a car to the State House, Kawo. Major Nzeogwu said in Hausa, “You are lying! Stay away from me. We came to kill Sir Ahmadu Bello; he is the one we are looking for.” I told him he could do that after killing me. He became furious and said, “Stay away from me, or I will kill you.” I said to him, “You are talking to a dead person.” Major Nzeogwu pointed his gun at me and fired a shot. It was then I realized that if you have faith in Allah, nothing harmful would happen to you. Allah had decreed that I would survive and bear children.

He fired the first shot, and the bullet hit Hafsatu on the head. After Hafsatu fell from the pain of the gunshot, I went to her aid. She asked for water, so I sent one of the house girls to Ali, the Premier's orderly, to fetch some for her. She brought the water in a calabash from Ali's wife, Larai. I held the calabash and assisted her in drinking. I asked if the calabash should be returned, but she said no, so I kept it beside her. I held her in my arms, reciting the Khalmati Shahada, and she repeated the verses after me. Then she died, and I wept uncontrollably.

Major Nzeogwu and his men were busy searching for the Premier. They spotted his babbanriga, and Major Nzeogwu fired three times at him, sending bullets through his sideburns. Suddenly, blood began to flow from where the bullets penetrated. Major Nzeogwu came up to me and said, “So you lied to me!” Then the soldiers shouted in chorus, “Power! Power!” and left very happy. After achieving their mission, they did not touch anybody else and walked out of the house.

Amina asked if Hafsatu had been killed, and I said yes. She held Hafsatu’s hand, saying, “Oh, an kashe mai kurya,” meaning Hafsatu had been killed. However, when Amina touched the Premier’s face, it felt cold. Initially, she thought it was sweat, but it was actually blood. She wiped the blood off the wall, and today, the blood-stained wall is covered in glass at Arewa House, Kaduna, as a historical reminder for future generations.

Amina asked me again, “Is he killed?” and I said, “Yes, he has been killed.” For a while, she lost control of herself and went wild in the building. She was four months pregnant at the time. She cried out, “Wayyo Allah, ni Amina!” meaning, “Oh Lord, me, Amina.” Her wrapper fell, and I picked it up and tied it around her waist. I also covered her with another wrapper because her body was continuously shivering. I said to myself, Almighty Allah is around.

I asked one of the house girls to fetch a blanket from my room. She brought it, and I spread it on the ground and placed Hafsatu’s corpse on it. Later, we went to the Premier’s corpse but were unable to move it. We left him where he was sitting. I am still convinced that the Premier had died before Major Nzeogwu fired his shot. If the Premier had been alive when Major Nzeogwu shot him, he would have surely said something.

After the coup, we were told that on the road the Premier usually used to reach the house, Major Nzeogwu’s men had laid an ambush, killing policemen on duty at the gate. There was sharp disagreement between soldiers loyal to Major Nzeogwu and some of the Premier’s workers at the gate who tried to force their way into the house. What followed was the merciless killing of the Premier’s workers.

One of the Premier’s servants, who resided at Unguwar Sarkin Musulmi, Zarumi—a very respected man—challenged the coup plotters with the assistance of some of the Premier’s guards. When he heard gunshots in the Premier’s house, he went to the soldiers in annoyance, dressed in almagus (iron armor) with a spear in hand. On his way to the Premier’s house, the soldiers stopped him and asked where he was going. He told them he was going to the Premier’s house. They ordered him to turn back or they would kill him.

Zarumi said it was better for him to die than to retreat because his master was under threat. He insisted on entering the house to challenge whoever held his master hostage. An eyewitness confirmed that Zarumi engaged the coup plotters in combat, killing many of them. Although he had no gun, he succeeded in killing some of the soldiers before they finally killed him. Before he died, he was able to enter the Premier’s house.

It was believed that three truckloads of soldiers invaded the Premier’s house, but we saw only eight inside. My prayer for those who lost their lives that day, and for all Muslims who have died since creation, is that Allah forgives their mistakes and sins. May Almighty Allah bless the work the Premier did during his lifetime, as well as his followers.

For Hafsatu, may Allah bless her with Paradise and grant her the children of Paradise, as she was not given children during her lifetime. As we live in peace here on earth, may Allah reunite us in heaven. For those who took care of us, like Sultan Dasuki, may Allah bless them.

This story was called from a book titled Hafsatu Ahmadu Bello.The unsung Hero written by Ladi S.Adamu.published by Adams Books in 1996.@ www.katsinatimes.com.