t was a commercial vehicle carrying about ten to twelve passengers. With just one glance at them, you could tell they were travelers coming from Zaria town and heading to Abuja. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the road—except for one woman. Ever since they boarded the vehicle, tears had been streaming down her face. On her lap was a little girl, no more than one to one and a half years old.
Pity for the child pierced her heart deeply, making her soul ache. She turned and looked at her husband, whose heart was also filled with sorrow and fear.
“Hajara, do you think if we turn back now, your relatives will accept us? Will they agree to our marriage at this point? Or should we go back…?”
She quickly raised her hand and held his before he could finish. In a weak voice, she said,
“No, Salihu. Don’t ever say that again. We already resolved to bring Zahra to my family today so she can see her parents and grandparents. Nothing will stop us from doing that—except destiny itself.”
“Cast away your fear and forget everything. I know they’ve also forgotten by now, and everyone will forgive us, In shaa Allah. Our only prayer now is that Allah lets us arrive safely.”
“Hmmm.”
Salihu sighed deeply and reached out to carry their little daughter, placing her on his chest. He stared at her intently and said,
“So it’s because of your birth that I was told my life would have no blessing, Zahra. But I know Allah is the One who does everything—He alone knows destiny, not humans. Whether alive or dead, wherever I am, I ask Allah to protect you with His divine protection.”
Hajara remained silent, watching the father and daughter. It felt as though he wished he could merge her into his body so that no harm would ever reach her. She smiled softly at them before turning to look at the forests they were passing.
Suddenly, it felt as if the vehicle had been lifted into the air. The front tire burst—fittttt!—followed by a loud explosion as the tire released a piercing screech. Instantly, the vehicle flipped violently, tumbling over and over as though it had been thrown.
There was nothing ahead, nothing behind—only the vast forest of Allah. The vehicle smashed repeatedly, blood spilling across the middle of the road, smoke rising as if petrol had been ignited with matches. The entire place turned pitch black. From what anyone could tell, not a single person in that vehicle survived. We can only say: may Allah have mercy on those who reached the House of Truth before us 😢.
Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA)
ND 1
The sun beat down harshly on the heads of the cadets, yet the place was silent—eerily quiet, as though water had swallowed everyone. Someone watching from afar would never believe there was even one person there, let alone over a hundred soldiers standing in formation.
Because they were ND 1 cadets, most of them were very young—straight from secondary school. Not a single one was older than eighteen. Some were as young as fifteen, the older ones among them, having been brought into military life from childhood.
Suddenly, the booming voice of their Major shattered the silence:
“Hand salute! Daram dam dam!”
In unison, they turned toward the Major, raised their fingers smartly, and stamped their feet. The sound echoed sharply. They were all dressed in military T-shirts and trousers bearing their unit insignia.
Major Jibril’s eyes landed on a handsome young cadet standing in the middle of the line. While everyone else was at attention, this one was busy pressing his phone, speaking quietly:
“Mami… hello.”
A thunderous shout erupted from Major Jibril, shaking the very insides of the cadets. Yet to everyone’s shock, Aliyou Haidar didn’t flinch or drop his phone. Instead, he pressed it tighter to his ear and said calmly,
“Mami, I’m in trouble. Major Jibril is talking to me. Bye-bye.”
He cut the call immediately and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Shouting loudly, the Major barked,
“Who are you?!”
Before he could finish, Aliyou replied boldly and confidently,
“ALI HAIDAR!”
He snapped to attention as required.
Major Jibril ordered him to step out of the line. He obeyed swiftly, correcting his posture. With just one look, the Major could tell this boy was a born soldier—even before fully growing into manhood.
“Who is a soldier in your family?” the Major asked.
“Sorry, sir,” Aliyou replied at attention.
The Major repeated the question. This time Aliyou answered firmly,
“My dad!”
“What is your father’s name?”
“General Saleh Yelwa!”
Major Jibril nodded slowly—he knew General Yelwa well, a senior officer who had trained them during their early days.
“How do you perform a hand salute?” the Major asked.
“Okay, sir.”
Aliyou demonstrated perfectly, snapping to attention.
Turning to the others, Aliyou—now wearing an arrogant tone—commanded,
“Hand salute! You raise the right hand smartly in the most direct manner, extending and joining the fingers, keeping the palm flat and facing the body.”
Everything he said was correct. Still, the Major punished him—ordering him to go out under the sun and perform frog jumps. That was his punishment for the day.
Aliyou jogged off to the spot, glanced back in a certain direction, and smiled.
A young cadet—no older than seventeen—watched him with worry-filled red eyes, sweat dripping down his face. That was his younger brother. He glared at Aliyou inwardly, thinking,
“When will Haidar stop being stubborn? Today he’ll learn his lesson.”
Aliyou smiled as if hearing him and muttered,
“Why are you worried, Brother Khaleel? It’s not hard. I’ll finish it now.”
He began the frog jumps while the others marched. Over an hour passed, yet he showed no sign of fatigue. To him, it felt like regular home training.
No surprise—his father was a soldier, and his mother was a high-ranking police officer, Deputy Commissioner of Police Hajiya Nafisat Yelwa. Their younger sister studied architecture.
“Ali, are you not tired?” Areef asked while marching past.
Aliyou frowned slightly and replied,
“I’ve been used to military training long before coming here. This won’t tire me.”
“Well done!”
Major Jibril’s voice interrupted—they hadn’t realized he was standing behind them.
“This boy has a strong heart and stubborn courage—that’s how a soldier should be,” the Major thought. Then he turned to the senior officers behind him.
“I want you to follow Ali Haidar Yelwa. He will run from Kaduna Jaji to Zaria and back—nonstop, no rest.”
“Yes, sir!” they responded.
Aliyou snapped to attention and said quickly,
“Sir, if permitted, may I take a helmet and armor—and water?”
Everyone stared at him. The Major shouted angrily,
“You’re not going to war! You are under punishment. What will helmet and armor do for you? And you will not drink water until you return!”
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t was a commercial vehicle carrying about ten to twelve passengers. With just one glance at them, you could tell they were travelers coming from Zaria town and heading to Abuja. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the road—except for one woman. Ever since they boarded the vehicle, tears had been streaming down her face. On her lap was a little girl, no more than one to one and a half years old.
Pity for the child pierced her heart deeply, making her soul ache. She turned and looked at her husband, whose heart was also filled with sorrow and fear.
“Hajara, do you think if we turn back now, your relatives will accept us? Will they agree to our marriage at this point? Or should we go back…?”
She quickly raised her hand and held his before he could finish. In a weak voice, she said,
“No, Salihu. Don’t ever say that again. We already resolved to bring Zahra to my family today so she can see her parents and grandparents. Nothing will stop us from doing that—except destiny itself.”
“Cast away your fear and forget everything. I know they’ve also forgotten by now, and everyone will forgive us, In shaa Allah. Our only prayer now is that Allah lets us arrive safely.”
“Hmmm.”
Salihu sighed deeply and reached out to carry their little daughter, placing her on his chest. He stared at her intently and said,
“So it’s because of your birth that I was told my life would have no blessing, Zahra. But I know Allah is the One who does everything—He alone knows destiny, not humans. Whether alive or dead, wherever I am, I ask Allah to protect you with His divine protection.”
Hajara remained silent, watching the father and daughter. It felt as though he wished he could merge her into his body so that no harm would ever reach her. She smiled softly at them before turning to look at the forests they were passing.
Suddenly, it felt as if the vehicle had been lifted into the air. The front tire burst—fittttt!—followed by a loud explosion as the tire released a piercing screech. Instantly, the vehicle flipped violently, tumbling over and over as though it had been thrown.
There was nothing ahead, nothing behind—only the vast forest of Allah. The vehicle smashed repeatedly, blood spilling across the middle of the road, smoke rising as if petrol had been ignited with matches. The entire place turned pitch black. From what anyone could tell, not a single person in that vehicle survived. We can only say: may Allah have mercy on those who reached the House of Truth before us 😢.
Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA)
ND 1
The sun beat down harshly on the heads of the cadets, yet the place was silent—eerily quiet, as though water had swallowed everyone. Someone watching from afar would never believe there was even one person there, let alone over a hundred soldiers standing in formation.
Because they were ND 1 cadets, most of them were very young—straight from secondary school. Not a single one was older than eighteen. Some were as young as fifteen, the older ones among them, having been brought into military life from childhood.
Suddenly, the booming voice of their Major shattered the silence:
“Hand salute! Daram dam dam!”
In unison, they turned toward the Major, raised their fingers smartly, and stamped their feet. The sound echoed sharply. They were all dressed in military T-shirts and trousers bearing their unit insignia.
Major Jibril’s eyes landed on a handsome young cadet standing in the middle of the line. While everyone else was at attention, this one was busy pressing his phone, speaking quietly:
“Mami… hello.”
A thunderous shout erupted from Major Jibril, shaking the very insides of the cadets. Yet to everyone’s shock, Aliyou Haidar didn’t flinch or drop his phone. Instead, he pressed it tighter to his ear and said calmly,
“Mami, I’m in trouble. Major Jibril is talking to me. Bye-bye.”
He cut the call immediately and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Shouting loudly, the Major barked,
“Who are you?!”
Before he could finish, Aliyou replied boldly and confidently,
“ALI HAIDAR!”
He snapped to attention as required.
Major Jibril ordered him to step out of the line. He obeyed swiftly, correcting his posture. With just one look, the Major could tell this boy was a born soldier—even before fully growing into manhood.
“Who is a soldier in your family?” the Major asked.
“Sorry, sir,” Aliyou replied at attention.
The Major repeated the question. This time Aliyou answered firmly,
“My dad!”
“What is your father’s name?”
“General Saleh Yelwa!”
Major Jibril nodded slowly—he knew General Yelwa well, a senior officer who had trained them during their early days.
“How do you perform a hand salute?” the Major asked.
“Okay, sir.”
Aliyou demonstrated perfectly, snapping to attention.
Turning to the others, Aliyou—now wearing an arrogant tone—commanded,
“Hand salute! You raise the right hand smartly in the most direct manner, extending and joining the fingers, keeping the palm flat and facing the body.”
Everything he said was correct. Still, the Major punished him—ordering him to go out under the sun and perform frog jumps. That was his punishment for the day.
Aliyou jogged off to the spot, glanced back in a certain direction, and smiled.
A young cadet—no older than seventeen—watched him with worry-filled red eyes, sweat dripping down his face. That was his younger brother. He glared at Aliyou inwardly, thinking,
“When will Haidar stop being stubborn? Today he’ll learn his lesson.”
Aliyou smiled as if hearing him and muttered,
“Why are you worried, Brother Khaleel? It’s not hard. I’ll finish it now.”
He began the frog jumps while the others marched. Over an hour passed, yet he showed no sign of fatigue. To him, it felt like regular home training.
No surprise—his father was a soldier, and his mother was a high-ranking police officer, Deputy Commissioner of Police Hajiya Nafisat Yelwa. Their younger sister studied architecture.
“Ali, are you not tired?” Areef asked while marching past.
Aliyou frowned slightly and replied,
“I’ve been used to military training long before coming here. This won’t tire me.”
“Well done!”
Major Jibril’s voice interrupted—they hadn’t realized he was standing behind them.
“This boy has a strong heart and stubborn courage—that’s how a soldier should be,” the Major thought. Then he turned to the senior officers behind him.
“I want you to follow Ali Haidar Yelwa. He will run from Kaduna Jaji to Zaria and back—nonstop, no rest.”
“Yes, sir!” they responded.
Aliyou snapped to attention and said quickly,
“Sir, if permitted, may I take a helmet and armor—and water?”
Everyone stared at him. The Major shouted angrily,
“You’re not going to war! You are under punishment. What will helmet and armor do for you? And you will not drink water until you return!”