Fiction – Allah Have Mercy

A huge hand grabbed the back of my neck as I stepped out of the Rex Cinema, and, instinctively.

- By Mohammed Naseeho Ali

I knew whose hand it was. “I beg you, forgive me, in Allah’s name,” I pleaded. Uncle Usama’s wide palm came down across my face, the force of the blow nearly capsizing me. “Shut up, you bastard child,” he shouted. With squinting, teary eyes, I watched the two friends I was with flee the scene, merging into the throng of cinemagoers. Uncle’s long fingers gripped my neck again, creating a noose of flesh and bone.

“In Allah’s name, I beg for your pardon. I won’t do this again,” I managed to say amid dry sobs. I felt a throbbing pain in my head, and my legs began to buckle under the weight of his hand pressing down on my neck. Uncle must have noticed this; he released my neck and quickly grabbed my elbow, yanking me alongside him. I labored to keep up with his long strides, but kept falling behind and stepping on the back of his flip-flops. He gave me a slap each time this happened, then continued to drag me forcefully, the way goat sellers dragged their animals on the dirt roads of the city.

“Papa, please beg him for me. Please, Papa, beg him for me!” I directed desperate pleas at passersby, hoping they would come to my rescue, but the pedestrians only stared curiously at us before rushing on. Uncle’s massive build was enough to deter anyone who thought of intervening on my behalf. For some of the onlookers, especially the fruit hawkers and food venders who lined the front side of the Rex Cinema, this wasn’t the first time they had witnessed a helpless child being dragged by Uncle Usama, who was, in fact, the official disciplinarian of Zongo Street.