The Boko Haram Letter

The kingdom of blood is at hand

Convention demands that we begin this letter with "Dear". Dear who? You? Waayoo Allah! Convention has been the refuge of fools and fakirs, sleepwalkers in a world of pits, steel, thunder. And broken teeth. We abjure convention! Unlike the slovenly slaves of convention, we begin our letter, contra mundum, with bazookas, with IEDs, with RPGs, with Kalashnikovs. Al-awda. Allahu akbar! Life was ours before we were life's. We rule, from Borno to Yobe to Adamawa to...

Now listen, god. It is important we address you first, since in your meekness and enervation you have refused to fight. We possess iron thews and will use them to fight for you! We do not claim superiority to you, though; we only importune you for moon and thunder as we confront the infidels, the drinkers of beer, the horsemen of Western education, the slaves of mutton...

Well, Nigeria, you happen to be a product of boredom. You are thronged with bored and venal knaves, wild and happy yahoos who rob the people and hire a Senior Advocate and hide behind the tinted glasses of the latest SUV. We let you live a lie, the lie that you are more powerful, the lie that you are master of the steel event, the lie that you and the agencies within you are united. But you know and we know that you are not; that your intelligence is a disappointing failure; that your soldiers are hungry.

They quake in trepidation; they cower before us, drop their arms and flee naked. We give them bread - better bread, mind you - and they thank us like manumitted slaves. They give us what we need with alacrity. We slash your scrotums at every bend; you scratch your chin, uncomprehending. You turn around and give your people a tired goat, a goat they have learned not to eat anymore: "We are on top of the situation".

You are on top of nothing. You know it; we know it. You happen to be desperately clueless. But we will help you. Listen; if you want to fight us, feed your soldiers first! But in a hole of a house where the political élite throw tantrums and raise geysers of dust in the scuffle for the seat of First Fagin, we don't see this happening. Where are the billions you budgeted to fight us? Multi-naira budgets raised to fight! Nigeria, your rulers and your political élite answer to naira, not to honour, not to their conscience. They are mostly tourists in places they claim to govern.

They have boundless faith in the party, the wild party - there can never be a morning after it, for the party never stops. Ask around. They believe in bullet-proof cars, in private jets, in fancy yachts; they have boundless faith in London, in Switzerland, in Dubai. And in nothing else. In their cupidity and imbecility they make us masters of the war. Ra haulla wala kuwata illa billa. We fight for god: victory is ours. If we drop dead fighting the infidels, we transit straight to Jannah and into the eager arms of our virgins! Jahanam welcomes and blesses your brains at death, infidels

Nigeria, you happen to be prodigious at dating illusion, at catching chimeras at daybreak. In your dreams we have surrendered; in your dreams we are negotiating a settlement; in your dreams we have agreed to a ceasefire; in your dreams we are prepared to accept, and have apparently accepted, amnesty; in your dreams you have killed the soldiers of Allah... Your attempts to cover up your humiliation at our hands have been mostly futile. We do not begrudge you your reverie, however. Dream on, dream on!

Nigeria, we know you are skint, so skint you have no kobo for your unemployed graduates. We are going to help you pay them something, just relax and have your fill of mutton. We are known to be generous with our cash, with our support, everything.... We will give your graduates money than they know what to do with. Any more anticipatory approvals for the pregnant idlers upstairs and for those below? We can help you, Nigeria, and we can help your rulers' disorientation. Let them come to the cavern quiet of Gwoza hills. We await

Al-awda. Allahu akbar! God speaks to us from time to time. Kill these chickens, says god to us. Apparently god also speaks to other brothers of ours on the need to roast chickens, the chickens! Blessed be our brothers who did a spectacular job at Mamudo! Allahu akbar!

Al-awda. The kingdom of blood is at hand. Ah, but the fools around us! They suffer from ratiocinative insolvency. They question our use of Kalashnikovs and communication equipment. They question our use of cars and whatnot. Now listen, indolent cretins! Thurayas, BlackBerrys, laptops, iPhones and iPads, which we own and happen to use with orgastic vigour, are not from the West, nor are they products of Western education.

They are the products of god, products of god! God invented the rifle; he invented YouTube! God invented the Internet. He invented the car! And, being zealous in the service of god, we reserve the right not to use camels. We have nothing to do with the West and her totems. Nothing. Nothing.

Sahabah. I am dead. And I am not dead! Allahu akbar!

~ Don ' the blood bottler' Shek