Faiths unite against terror in Nigeria's beleaguered city of Jos

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/may/23/nigeria-jos-muslims-christians-bombing-unite-government

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When Islamist militants set off two bombs that killed 123 people in Nigeria's volatile city of Jos on Tuesday, many feared it would also detonate bloody reprisals in one of Africa's most religiously tense cities. Umar Tijani, a Muslim, barricaded himself indoors, haunted by memories of seeing a mob bludgeon six youths to death four years ago when Christmas Day bombs pushed the city into a frenzy of killing.

But this time, the youths who gathered in Jos's winding hillside streets were not out for blood; they went hoping to prevent more being spilled.

"Everybody suffered, whether Muslim, Christian or voodoo [animist]. We are starting to see that if we fight among ourselves, we will all be dead," said Ezekiel, a 27-year-old Christian who went out that night. With a pink baseball cap covering a machete scar from the past violence, he patrolled his neighbourhood with a group of four friends. At one point they escorted a Muslim whose six-week-old child needed to reach a hospital on a "Christian" street.

A handful of violent incidents aside, youths from both faiths who might have been expected to turn on each other have instead joined forces. Gestures of goodwill, repeated elsewhere in a metropolis where invisible boundaries still determine what streets a Muslim or Christian can safely cross after nightfall, may have saved this city on a cliff-edge from falling off, at least for now.

As the smoke cleared to reveal the bomb's horrific toll, an attack aimed at provoking sectarian violence has succeeded only in uniting residents in their anger at a government many believe is too bloated with corruption to stop the crisis raging through the country.

"The calculation in Jos was that within 15 or 20 minutes of the bombs going off, the whole state would be on fire, as happened previously," said Bawa Abdullahi Wase, a professor of criminology at the university of Jos. "They wanted to capitalise on the anger already burning there. But 99% of people realised this would be walking into a trap. People are directing their anger at the government now."

Like a growing number of defiant citizens pushed to the wall by repeated waves of ethno-sectarian violence in Africa's most populous country, Tijani, the Muslim businessman, decided to fight back – by keeping the peace.

"I called all my boys, because we can't just sit here and be killed. There are blackspots where the police can't go, but anybody stirring trouble in our streets is a neighbour, brother or son," said the towering 46-year-old, recalling how he set up a vigilante force after he learned that the lynch mob after the Christmas Day bombings had dumped the dismembered youths in a communal well.

Tijani and some 70 others fanned out into streets that would normally have been lit by the kerosene lamps of roadside traders and hawkers. Twice when they saw Muslim teenagers preparing to counter the expected reprisals by setting up checkpoints they dismantled them. When they spotted a gang prowling in a street out of bounds to Muslims, they called their Christian vigilante counterparts.

Jos should never have survived, a microcosm of a nation in which 250 ethnic groups were squeezed together by British colonial authorities after Lord Frederick Lugard created "Nigeria" with the stroke of a pen, joining the Muslim caliphates of the north with the largely Christian kingdoms and chieftancies of the south. Straddling Nigeria's myriad ethnic, social and economic faultlines, politicians have periodically stoked tensions over resources in the guise of religion. At least four riots in the last decade has left Muslims and Christians divided into separate neighbourhoods.

Boko Haram, believed to be behind the latest back-to-back blasts, previously tried to prise open these faultlines with a series of Christmas Eve bombs in 2010, followed by another round of church bombs on Christmas Day the next year.

In the past month the group has also kidnapped more than 300 schoolgirls, set off bombs in the capital and the country's second city, Kano, and razed at least four far-flung villages in their north-eastern stronghold of Borno. Residents in one remote city dug trenches and used home-made arms to repel an attempted attack.

With protestors trying to march to the presidential villa in the capital, Abuja, on Thursday, the government was forced to confront anger at a perceived lack of inaction.

"When a bomb goes off in Baghdad, the people of Iraq do not blame the government, they blame the terrorists," president Goodluck Jonathan said in a statement. "When terrorists see Nigerians turn on each other in blame it gives them a huge morale boost ... the terrorists are the real enemy."

Not everyone could resist the temptation. A Muslim boy was set upon by a gang of Christians who accused the tricycle rider of "being a Boko Haram," said Hassan Usman, his brother, adding that the boy was in coma with serious head trauma.

Undoubtedly part of the reason Jos remains calm is down to its entrenched segregation. Clumps of weed sprouting in the shadows of charred homes are evidence of deeply-rooted mutual acrimony in Congo-Russia, a neighbourhood named after the United Nations peacekeepers from Russia and Congo who formed a buffer zone between the two warring communities during the 1960s civil war.

"Over there is where the Muslim street starts," said resident Kennedy, pointing to an invisible line. "But it's not like before. Anyone is free to do their business anywhere. Only at night, for security, we all return to our own areas. For Jos, that's progress."

The city's clerics, Catholic Archbishop Kaigama and Imam Sheikh Zakariah Dawhd, believe Jos could yet become a portent for how Nigeria's diverse communities can live together. "I want to believe people have started to value dialogue rather than using religion for hostile confrontation," Kaigama said. Ten years ago, he started a dialogue forum with other senior religious leaders across the state. But when he attended a sallah lunch at a Muslim leader's home, angry Christians confronted him. "I like to think people have seen what was unthinkable then is now possible," he said.

Sheikh Zakariah Dawhd, the octogenarian chief imam whose still lives in his modest childhood home wedged between two churches, echoed those thoughts: "Religious leaders have to do more to promote unity. On the government's part, they need to resolve a lack of social justice," he said.

Wusa, the university professor, said no lasting progress could be made until the government showed greater transparency.

"Government keeps telling us they've arrested this bomb-maker, that Boko Haram member, but then we never again here from them," he said, sitting under a mango tree in his home.

"When you have no idea what happens to anybody who is arrested, you begin to wonder if the government isn't protecting these people," he said tapping two thick notebooks. Inside, in large slanting hand, he has spent years carefully recording the names of suspects regularly paraded by government officials. He doesn't know if most were released or jailed afterwards, he says.

Amid the incoherent responses that make up a bewildering official narrative, the idea that the militants are funded by the government is gaining currency.

"If you ask me, they want to get the country into a state of war so that the [upcoming 2015] elections will be delayed. It's a way to stay in power and chop [steal] more money while we at the bottom suffer," said Kasim Inuwa, an elderly shoe-seller who was forlornly picking through the blackened shell of his bombed-out shop on Thursday morning.

Whatever the truth, such views highlight the level of disillusionment many feel. Meanwhile, the people's defiance remains. "If Boko Haram, or even our own government, wants to destroy our country, they will have to kill us all first. We will die fighting," said Tijani, the vigilante leader, over the cheerful cries of two schoolgirls playing teyete, a local version of hopscotch outside.Since the bombings, he has had to turn away two grandfathers in their sixties who volunteered to join the vigilante squad.