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FIVE MILES OUTSIDE GOROM-GOROM,

BURKINA FASO, WEST AFRICA

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The heat of the day made the air feel heavier, denser than it really was, and the miles of clearing where villages had once stood stretched out into the distance, where the distance met the edge of the earth and the edge of the earth met with the unforgiving sun.

Shots fired out from guns, and the sound drifted and disappeared far into the beyond.

‘Hold the gun firmly… that’s it. Against your shoulder. Hold it steady. Have you got your aim?’

‘Yes.’

The cudgel was carved from the locust bean tree, and the strike to the side of the head ruptured and split the skin of the soldier’s temple as they fell, toppling down into the burnt-out grasslands which no longer gave shelter to the lizards and snakes that darted and weaved, seeking refuge from the African sun.

‘Comment t’appelles-tu? What’s your name?’

‘Amira.’

‘Bonjour, Amira. Welcome… But I think you’re forgetting your manners… How should you address me?’

Through pain filled tears, Amira cried. ‘Commandant. Commandant.’

‘Yes, Amira: Commandant. Do not forget it.’

‘No, Commandant.’

‘We cannot always oblige; but we can always speak obligingly…Voltaire. He was a French poet, but he was a man who spoke out against Islam. And what does that make him, Amira?’

The blood ran into Amira’s mouth as she shook and began to talk. ‘A Kafir, Commandant.’

‘Good, Amira. You’re learning.’

‘And what is a Kafir?’

‘An infidel. A non-believer, Commandant.’

‘Excellent. And what does it say to do with non-believers, Amira?’

‘It says, when you encounter the Kafirs on the battlefield, cut off their heads until you have defeated them. Seize them and kill them wherever they are… Commandant.’

‘That’s right. A Kafir will always be our enemy and we shall always treat them as such. Now get up.’

Pushing herself back up onto her feet, Amira picked up her gun, listening to the graveled voice of the Commandant. ‘When I tell you, fire your weapon.’

‘Yes, Commandant.’

The Commandant signaled, shouting to a nearby solider who stood attentively a short distance away.

‘Our newest soldier, Amira is ready…’

Turning back to Amira, whose-dirt covered face was streaked with blood, the Commandant said, ‘Hold your aim… Fire.’

The gun discharged a round of bullets which hit the sand, spraying and plunging into the hot dry earth.

‘Try again, Amira.’

‘Yes, Commandant.’

She aimed once more.

‘Now wait…Wait… Fire…’

A smile spread across the Commandant’s face. ‘Amira, look, a hit. You did well. God is great.’

In the distance a woman staggered. Trying to run. Trying to push through the pain as the bullet embedded deep into her calf. Tearing it open to expose the tissue. She stumbled over the dead bodies of those who had gone before. Her screams merging as one with the cries of the others. The men and women. The children. Who stood, lined up and ready, waiting for their turn to become the target.

‘Again, Amira, you need to get it right. Finish it off. But this time, aim for her head.’

A shot.

A thud.

As the woman fell to the ground in the distance, where the distance met the edge of the earth and the edge of the earth met with the unforgiving sun.