Bomb Nairobi

Fariha Abdiwey boarded the No.9 matatu from Eastleigh for the last time. She had bid her family goodbye for the glory of Allah.

            Once in town, Fariha went straight to her hotel room at the Hilton. At least she was going to die in luxury.

The room overlooked the busy Moi Avenue. She sat on the bed with the laptop that had been her toy for the past three years. She opened the heavily encrypted application on the desktop. She typed in several codes then the window popped with the city map and the blueprints of the buildings she wanted.

Outside, the city was a buzzle of activity, the trademark Nairobi jam; hawkers’ selling their wares like there was nothing going on. While the application loaded, Fariha went to the window to have a final look of the city she had lived, and had called home, all her life.

It was electrifying, for Fariha, to be the chosen one. She had been entrusted with the mission. Bomb Nairobi, she had been told.

The targets had been carefully selected, unique. Kenyans will forever talk about it. 1998, 2002 and Westgate was nothing. The real terror attack was coming. There was not such thing as too much punishment for Kenya. They had interfered way too much with her people, even after being warned.

The application on her laptop opened and the screen displayed a kaleidoscope of the city’s ultra-modern buildings. Seven of those were to be annihilated.

All the targets blinked green at her. An MS-DOS window was open at the bottom of the screen showing only two words against the black background: EXECUTE, y/n?

Fariha had no doubt. It was ‘y’. That’s she key she hit on the laptop keyboard.

For some soul annihilating seconds, nothing happened. Then a loud explosion from the direction of Harambee House roared like a thunder. She felt the walls of her hotel room vibrate, then shake, shortly before a series of explosions rocked the city.

She rushed to the window for the last time before the hotel she was in exploded. It was Armageddon outside. The sight filled her with indescribable pride.

At last they had taken the war to Nairobi, as they had promised. Kenya had invaded her country, killed her people. Fariha felt her blood begin to boil in anticipation.

“Istaqfurulah,” she prayed.

For a little while, Fariha felt more at peace than she had ever known shortly before the Hotel Hilton tumbled down like an avalanche.

Alhamdulilah was her last words.