Boko Haram by Mike Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

44 people. 6 That, too, was thought to be revenge for the actions of the vigilante groups.
    Up to that point, the deadliest of the so-called revenge attacks would occur in an area known as Benisheik, a town on the road between Maiduguri and the city of Damaturu. On 17 September 2013, a group of insurgents dressed as soldiers, well-armed with AK-47s, homemade bombs and other weapons, stopped cars and buses, singled out residents of Borno state and shot them dead. They burned vehicles and set buildings on fire in the area. The military was slow to arrive – possibly because of the lack of a phone network, possibly for more ominous reasons, such as a reluctance to confront the killers. When soldiers did show up, according tosome reports, they were overpowered and ran out of ammunition trying to fight the attackers.
    When it was finally all over, bodies were strewn across the road. Travellers along the same route in the days that followed reported seeing surreal scenes as they passed through, their horrifying descriptions almost too gory to be believed, the capacity to inflict so much violence and death in such a cold, calculated manner hard to comprehend. State workers said they had counted at least 142 bodies. 7 Some of those apparently ended up at the Borno State Specialist Hospital in Maiduguri, among the bodies dumped on the ground at the back of the sprawling complex outside the morgue. This is where I stood about three weeks after the attack, covering my nose with my shirt to block the intense odour of rotting human flesh.
    The hospital had been known for its overcrowded morgue. Neighbours had reportedly complained about the smell. Even before the start of the military offensive in May 2013, there were reports of sometimes dozens of corpses arriving daily, feeding fears that the military was simply resorting to extrajudicial executions for those suspected of being Boko Haram members, though such accusations have always been strongly denied by the security forces. 8 As I followed the covered concrete walkway back to where the morgue was located, a security guard with choppy English who saw me looking at the bodies on the ground said, ‘Boko Harams’, seeming to indicate they were dead insurgents. When I asked whether they were Boko Haram members, she seemed to say yes, but it was not clear if she understood my question. A medical worker then appeared from a nearby ward and began to speak to me calmly in English as we stood on the sidewalk near the bodies. We eventually moved slightly further away, since the smell was so strong. She told me that the bodies were in fact those of civilians killed in Benisheik and brought here, either by soldiers or by residents. After we spoke a few minutes more, I thanked her, then made my way back to the front of the hospital grounds, where a colleague I was working with waited.
    Later that day as I reflected on what I had seen, I began to think that I needed to return. I had admittedly not moved off the sidewalk into the dirt to get a closer look at the bodies. From where I stood, I could not tell what types of wounds had been inflicted on them. I had been reluctant for a combination of reasons, including the smell, the fear of being kicked off the property or even arrested, not to mention the disturbing thought of walking between scattered corpses and studying them up close. I had not been able to speak with morgue attendants, either, since no one was there. As awful as it may be, I had to at least attempt to find out how these people died.
    The next morning, a Saturday, our first stop was back at the hospital. My Nigerian colleague who was helping out as my guide and translator during my stay in Maiduguri parked his car out front and said he would wait there, unwilling to participate in the gruesome task ahead. I understood, of course, and began walking straight back toward the morgue, not wanting to waste any time and hoping not to be stopped. As the morgue came within view, I