ORDEAL OF A TERRORIST’S BROTHER: MEMORIES OF SINGAPORE

Until December 2009, when the name Umar Mutallab was mentioned what came to mind was banking; just banking. Except those close to him or his family no one cared about the number of his children or whether or not he had any child at all. However, on the Christmas day of that year and like a wild fire, that news broke out. A young man called Farouq Umar Mutallab was caught trying to detonate an explosive device aboard an aircraft over an American city. That news was read over and over with so much analysis on major and minor broadcasting stations all over the world. The rest is now history. One important fact, however, is that the young man was a Nigerian. And for those of us who have affinity with Hausa culture, we immediately figured out why he is called Farouq. His actual name is Umar. But since his father’s name is also Umar, he had to have an alternative name since in Hausa tradition a child cannot be called with the same name as the head of the family. Luckily, every Umar is a Farouq; if he was not an Umar, then another name, may be some historical Hausa name may have to be used to address him, even though in school he may bear his actual name.

Although I have never met Farouq or his father, we have a lot in common. In addition to the fact that the underwear bomber is a Nigerian, he is from Katsina state, just like me. And like yours sincerely, he is also a Muslim and Hausa by tribe. We have the same middle name, Umar. We both carry green passports. In short, the terrorist is my brother.

The Detroit incidence took place when I was a PhD student at the International Islamic University Malaysia, a university that aims at bringing together some of the best talents from around the Islamic world. I enrolled for the PhD three years earlier when it was clear to me that conditions were not favourable for me to carry out a PhD research in Nigeria. I had now completed my PhD research and was about to submit my thesis for examination. As part of the research, I wrote and presented papers both in the Faculty and at international conferences. One of such conferences for which one of our papers was accepted for presentation was to take place in February 2010 in Singapore. That was a time when there were still red alerts in major airports around the world following the Detroit incidence. I was to attend the conference with my supervisor and we did. The procedure was that the organizers will send us letters of invitation which we should submit for visa. That took place successfully and we arranged to travel separately with my supervisor. He was to go by Malaysian airlines and I booked an Air Asian flight.

On the day of the journey I left home early and arrived at the airport on time so as to avoid any hitch. I passed through the Customs and Immigration check successfully. My first shocker of the day came from the Chinese lady who was to check both my passport and boarding pass before I boarded the plane. As soon as the woman saw my passport, she screamed to the hearing of everyone around, “With this passport, no!” She did not stop there. She ran with the passport into the airport building and after a few moments came back with an Immigration officer. Luckily, the officer was Malay. Malays are good and it was by their hospitality we were enjoying every bit of our stay in Malaysia. The man was calm and gentle. He asked me a few questions after which he gave me my passport and asked the woman to let me in. Soon, formalities were completed and we took off.

But if a Malay officer saved me from the trouble of the Chinese woman in Kuala Lumpur, he was not there to do so in Singapore. A bigger trouble was waiting for me at the Singapore airport. After disembarking from the plane we went for the Immigration check. But unlike other passengers whose passports were checked and endorsed, I was singled out and asked to follow a young man. The young man led me to a room, showed me a chair and asked me to wait. I had no choice. After some time he came back and asked me what brought me to Singapore. I told him and he said it was alright and left. He then kept coming at irregular intervals and repeating the same question in different ways and I patiently responded. As I sat there with no one to talk to and only my travelling bag with me I kept wondering what that room was meant for. Was it a cell? It didn’t look like one. But what offence did I commit to be put into a cell? Definitely, I thought, there must be a camera in that room by which my movement was being monitored from another place in the airport. May be I had an explosive in my underwear and I will use the opportunity to prepare it. Or probably there was a new method different from the one used by my brother in the US. But it will be foolish for them to think a smart terrorist will so easily fall into their trap. In any case, I didn’t know what they were up to, so I kept waiting.

After about one hour, my patience began to wane. I was very angry and I began to think of the way out. Many options came to my mind and for each option I weighed the consequences. One of the options I considered was to slap that stupid boy the next time he came and asked a silly question. But that will be too silly of you! I said to myself. It will just present you as another terrorist. Note that you are not in your country and what the Singaporeans tell the world is what everyone will believe. Back in Nigeria you don’t have a Government that cares for its citizens. Even in Nigeria, a foreigner can disgrace you and get away with it if has more connections, what more of a distant foreign land like Singapore? Your blood is not thicker than that of Samira Adamu who was killed in cold blood in far away Belgium and if not for the support of Africans in Diaspora no one will even know her story. In your own case you don’t have a strong Diaspora here or in neighboring Malaysia that will follow up to make sure that justice is done to you. Even in your university, Nigerian students are looking at one another as Hausa and Yoruba instead of fellow Nigerians.

With those thoughts, I dropped the idea of violence, but even as I was considering other options, the young man came in. “so what brought you to Singapore?” he asked. “Conference”, I answered, this time angrily. He said, “Okay, okay” and left. My thoughts then continued. Perhaps I should go back to Malaysia. When this boy comes in I will just tell him that I was no longer interested in going into Singapore and they should allow me to join the next flight back to Kuala Lumpur. But, when is the next flight? Perhaps in several hours time or the next day? Where are you going to stay? In this room? In a hotel? Do you think they will allow you to go to a hotel? Note that you have to give them a good reason for changing your mind about attending the conference.

That is how I continued thinking of one option after another until I finally said to myself, “Look the problem with you is that you have become angry and the Prophet (peace be upon him) advised you against anger. Don’t you remember the instance at which a man came to the Prophet (pbuh) and sought for advice and the prophet told him not to get angry and even after repeating the request several times the advice remained the same?”

With this hadith, I calmed down and the anger went away. I began to smile in my heart and soon I realized that there was also a smile on my face. So when next the young gentleman came in I was already smiling and ready to answer any question, no matter how silly, correctly. To my surprise he gave me back my passport and said, “You can go”. Yes, I could go, and with the smile on my face I ran into the big city of Singapore.