Ants

I never knew my parents. I was raised by my grandmother, Kaka, in a quiet village in Zaria. She was the only family I ever had. Whenever I asked about my parents, my curiosity was rewarded with a sharp knock on the head. I learned early on not to ask questions that brought headaches.

Kaka never saw the inside of a classroom but she valued education deeply. Thanks to her, I was enrolled in the local primary school. She dreamed of me becoming a teacher. But what she didn’t know was that I preferred to work on the farm with my friends rather than sit and scribble ABC and 123 on a slate.

The day she discovered I had been skipping school was the day I buried all thoughts of farming. What I suffered in her hands, my mouth cannot describe. That punishment ignited in me a strange passion for schooling and to everyone’s surprise, especially mine, I began to excel in my studies. Eventually, I earned a scholarship from our community to study at a prestigious Federal University.

Back then, our village was like a big family. We slept with our doors open. Everyone knew everyone. We shared, we celebrated, we mourned together. But over the years things started to shift. The harmony gave way to hostility. The sense of safety began to crumble, replaced by whispers of sorcery, suspicion and fear.

When I returned to the village after my final exams, I was thrilled but Kaka was not. In fact, she tried everything to stop me from spending the night. I was confused. I was tired. Where did she expect me to go? Why was she behaving so strangely? I couldn’t understand it.

That night, she came into my room, saying she had a meeting to attend. A meeting? At that hour? I had never seen her that way—agitated, almost scared.

Before leaving, she begged me not to sleep until midnight. She wouldn’t explain why, just insisted I stayed awake. Then she gave me an odd instruction: when the clock struck twelve, I should stand by the door and watch carefully. A line of ants would file into my room. I was to let the first one pass, then kill the rest. She gave me no time for questions. I was simply expected to obey.

Looking back, maybe I should have listened to her and left the village that very evening. All this “don’t sleep” and “watch for ants” talk made me nervous. Clearly, something serious was going on.

Kaka left for her so-called meeting. I stayed up, fighting sleep with every fiber of my body. Midnight came and so did the ants. Just as she had said, they marched into my room in a straight line. My heart froze. I was terrified. In my panic, I forgot her words and driven by instinct, I grabbed a broom and killed every single one. Then I swept them out and dumped the dirt outside. I felt proud of myself. I was the midnight ant exterminator. I went to bed smiling.

But my smile was short-lived.

Loud cries woke me in the early hours of the morning. The entire village was in uproar. People were running, screaming, searching for their loved ones. Wailing echoed from every corner. I thought of Kaka. She hadn’t returned. My heart tightened.

The town crier’s voice rang out—Sarkin, the village chief was summoning everyone to the village square. That rarely happened, especially not this early.

Under the ancient Iroko tree, the scene was nightmarish. Bodies lay scattered on the ground—mangled, bloodied. Families screamed as they identified their daughters, sisters and wives among the dead. I spotted Kaka’s body and froze. I couldn’t breathe.

In the midst of the carnage sat a young girl, writhing in pain. Sarkin ordered her to repeat what she had said.

According to her, there had been rumors about black witches who spread evil in the village. In response, some women joined the white witches for protection. At first, the white witches helped but then their demands grew darker—they wanted human blood. The plan was to sacrifice the grandson of an old woman but that woman offered herself instead and the white witches refused.

That night, they transformed into ants and were led by the old woman into her grandson’s room but the young boy, unaware, killed them all. She was the only one who managed to escape.

The square fell silent.

When asked to name the old woman, the girl said she didn’t know—she was a new initiate and hadn’t learned names yet.

Sarkin turned to the villagers. “Who among you killed ants in your house last night?”

No one answered.

I stood there, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. I thought I would collapse.

After a long silence, Sarkin and the elders decided to bury the bodies in the evil forest. The people were told to go home and mourn their dead.

To this day, no one knows who that grandson was.

Kaka had tried to protect me but I killed her. I should’ve spared the first ant just like she said. I still blame myself for her death but I try to convince myself that I only killed ants…I did not kill my grandmother.

I still shiver every time I see ants.