My name is Muhammad, an elder brother to Ahmad, Hameed and our younger sister, Fatima. Our ordeal may have been known to many, but it's deeper than what you may never know or ever heard.
One word that describes our life is 'sorrow'. We were born to a home of a disciplined and visionary man, a revolutionary and an exceptionally human being who has given purpose to our life; legacy and triumph to our being.
I was born in 1996, my younger ones are teenagers except one. Our Father has committed his life to fight against injustice and a quest to total freedom and liberation of oppression. As usual, this comes with an enormous price, our Father was aware and willing to pay regardless.
This was the determiner of our life. This quest has cost our father so much, it has led him to imprisonment, torture, and emotional imbalance over the years. For instance, my father was imprisoned by Abacha as I was born. He had to wait for years to have a glance at his newborn baby.
This was the beginning but also what transformed into a norm. In 20 years, I rarely spend good ten years with my father. The oppressors have forcefully distanced our father from us.
I can't emphasise more on how this has affected me. But what do I say about my younger ones? Ahmad for instance, the replica of our father, who reflect the intelligence of our father. It still amazes me how our father was able to groom him in just a little time they had together.
What do I say about Hameed, you may imagine how a father stays caring for his 14 years old, the emotional connection between and that required guidance. When our father said his last goodbye to Hameed, I almost suffocate, that was the moment I couldn't hold it any longer.
What do I say about Fatima who has been the angel and apple eyes of our father? The little Fatima reminds all of us about our departed mother, the bond she had with him, unknown to all of them that it won't be for long.
The oppressors have subjected my Father to an unimaginable and hardest way of life. Throughout; he was either imprisoned or arrested in a police station. They beget him horrendously both emotionally and physically. Even his left eye was damaged by their torture.
That was how our father was imprisoned for seven years. As if that was enough, four years later they shot him in Abuja. As if the protest was not peaceful or illegal, a snipper specifically targeted him with a poisonous bullet on his upper leg.
Of all the suffering our father has endured, this has remained particular. The weeks we spend receiving at the hospital receiving treatment will forever be a horrific memory.
Imagine watching your father with poison in his body; dying almost every day from the perpetual pain of the poison. The pain often makes him unconscious and stagnant. He lived in this condition for weeks as we always watch helplessly. I never knew what it means to be poisoned until I had my father continuously going astray for weeks as a result.
I watched my dying father for weeks suffering in pain helplessly; I watched him as he blink to death, I watched him as he had his last breath in this world, I was with him, I was there, I was holding him as he blinks and pull out his last breath, I was holding him as he turned from unconscious suffering ill aged man to a lifeless body!
The image of the lifeless body of my father will forever stay in my memory. The years, the months and the weeks of suffering I bear witness to. The final moment of his life, how he waive his final goodbye to my younger ones; Ahmad, Hameed and our little Fatima.
Profound gratitude to almighty who has given us one of the best men in history as our father. Our father has not died in vain, his footsteps have been our way and will continue to remain so. Our loyalty and obedience die with our leader, as always Sayyid Zakzaky (H)
Qaseem Muhammad.