My first encounter with war voodoo — and how Fulani bandits CANNOT withstand it when properly utilized — happened years ago during my NYSC.
I was posted to a community called Ogume, in Ndokwa West LGA of Delta State, where I taught Creative Arts at the popular Ogume Grammar School.
The Afternoon I Will Never Forget
It was a scorching sunny afternoon. I was returning to my PPA from Port Harcourt where I had gone for the short holiday break because travelling back home to Uyo was too far.
I hopped on a bike heading down the lonely Ogume–Amai highway from Kwale when, out of nowhere, my bike man killed the engine and swerved sharply into the thick bush.
I thought he had lost his mind.
“Oga, you dey craze?!” I snapped as mud and weed smeared my khaki.
He motioned for silence, pulled me low behind some shrubs and pointed ahead.
That was when I saw them.
A Scene Out of a Horror Film
A group of Fulani herdsmen, turbans on their heads and automatic rifles slung across their bodies, were dragging a young villager onto the tarred road.
The boy couldn’t have been more than 19.
Bruised.
His faded Brazil jersey torn at the collar.
An amulet glittered on his chest.
He looked like someone who had wrestled for his life.
The herdsmen barked orders at him, slapped him, and before we understood what was happening, one of them cocked his rifle and fired at the young man point-blank.
The smoke cleared.
The young man was still standing.
No fall.
No blood.
No wound.
His left arm was clenched tightly across his chest, but his body was untouched.
There were 13 Fulani herdsmen. I can never forget that number.
Because what happened next has remained carved in my memory.
13 Guns Against One Boy
All 13 opened fire at the same time.
It was like fireworks going off.
Bullets slammed his body from every direction, tossing him back and forth like a rag doll.
Yet, not a single wound appeared.
No blood.
No perforation.
All the young man kept shouting was: “KWEKE!”
When Bullets Failed, They Used Blades
The herdsmen pinned him to the ground and attempted to slit his throat.
The knife refused to pierce his skin.
For over 10 minutes, they cut, hacked, stabbed — the boy felt pain, yes — but no blade entered his body.
The Final Attack
They finally tied him up and deliberated among themselves.
Two herdsmen went into the forest and returned with a massive bull with horns as sharp as carved weapons.
The herdsmen restrained the bull, hoisted the boy, and slammed him repeatedly onto the bull’s horns.
The boy began to bleed.
On the fifth slam, the horns ripped open his abdomen and rib cage.
The bull tossed him aside and began to stomp his body.
The herdsmen laughed, pushed the body toward the bull, and let the animal trample him again.
When they felt satisfied, they fired celebratory shots and marched into the forest.
The Horrors Hidden in the Bushes
When we finally approached the body, we knew it was over.
The boy’s organs had spilled out.
His skull was smashed with a stone.
But worse still — lying nearby in the bushes were 23 dismembered corpses.
All Ogume youths.
None more than 20 years old.
What Happened Before This Massacre?
Here’s the backstory I later learned.
Fulani herdsmen had invaded Ogbe-Ole Ogume, grazing their cattle on villagers’ farmlands.
The community sent 24 fortified youths, each wearing war voodoo, to peacefully escort them out.
The herdsmen pretended to cooperate.
But when they reached the most remote part of the bush, the herdsmen ambushed them.
Bullets couldn’t penetrate the youths, so the herdsmen switched to knives and cutlasses.
They slaughtered 23 youths.
Only the last one — the leader — survived the first onslaught because he wore full protection against bullets, knives, arrows, and spears.
They had to kill him through impalement.
Ogume community mourned for 14 days.
Every indigene painted their forehead with ash.
Ogume Became a No-Go Zone
From that moment, Ogume became forbidden territory for every Fulani or Hausa person.
Suya sellers fled.
Visitors were chased away.
Any Fulani seen within the boundaries was killed on sight.
Even Corpers were warned not to walk without ID cards.
Children were fortified.
Boundaries were sealed with rituals.
Fulani herdsmen who crossed the line dropped dead within 30 minutes.
They Tried to Invade Again
Three months before I passed out, about 50 herdsmen attempted to raid Ogbagbu community.
Not one indigene died.
Every single herdsman was killed and burnt at the village square.
Till today, no Fulani herdsman has stepped foot in Ogume.
What If Other States Did the Same?
Benue.
Taraba.
Kwara.
Niger.
Plateau.
Imagine if these communities had possessed — and used — their ancestral protections.
But religion calls it “Satanism”.
Even when the alternative is slaughter.
Which brings me to a question:
Is it truly God’s will that innocent people die gruesomely at the hands of men who think their own lives matter more?
I’m not done.
I’ll be back.
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