They spent that night, the Thursday before
Easter, at a mosque. The next day, Abdul went home, alone, to find his
house a morgue for his two brothers, a friend who stayed with them, and
her three children.
He found the body of his friend in the
kitchen, killed as she cooked dinner – beans, rice, chips. “There was
blood everywhere, but otherwise it was as it should be – the food, the
pots, the tray,” says Abdul, 32.
In the sitting room, his teenage brothers,
15 and 19, were shot dead as they watched television. Beside them, one
of the children, a boy of seven, lay riddled with bullet wounds. “There
were probably watching football,” Abdul says. “He loved football.”
Outside were the bodies of the boy’s two sisters, one just turned 10,
the other a two-year-old. No one was spared.
To be continued..................
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