The automatic gunfire erupted in the bustling main street of Bamenda. A chorus of screams pierced the hot October air as people scuttled for cover. Shoppers ran in all directions. Street-side stalls were upended and goods crashed to the ground. Cars hooted madly while hysterical people scattered all over, crossing the street at dangerous points, looking for a safe spot to hide. A car veered off-lane as the driver got hit. An oncoming taxi collided with the victim’s car head-on and stopped. Women with babies strapped to their backs screamed and panicked. Some of them unstrapped their babies as they crouched to safety.
Whilst the automatic rifles continued to cough and mow people indiscriminately, Meryline Sirri instinctively threw herself down. Her newly plaited hair with rebellious teenage blond cornrows scraped off the red dust as she rolled under Mr. Anyangwa’s red, beat-up Toyota SUV for cover.