Ike Pius: Bomber Boy ~Guest Author Post~

I was approached by Ike and asked if I would host a post (lol) to promote his book: Bomber Boy.  This is not something I usually do on CrimeBookJunkie, but hey…it is a New Year so WHY NOT!  It is nice to be able to help Indie Authors spread the word about their books…and who knows…this could be something you may enjoy!  So welcome Ike to CBJ!  


Hi everyone, it is my privilege to be here on Noelle’s beautiful blog
to talk about my book, Bomber Boy: Rise of the Underwear Bomber and
the events that have led up to writing it.

Perhaps it was luck, or destiny, or something up there in the stars,
but I was just looking for a way to promote my book ‘The Paradise that
Was’ when the Idea came to write something which I could then promote
on radio, or on a magazine. I found myself writing, and before I knew
it, a world-class story was in the making. But I saw even greater
potential than just a book, I saw a Message, a Movement. Something for
the Greater Good. I explain more later in this Post.

Have you ever wondered why Terrorists do what they do? Have you ever
wondered HOW they come to be terrorists in the first place? What
reasons did you arrive at? Okay, that may work for Arab Terrorists who
have been fighting with their Jewish neighbors for centuries, but what
about African terrorists? Why do Africans go about bombing their
fellow Africans in the name of Religion?

At this point, let us take a reading from OUR Book, ‘Bomber Boy: Rise
of the Underwear Bomber’

Farouk Mutallab pressed the switch to trigger the bomb, and he closed
his eyes. Just then, he felt a jolt. The other passengers in the plane
were also shaken; he heard some of them exclaim. But then, some of
them started to laugh playfully again as if nothing had happened.

Farouk had expected an explosion, but clearly, there had only been
some air turbulence. He pressed the switch again. He did not
understand: The Brothers had told him that all he had to do was put
his hand under his shirt and press the switch. The plane would
explode-he would go to Paradise, and the infidels would go to hell.
Despite the air conditioning, Farouk started to sweat.

The white man seated next to him gave him a concerned smile. “Is
everything alright, my friend?” He asked.

Farouk glanced at him, and tried to smile. He then scratched his head
as he thought of something to say. “All this shaking is getting to
me,” Farouk lied, “I think I am getting a little sick.”

“You’ll get over it. Just relax. Breath deeply and regularly.
Besides, its only about half the journey left. You have made it this

Farouk nodded, and smiled back at the white man. He seemed really
nice. Pity that he should die. He had introduced himself as Matt, or
Mark, or something, but that was hours ago. Farouk did not remember
because he was too occupied with blowing up the plane. Those western
names all sound alike, and what was the point of remembering the name
of a person you were about to send to hell? Farouk got up. “I have to
use the rest room,” he said. As he made his way to the back, where
the restrooms were, Farouks’ eyes met with several of the
co-passengers. It was only his second time of going to the rest room
but he thought that some of them looked at him in a funny way. Except
of course the pretty airhostess at the door to the restroom. Farouk
thought that she liked him. Airhostesses should be pretty and
courteous, but Farouk suspected that her smile was much more than
courtesy. It lasted too long, and she seemed to blush. Too bad she
would soon go to hell.

Inside the rest room, Farouk quickly removed his jacket and shirt,
dropping them on the floor, and then took off the bomb which was
designed like a waistcoat. He examined the bomb to see if any of the
wiring had come loose. It looked good. Farouk sat down on the toilet
seat and sighed deeply. Time to die. He pressed the switch and waited.
Nothing. He pressed the switch again and again, each time listening to
the clicking sound it made. Then he realized that there was nothing he
could do to make the damned thing blow up. He threw it down. “Oh my
god, I am screwed.”

If the bomb was discovered on him, either on the plane or at the
airport, he was sure he would go to jail. Farouk thought about The
Brothers. They would be waiting for news that the Northwest Airlines
Flight 253 had exploded. When the news would not come,they would get
mad! They would think he had sabotaged them. Farouk thought about his
mother, brother and sisters. Father was also alive but Farouk hated
him. In fact, if The Brothers decided to kill him, Farouk would be
quite happy for it. But Mama and the kids-it was for their sake that
Farouk had agreed to go on the mission. Not because he believed in any
Jihad, or because he wanted to go to any Paradise! Farouk picked up
his clothes and started to put them on. Then he folded the bomb and
put it behind the toilet seat. The stupid thing would not blow, so he
would not go to jail for nothing. Farouk opened the door.


There! Did you find any anwers to the questions I posed earlier? That
is the Message within the story. Some may read it again and again
until it is clear as glass, but I guarantee you, its all there.

As I stated earlier in this post, Bomber Boy is more than just a
story, Bomber Boy is a Movement. A movement of Change, of African
Renaissance. Story telling is an integral part of African Culture, and
this story is one that will help shape the future.

I thank you for reading, and I thank my host Noelle, for the opportunity.

Thank you Ike for telling us a little about your book!  If this is something you are interested in bookjunkies, just click the link and grab yourself a copy! Good luck Ike!! 

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