On Wednesday, two young female suicide bombers detonated in a crowded market in Kano State.
"Oh, she does well,—even remarkably well for a woman," admitted Kano.
Arrived at Kano, he took up his quarters in his former residence.
He came whenever Mata summoned him to meals, and ate them with old Kano, observing all outer semblances of respect.
He was, however, attended by a horseman to see him to the frontier of the Kano territory.
The Zeg-zeg troops had one French fusil, and the Kano force forty-one muskets.
The last of his race was Kano Indara; the last of a mighty line of artists.
The Kano men, as soon as they fired their pieces, ran out of bowshot to reload.
For a full hour, now, Kano had delighted in the morning-glories.
Behind the Kano cottage the rise of ground for twenty yards was of a grade scarcely perceptible to the eye.