Posts Tagged ‘sadness’

The following story you are about to read is my form of research. This is the best way I can address real life issues and it works for me. It is about the terrorism in my country…Nigeria. Their brutal methods and lack of humanity.

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Guns, fire, machetes, loud cries, popping sounds, blood! Blood everywhere! What is happening? I see them in their hundreds. Some are on foot while others are on bikes. They are everywhere! Where is mother and father? They said they would protect me! Where are they?!  I need them! My little brother and sister are wailing! I can’t attend to them now… I need to run.

It was peaceful this morning. I and my friends went to pluck mangoes from our neighbour’s orchard and he chased us with a very long stick. We were laughing but we still got the mangoes. They were very delicious. Daddy bought me a lollipop although mother is always against me taking sugar. They worked it out though…

O no! I can’t run. They are here. Two of them. They are dressed in dirty trousers and torn shirts. They have shawls wrapped around their necks and their heavy boots are dusty. Both of them have guns and bullets wrapped around their bodies. There are knives on their belts.

I don’t know whether to be scared or not. My hands are shaking and my sister and brother won’t stop crying. One of them go to the mattress where my siblings are. He picks my brother up. No! Mama said to take care of him! He removes his knife and…

I see blood! More blood! My feet are numb. I can’t move. I don’t understand… My brother he’s not crying anymore neither is my sister. I am half happy that the annoying noise has stopped and half scared. What does it mean?? They are about to leave but one of them brings out a matchbox and creates fire. I don’t like fire. One time I put my hand in a candle flame and it hurt. I see my mother rushing in. I want to go to her but the other one seizes her by her veil.

“We will keep this one eh…” He laughs and injures her with his knife.

There is fire everywhere… I can’t stand it. I run out of the house and into the hands of the man. My mother…she sees me. She is crying. I want to go to her. The other one slaps me! Father is the only one allowed to slap me! I beat him back but he laughs wickedly. He releases me and I run to mother.

They have put us in the back of a truck. I can’t see anything. They put a cloth around my eyes. Are we playing hide and seek? Is this a game? I don’t like this game.  The journey is long and tiring. Finally! It has stopped. My eyes hurt! The sunlight is sharp and intense. They are pushing me and mother. I see other people. Some are looking so thin. Oh my! Where is that old man’s legs… What are they doing to him. Pop! He’s lying still now. My mother… she covers my eyes.  I want to bathe, I am hungry.

It is two days now and I have not eaten or bathed. I heard mother screaming yesterday. She made me promise to close my eyes so I couldn’t see why she was screaming. When I opened them, I saw her at the corner. She was praying. Her clothes were torn and her face was bruised.

I am in a car now. I don’t know where they are taking me. It is very hot and they beat me for complaining about the Hijab they made me wear. My mother screamed as she watched me go. I don’t know why she was screaming. They said that if I did what they said, I could go home with mama back to daddy, but if I didn’t, they would make mama cry. The thing they’ve wrapped around me is poking my belly and arms. It is too heavy but I will do what they want so they can take me back home. Then I will play with my friends in the stream and steal apples from my neighbour’s orchard. Then go to school and read those books with nice little pictures in them.

I come down from the car and go to where the market stall is. They are watching me. They said to look for where people are. I see them. I see small people like me laughing. I see big people watching a football match. I see women doing their hair. O how I hate doing my hair… Boom!!!!

This is now the terrorists M.O. Using small children mostly girls as suicide bombers. I have no idea what leads to it though. This is just how I imagine it happening. This week a ten year old girl was arrested after being caught wearing a suicide vest under her Hijab.

Reality hurts.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Wronged Objects.”

If your furniture, appliances, and other inanimate objects at home had feelings and emotions, to which item would you owe the biggest apology?
(Thanks for suggestion a similar prompt, zaji!)

I renamed my Canon 550D Eric. He was sleek, fast, unique and so alive! He wasn’t just an “it”. When I hit him mistakenly, he’d refuse to shine his beautiful light. If I didn’t clean him, he’d look so dull. If I didn’t use him, he’d enter my thoughts and I’d just have to go pick him from the top shelf  made specially for him. He loved my attention and I loved his beautiful pictures. He was able to capture, captivate and inspire.

But I betrayed him. He wanted only me to use him but I rented him out. They tortured him and when I got him back, he needed to be treated surgically. I should not have given him to that man for repairs.  I just wanted my Eric back. I forgot to think about facts, such as: Do I know this man? Can I trust him with my prized possession?

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months.  It’s been exactly one year since I last saw Eric and I have no idea where he is. Instead all I am left with is the mini white box he came in, sitting on his shelf.  He was only one and a half years old and hadn’t even showed his full potential.

No one will ever treat your object like you do.

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