20 years ago, I would never have imagined this. 15 years ago, I would never have written this. Six years now, I’m under my bed, rolled up in a ball, scared to death with a pen and a torn paper in my hand. Oh! How unpredictable life can be.
20 years ago, it was so easy being a baby and oblivious of the happenings around me. 15 years ago, it was so easy being a child and listening to tales my mother told me which I have no memory of and now assume I must have enjoyed. Six years now, fear grips me like a warrior whose king has been conquered.
It was hard when they went house by house forcing young boys to carry weapons and harder when they went home by home destroying families. Then, you could turn off your light and hide so if they break and enter, they find no one. Now, it is hardest because the bombs don’t need to know you. They are not humans thus, no feelings.
As I lie here, all I can remember are the last two lines of the national anthem: To build a nation where peace and justice shall reign. All I can remember are the friends I have lost, my sister who was raped and kidnapped, my 10 year old brother who fights against Nigeria, my father who was slaughtered like a cow, my mother who was blown up in the market while buying food stuff and my uncle who gives the go ahead for the destruction of mankind.
I may be raped, kidnapped or blown up today but I pray this torn paper gets across to you. You don’t live in my village and as such don’t know what we go through. Please pray for us, for the peace of Nigeria, for love for each other and tolerance amidst diversity; for we are stronger together.
My name is Rajia Ahmad and I am the last of my family.
Image Credit: Anything Horror
There are so many ways to be seen, heard and remembered without being a nuisance. When you go out of your way to seek for attention in other not so cool ways, we all can figure out the end credit.