Umudike

"MIsericordias Domini in aeternum cantarbo..."

The cold humming continued as members of the Taize community sang their way through my very essence via the car stereo. The low temperature inside the car completed the requirements for a dull morning. Then, I was thirsty!

"Pooommmmm!!!", came the most obvious sound from a hurrying taxi as I let down my window to summon "the-kid-with-the-coke". I just couldn't imagine the sharp difference. Heat waves from the window. A mixture of all sorts of sounds from all sorts of unfriendly sources. Dust particles flying at random from shuffling feet in the dirty tar-like stretch of a road. Signposts by the roadside were as many as the total population of Madagascar. It was almost impossible to drive through here unscratched. This is UMUDIKE!

"Oga, which one?", the-kid-with-the-coke asked, amidst other competitors. I had seen the particular bottle of coke I wanted to drink from a distance. Infact, I could spot it from a million bottles of coke in Abia State. It had the inscription "Share a Coca Cola with Gabriel". Of course, the most comfortable thing in life is to drink a chilled bottle of coke ALONE! I am not a marketer actually, 'm just being realistic.

Since I wouldn't want to have a kid's brain splashed on my face, I drove slowly a bit forward, off the road. The-kid-with-the-coke magically moved at the same pace with my car, no matter how sporadic the changes in speed became. I had to quietly swipe my side mirror down to be sure he had not straddled himself to my car. Surprisingly, he had not.

The-kid-with-the-coke looked 8, smart, intelligent, could easily read my mind, spoke good grammar...yet, was not in school! There were millions like him around here.

While he pointed the bottle at me, I thought through the fact that there were billionaire politicians in this same community. Education was preached as a free commodity.

Just before I could reach the N100 note in my pocket, the-kid-with-the-coke had vanished; with his bottle of coke. Then, I heard the blarring siren of a police van...towards where I had parked. My heart-beat increased. 

As the dark-tanned Police-Man walked towards my window even before their van came to a total halt, I shot a glance to confirm the presence of the wig on my dashboard. Then, I slowly let the window roll down again and smiled; this time, with the confidence of a lawyer who just won a case against the government.

"Yes? How may I be of help officer?"

I am i~Witness.

Save the Black Child

The evening dew settled on everything around and harmattan dust decorated them to a different flavor. The humming sound of the strolling river spoke volumes to my soul. My heartbeats became like an accompaniment to the river music.

 For several minutes, my eyes felt like they were not permitted to stare away from the waters. Yet, each time they belched, my heart sank to its very depths. When I finally gathered the courage to look around, I realised how late it had become. The beach side was completely abandoned. The Michael Kors time piece on my left wrist screamed a tick; it was 8 o'clock.

Thoughts of stories of mermaids swimming out to river banks at unholy hours caused a tremor in my stomach. As I hurried away, my feet struggled to jumble through the thick pile of quicksand. The blue Amazon tie I wore kept flipping into clear view in response to wind direction. Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of the object of my fears.

An object lay quietly just a distance away. Oh no, rather, a couple of objects. I attempted a diversion, yet laziness and the length of the new distance brought me to a standstill. I produced the thick glasses; my spare eyes, and stuck them on. This thing has a grande relationship with my bone-filled face. It just sits in and hugs the face like a gorilla in heat. Just as it settled into position, the objects became magnified. And I saw, for the first time, the image of a tired child, lying beside a bag of pure water, a plate, a spoon, an old piece of canvas shoes for a pillow, a little heap of clothes and covered with two scanty pieces of whatever rags these were.

My legs wobbled as I gathered the guts to walk towards the heap. She looked 9. Frozen in the cold. Unperturbed even by nature. I simply sat beside her, pulled my glasses and let the tears flow freely. I pulled my suit and added to her self-constructed set of duvét. She smiled in her sleep and stirred as if to appreciate the increase in beachside temperature. As my teeth started clattering in the cold, it occured to me that this one could simply die out, unnoticed; and her corpse swept away by the ragging river.

While I sat, lost in thought; she woke with a start. "Officer please don't arrest me again, I have no way else to go. My mummy and daddy have died and my aunty said she will kill me if I don't sell all these pure water", she begged, almost wailing. Obviously, she has been threatened or even arrested severally. I simply pulled her closer. "I am no officer", I replied. Her heartbeat hurriedly slowed down as tears splashed from her eyes on my wrist watch. "What happened to you?", I asked. "My name is Edidiong." She began, in plain English. Her throat was cracked, I could detect it from her voice.

While the bag of pure water lay protected like diamonds, Edidiong excused me, strolled towards the flowing river and lapped off some water in a doglike fashion. I sat there, frozen and in tears as she hurried back, sat closely beside me, tugged herself beneath my left arm and began her story.

I am i~Witness.

What If...

There is nothing in this world I hate more than a January morning in England. Oh! How I detest the dampness, the fog and most certainly the frost in the air that comes with it. However, all that I could live with but for the fact that a January morning in England is also deceitful. The brightness in the sky gives you a false hope that heaven heard your prayers last night and it just might be  -2 degrees rather than -10 degrees. Ten times out of ten, it is latter rather than the former.

Nothing was bringing me down today, not the frost, not the damp and most certainly not the disappointment that the brightness in the sky presented a false hope of a sunny day.  It was -13 degrees and yet I was determined to have a great day!

Phew phew phew … I whistled happily as I walked to the 79 bus stop. Today is going to  be good day  I thought to myself as I waited impatiently for the bus to arrive. 

“Where is the bus anyway?” I spoke quietly to myself. Of course I did not want to be mistaken for a retard.

“Whop! Whop!” I coughed in an attempt to disguise my whispering from the people waiting at the bus stop with me.

“Wow that was close”, I thought.

Imagine if they concluded that I was a retard. I obviously would be given a wide breath when the bus arrives and we finally get to file in. It is bad enough that I am an African girl living in England, I did not want anyone thinking I was a retard as well. That would be double trouble.

I stretched my hand to signal the bus as it whooshed pass me.

“Bloody bastard!” I shouted at the bus driver, this time not bothering to disguise my words with even a sneeze. I regretted my impulsive words immediately as everyone turned in my direction. Oh great! now they think I am an aggressive, ill-mannered African girl.

“Who bloody cares anyway?” I thought to myself. At least, I was bold enough to say what all of them were thinking.

I boldly looked each one of them in the eye and dared them to say anything. Everyone seemed to suddenly receive a very important text message on their phone, as they all quickly whipped out their phones and tapped vigorously at it while avoiding any eye contact with me.

I must stress the fact that I shy away from using profanity, as much as I can of course. But I dare anyone who lives in a country where profane words are used like an elder in Umuanunu village uses proverbs, not to swear at least twice a day. As a child, my mother would threaten to wash my mouth out with Omo detergent if I swore. In fact I can truly say that I couldn’t say a swear word until I was eighteen. Eight years later, I still hesitate to do so except in exceptional circumstances, and I think the current circumstance warranted at least 3 swear words. In my defence, I only used two.

The bus had taken its maximum capacity of passengers therefore could not stop at the bus stop where I waited, to take in anymore passenger. That's just my luck!.

A good day was slowly turning to a bad day. Nevertheless, I was determined not to let that happen. I was not going to let a minor bus incident steal my joy and so I clung to my happiness like a drowning swimmer clutching at a broken twig. Desperation, I swear is the mother of invention. 

My mind sought new ways to entertain itself. I thought to myself, if I had my life to live over, would I change anything?

At first, I riled at the idea that I would want to change anything about my life. I am well educated, I have food on my table, the clothes on my back are of a good quality and to top it all off, I have a family that loves me unconditionally. Why then would I want to change anything about my life? I thought.

As I thought about my perfect life, doubts began to creep into my mind and before long I realised that I had changed my answer to the question. My life was not so “perfect” after all.

It needed a few tweaks here and there.

If I had to live my life over again, instead of wishing away the years in boarding school and whining about the punishments, watery soup and cold baths, I'd have relished every minute of it and recognised that they were the years that shaped my future and the only chance I had in life to cast my cares aside, to live without major responsibilities.

I would never have maintained my father roll up the car windows during our trips to the village just because I was afraid of a little dust settling on perfectly ironed dress. A dirty dress was like a tiny speck of dust compared to the troubles life brought with it.

I would have encouraged my friends over for a visit even though our sofa was faded and we had no cable t.v. In doing so, I would have been able to easily separate the wheat from the chaff.

I would have taken the time to listen carefully to my grandfather, my grandmother, my mother and my father as they ramble about their youth. For truer words of wisdom were never spoken that those that fell from an experienced tongue.

I would have lit the pretty pink, passionate red and baby blue candles that were shaped like cupcakes before they melted in storage.

I would have lay on the lawn with my siblings and cousins and never worried about grass stains.

I would have laughed and cried less while watching television and reading my novels ... and bit more while watching real life.

I would have shouldered more of the duties and responsibilities carried by my Father and Mother which I took for granted. I would have eaten more ice cream and less salads.

I would have hugged my mother a little more, said I love you to my father even when he upset me, listened to my brother brag about his achievements, allowed my sister launch my favourite dresses and never complain when she borrowed my stuff and never returned them.

Given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it, see it for the blessing it really is, try everything at least once, laugh recklessly, cry shamelessly, love desperately and never give any minute of my life back, I will use them all until there was nothing left of it.

“Excuse me, are you catching this bus?” an unknown said to me.

Firmly dragging me away from my musing.

“Yes. Thank you” I replied as I watched another bus 79 slowly make its way to the bus stop where I stood. This time thankfully, it did not whoosh past me!

It may yet be my lucky day.

I am i~Witness. 

Chukwunonye Chinwe writes from Nottingham, England.

We Were Soldiers

The thick brown khaki shirt stayed sat on his body and the large designer buttons clasped the piece to order. Mummy sat just a distance away, tear-soaked yet joy-filled. Otobong had just taken the dreaded military job. YET, that is far from the scary part.

Crickets whistled through the night. The dusty wind blew with reckless abandon. Camp was scarier than usual tonight. Telephone networks had been marshed by terrorists' activities in this area. Wide roads had become bush tracks; except from a little protection by the desert heat. We lay almost a kilometre away from the last explosion...barely 72 hours away. I peered through the shadows and saw figures all looking like myself, except one; Otobong. This is my definition of fate: we both attended the same Secondary School...now, we have just been sent to the same war-front, having been admitted as 2nd Leiutenants the same day. He was more of a specially structured individual. I had felt his shape looked like an improper fraction; where the upper figure always stayed larger than the lower. His head forehead seemed to grow at a pace a little faster than his body. Muscular shoulders followed. Otobong was one man you dared not annoy. Apart from the military training we had, he was a stammerer...not exactly the kind of person you would double-cross. He was the complete soldier; made of steel and built for war.

The camp lay still as we were all fagged out from a whole day's trip in an M35 Armoured Vehicle. The tank's danglings had caused an uproar within my stomach. This was war...toilets were a taboo. In the darkness, Otobong's forehead glittered from a reflection of desert moonlight.

While my thoughts and eyes travelled, I realised that other things had travelled too. There were short and brisk movements around the camp. The trees seemed to change their positions from time to time. It is military enough to understand what this meant; I did. I stayed stuck on my make-shift sleeping rack. We were under attack! 

The terrorists sneaked like a pack of lions into position. I starred, in horror, as a whole crew of about a hundred men were about to be exterminated. Yet, we all lay still.

I had to sound the alarm. No way. The whistle that hung around my neck became heavier than the MG9.0 that lay beside my rack. My heartbeat skipped numerous beats. Otobong lay frozen...still. Something was not right about this. So I readied myself to activate the "seat-eject" button tied to my right wrist. It was a trap door which opened the pit beneath my bed, sent me downward and replaced my bed with a heap of grass. From beneath, I would follow a tunnel out of the territory. Everyone was advised to have a plan like this and one knew the other's. Even Otobong did not tell me his.

Just as the terrorists emerged from beneath the moving trees, my hand swung to the whistle. Too late. The sound of the whistle was buried by the Machine Guns which roared, vomiting bullets the size of my thumb on all our beds. I activated the seat-eject and disappeared into oblivion. Soldiers do not shed tears...yet, I did. I just lost about a hundred men to these animals and, I could have warned them. My conscience weighed much heavier than the gun I hung as I crawled through the tunnel.

The 7 hour crawl was worth it, as sunlight shone through the cracks on the tunnel. Just as I found the outlet, my heart sank. I found a scarier sight; a hand waiting to pull me out and a forehead looking too heavy as its owner starred down at me. As I got pulled out, the rest of the team roared with an applause. I was the last to arrive. How they survived? They never slept in camp! Those make-shift beds were heaped with grass, forming the figures I saw. Otobong must have been a good sculptor; the reflection of his forehead came from the camp football we played shortly before bedtime.

"I wouldn't dare die on my birthday", Otobong retorted, as we jogged along to our next post.

I am i~Witness.