We wake up to the cries of bullets and bullet shells pouring down our roof like the September rains. It is still March and very hot, so are the tears in our eyes. It is a nightmare here. Sleep is very much a luxury. We are always on the alert for the unknown gunmen and their fury.
Yesterday it was Aishat’s mum who was at the receiving end of their brutality--the unknown gunmen. I still shiver in fear when the memories of last night creep into my head like a thief.
They do not scare her anymore--the unknown gunmen. She looks them dead in the eye while they had their way with her like they did almost every night now. They tear, they choke, they pierce but she remains still.
It was either her or us and she did what many women would do, she took the fall for us--I and Aishat.
They made us watch. They made us watch everything and that was the hardest part.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Aishat’s mum would mumble to us every time they left--the unknown gunmen and we would hold her hand in solidarity as if those words meant anything.
Deep down all I wanted to do was protest. I hated the fact that she had to do all this to save us; I hated the fact that this was the closest thing to freedom we could have. We won’t last a day on the street judging by the rumours I have heard.
Things weren’t always like this. I remember when the streets were filled with the laughter of kids our age. A time when we did not cherish our innocence. Since the war started two years ago everything we knew was either dead or caught up in smoke.
It all started with the riots in the south and the bombing in the north. We all watched it happen before our very eyes and we did nothing. But what could I have done? I was barely a child.
Maybe my parents should have fled when they had the chance. Only God knows if they are dead or alive. The last time I saw either one of them was at the Christmas bombing.
How time flies. It seemed like yesterday, I was running for my dear life without any sense of direction. I remember tripping on a dead body. The horrid sight of the disjointed body and mine covered in its blood sent me into a panic attack. I was able to survive that stampede on that terrible day thanks to Aishat's mum.
I wish I could pay her for all she has done for me. On many occasions, I have pleaded for her place but she refused completely. She could not stand the thought of it. But we all knew she could not carry on any longer. The emotional and physical abuse is taking a toll on her body.
I do not know how to protect Aishat from the unknown gunmen. What do I do when her mum is gone? They don't seem to fancy me. I fear they would not miss the chance to take her innocence. She is just twelve.
Hell underwater. Do we drown or do we burn?
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