#BringBackOurGirls
When bad things happen in succession, our people say, ‘‘Na Juju dey worry us’’.
-Bunie Arah
The afternoon was clear, clear in the head; clear in the skies. No sign... If only the skies could turn bloody red when danger chooses to visit. But alas, the Divine knows how he orchestrates mother-nature. For if the sky could be our sign for danger approaching then it would never be blue. It would never be clear.
We walked to class, just us girls, using our bags as shade oblivious to whatever signs in whichever form, existed. Maybe because everything was a sign. Maybe because everyday hundreds die and are slaughtered in perfect tune to the whims of an inhumane being; a useless excuse for a human. I guess when death accompanies you in procession, you become hardened to the melody of life. Amidst all this, we have to face exams. Today is Physics. How does the brain succumb to calculations, when it has had to force the hand to mop up the blood of a loved one the day before? It’s funny, that the questions could get to us! With the presence of terror, the North is practically a ghost town. Why should anyone care? It’s the North, they are backward, so let them kill each other. ‘’Hafsat, focus we’re in class already’’. I look at my friend absent-mindedly devoid of any sense of time.
I heard a crunch sound like skull cracking on cement. I thought it nothing, probably Aisha grinding her teeth to keep calm; apparently that helps. I look at my questions with rapt attention, trying to make sense of it all. However, there was an eerie silence, a silence beyond the fear of examinations. I knew this silence. I saw it yesterday, I was its host. I look up and see my teacher sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood with a gash sitting gallantly on his forehead. I look around and every girl had already called upon their own silence to inhabit them. No screech, not even a whimper, just pure acceptance. I look to the door and knew why. By the door is a man dressed in Islamic garb and military uniform with a machine gun hung over his shoulders and a machete dripping with blood; the ground happy to add a shade of innocence to its skin. For a moment, my eyes linger on this machete, with fresh blood plastered gingerly against layers of dried blood, mocking me as if to say my blood will find its place smugly amidst those layers; all in due time...
For now, Sambisa beckons upon our souls, hungry to be our home. The Jihadists are setting us free now; who said we were ever abducted? Right? Leave me be. I know nothing anymore...
Points: 464
Reviews: 10
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