|
Osondu
(The
race for Life)
- Augustine Ohanwe
The brown cockerel crew from Amina’s thatch roof top. She awoke and was glad to have witnessed another new dawn. She opened her door and stepped out of her house to breath in the fresh morning air. She noticed that the sun was yet to rear its glowing face from the Oriental flank. She returned to her bed and enveloped her little daughter with her arms.
Amina did know that ominous cloud was gathering and a horrible event was in the offing. She became aware that the smell of death was in the air when deafening sound of mortar bombs rained upon the sleepy village where she lived. She was terrified. She thought it was a prelude to capture and plunder; to savage and assault. Amina was shaken.
Her house was made of mud, its roof covered with thatch and its door made of mahogany, it was locked. Her window was small with a gauze. She peeped. Gruesome site of mutilated bodies and screaming voices greeted her eyes. She was shocked. Her cat meowed more than usual in tenor, a warning note to leave now or never. Amina’s adrenaline surged as she girded her loincloth.
Her little daughter woke up and wept as the mortar bombs pounded their village with frightening rapidity. A lull in the shelling offered Amina some breathing space to plan for escape. She
tied her daughter on her back, collected a wrapped corn meal from her yesternight’s leftovers and escaped. A journey without map.
She remembered camels and was inspired by them. They could brave the desert heat and no food without fainting. She thought her fortitude and faith would carry her to the border camp. She trekked kilometers of
dun-coloured dry flat trackless sea of sands where fierce tropical hot winds laden with debris assaulted her her pretty face and force the loincloth around her waist into fluttery dances. Her daughter’s occasional cry provoked emotion of sympathy that energised her weary legs and gave her new lease to continue her journey.
But she got palpitations as the deafening sound of mortar bombs continued unabated. Braving all odds she finally made it to the makeshift border camp in Chad where she joined a congregation of the displaced . She heaved a sigh of relief and was glad to have made it alive with her daughter. But her gladness was interwoven with sadness. Bitterness overwhelmed her thought as she battled with the nightmare scenario etched in her psyche. She rememberd vividly the fate of women in a conquered territory and sighed for her fellow women she left behind.. Safe in the border camp from assault but she still mourned for all that had perished in her village and were allowed to rot in their dishonourable graves.
Amina had a litany of woes to tell her camp mates but her mouth was too weak to talk about the horror she witnessed.
Author’s note: I am aware that expressionsofsoul website does not tolerate political piece. However, this short piece has political underpinning. But my choice of words and style of presentation stripped the article of its political garment. The article is a daily
occurence for women in the Darfur part of Sudan. Please ignore this short piece should you find it distasteful.
Respond
to this Article/Story or leave comment
***************************************************
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Augustine C. Ohanwe writes from England. He is a
Nigerian. Augustine is a researcher, and holds a PhD in international
politics. He is also a poet whose numerous poems could be seen at www.Poemsofsoul.com
under FEATURE POETS
|
.
