Last night I had a mix of a flashback and a nightmare of the war between Ethiopia, and Eritrea. I recall the screams so loud it hurts your ears, the gunshots firing off all around you. BANG BANG BANG. [Alem twitches and mumbles in his sleep] The war between Ethiopia and Eritrea still rages on. The painful nights when we would go to sleep hungry. In the flashback I go to comfort my father as he begins to get emotional. I also miss my mother; we write letters to her every day, but it takes around one week just to get one to her.
The next morning the casualties’ numbers come in – 24,000 dead, over 60,000 injured. No one knows when this war will end, but it has been rumoured that the war is not even halfway done yet.
The church bell rings signalling that the infamous drawing will occur yet again. The drawing happens every month. Five names from all the boys from ages fourteen and above from each village will be picked to go to the frontlines of the war, the only exception is if you are unable to move or on death’s doorstep. We gather around in the centre of town waiting for the names to be chosen. I look around and see numerous people with their eyes closed and their hands together, praying that they don’t get picked. [Alem mumbles and twitches in his sleep] A general sticks his hand in a bowl of names and finds a slip, he pulls it out from the bowl and smoothens the slip. He clears his throat and announces “ALEM KELO”. My eyes shoot open, and I yell “NO” gasping for air, hair dishevelled, fingers sore from griping the blanket so tight. I look over to the window, dawn is breaking, the first rays of sunlight are visible. I glance at the clock beside the bed. 5:44 AM. [Alem quietly gets out of bed] I do not want to wake my father from next door. Our rooms are separated by a thin wooden door. [Alem tiptoes all the way to the bathroom and splashes water on his face and says to himself “It was just a nightmare”] and uses the toilet. [After Alem finishes using the bathroom, he quietly closes the door and switches off the lights].
That’s when I realize my father’s room lights are on. I could tell because there was light shining from where the door meets the floor. [Alem quietly raps his knuckles on his father’s door]. Knock, Knock. “Father.” [Alem say quietly]. No answer. “Father.” [Alem says slightly louder]. No answer. “Father” [Alem says even louder]. Still no answer. Panic sinks in. “Father, Father, Father!” [Alem says much louder, Alem simultaneously starts trying to twist the doorknob open but its locked]. [Alem can hear someone entering his father’s room] “Father!” [Alem cries out]. A muffled noise comes from outside the room. [Alem is quiet]. [The sound of a door unlocking and someone rattling keys, someone inserts a key into the thin wooden door that separates Alem’s room from his father’s. It’s not Mr Kelo. “Right, what’s going on here then? We’ll have no noise in here.” Says an important-looking man in a sharp suit. Alem frantically asks “Where is my father?” In broken English. “Where’s Mr. Kelo then? And where did he put that elephant? In the bathroom? Mr. Kelo?” The man calls out. “Where is my father?” Asks Alem again. “Do. You. Know. Where. Mr. Kelo. Is?” Asks the man. “I want my father,” says Alem. “Where is Mr. Kelo? Mr. Kelo? Mr. Kelo?” Says the man.
[Alem screams at the top of his lungs] “No no no no no. Shhh Shhh… Shhhhh. I’m not going to hurt. I’m not going to hurt you. Says the man. [The man sees the letter on the mirror of the bedside table and picks it up]. “Where is he?” The man mumbles to himself. [The man reads the letter] “Oh. Oh, I see,” says the man. “He’s coming back,” says Alem. “I’ll call the people and we’ll get this sorted.” Says the man. “He’s coming back, you lie to me. He’s coming back, you lie to me”. I repeat to the man. “Just calm down a minute, son.” Says the man. “I am not your son!” I raise my voice at the man. “Calm down,” says the man. “I’m not your son!” I say again. “I have to wake up. I must wake up. I have to wake up.” “Shhhhh Shhhhh, you’ll wake the whole bloomin’ house up, carrying on like that… [The man moves, Alem backs off]. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I yell to myself. [The man holds out the letter]. “Ey… it’s from him. From Mr. Kelo. [Alem moves back and his eyes flicker from the man’s face to the letter]. “For you, lad.” Says the man. [The man moves towards Alem like he’s snared a tiger]. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you hear me? I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve a son myself. Just like you. Not like you. But you know. Like you. Here…” says the man. [The man places the letter on the ground and leaves]. [Alem picks up the letter and starts reading].“My dearest son, you have seen all the trouble that we have been going through back home,” says Mr. Kelo. “Until fighting stops and our persecution is over,” I mouth. “Until the fighting stops, and our persecution is over, your mother and I think that it would be best if you stay in England,” says Mr. Kelo. “Your mother and I think that it would be best if you stay in England.” [Tears roll down Alem’s cheek] I whisper to myself. “We just cannot afford to risk another attack,” says Mr. Kelo [In a disheartened way]. “On you; we value your life more than anything. We may be joining you soon,” I say barely audible to my own ears. “If things get better, you will be joining us. Remember to love your neighbours because peace is better than war, wherever you live. Your loving Father.” “Your loving FATHER!” I repeat loudly. [Alem speaks from sadness to defiant anger]. “No, no, no, no! No! NO!” I scream. I rapidly pace around the room I walk towards the window of the apartment room and bang my fist on the wall. I yell in pain and clutch my fist while I yell “NO, NO, NO!” I then place both hands on my shirt collar and scream while I pull with all my might. I don’t stop when I hear my t-shirt rip. I keep pulling until it feels like my hands are on fire. The tears I had tried to suppress was now freely flowing down my face. “WHY?!” I scream to no one in particular. I then collapse to the floor in a sobbing mess as I think about what my life would be like now without my parents and in a foreign country where I barely speak any English. I feel petrified knowing that many challenges and rough nights are to come in my now parent-less life. Knowing the inevitable will occur. I will be sent to an orphanage.
Read – A Different World – A Short Story by Oluwabusayo Madariola, Nigeria
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