Mogadishu, Somalia
Circa 1991
It was an eerie warm night, the essence of fear had befallen us like rain droplets from the sky. The sound of rain hardly ever blessed our ears here. Instead we were only accustomed to the sounds of deafening silence amidst the loud booms and ear erupting whistling of bullets shooting through the dead of night.
“Amina! Get your siblings! They’re here! they’re here!” Exclaimed my father.
I was awoken to the sounds of chaos and catastrophe. I gathered all my siblings from their sleep and rushed like the wind as I quickly swung open the back door.
[GUNSHOTS—]
“Dad? Where are you?! Where are you going?! “ I frantically questioned as I paced to down the hallway. I see him running, aiming his gun trying to shoot at someone into the distance.
As I stood there, lost and confused. I ran into my parents room. Witnessing my heart crushing before me. My life became a nightmare. But today, was one of my most fearful.
“Mum?” I said stopping in my tracks, shocked to my core.
“Somebody please help?!” I screamed out.
“Please help.” I screeched as I fell to the floor. Grabbing my colourful yellow and blue patterned African dress and burying my tearful face into it.
I cried the oceans capacity that night.
A tsunami that’ll never calm, the calamity of my tide was at an all time high and the peace of my mothers love will never be retrieved. It is gone with her and no one could ever hear or feel my pain.
It was 6:00am. The morning after the mayhem. The sunlight crept into the window pane forming a shadow of my silhouette onto the floor as I laid in bed. I got up everyday. Although, I’d rather not.
“Why can’t you sit still?” My father said haste-fully to my youngest brother. The pots and pans clashing onto the stove as he made my siblings a rationed breakfast. I come from a long lineage of nomadic travellers.
Honestly, It’s not in our blood to sit still. My younger brothers could never be still, and neither could my mind. My little brother giggled and ran into the front porch as sand dust leaped from his scruffy dark blue sandals as the call to prayer was blaring through the neighbourhood. Ramadan had begun 3 days ago.
As I gaze into the bare-naked leafless tree in the distance, sitting on the short red-bricked wall outside our home. A part of me accepts my fate. This is the life God has written for me. The other half, well; my intense glare into the abyss says everything. I’m losing myself, just as I have lost my mother and stability.
Only 2 months ago, I was at my graduation. I studied the medicine my father and late mother wished and encouraged for me to complete. Now, I’m nursing my own wounds and tending to my family. I’m the eldest of 5 siblings and I have 4 younger brothers. I had many chances to leave this place. You see, I know a lot of people. But my integrity and conscious doesn’t allow me to leave my family behind. I couldn’t.
Am I cursed? I quietly thought to myself as I hold my face into my palm. They have sucked our joyful pride and smeared it back in our own blood. I lost my mother a week after my graduation, along with my unborn sister. Sometimes I feel as if they are the lucky ones. They don’t have to witness this hell-hole anymore. Everyday was waking up to a new nightmare except there was no relief and realisation. This was just my cold-blooded reality.
In my country we have check points at every block. So, where ever you go you’re met with armed young men, draped in bandoliers and khaki green overalls. Here, nobody outwardly shows their fear, nor to they even mutter of it. If a gun didn’t kill you- your pride would.
As I walk past, I am halted by a militants rifle.
“Where do you live?” He interrogated with a cold gaze in his eyes. He looked like he would blast me without a second guess if I said the wrong thing.
“Right there.” I pointed to the tree and its surrounding houses
“What’s your name?”
“Amina” I said confidently
He put down his gun and leaned against it, His face warmed to my indifference.
“I’m going to buy milk. Ok?”
“Alright.” He said awkwardly smirking as he looked directly in my eyes
He had brown loose curls, light brown skin and brown two-toned lips. He was standing tall, at around 6’3” feet. Slender built.
“She’s from here.” He said to his soldiers. As I irritatedly went on my way.
You can’t trust nobody here, especially militant men. I wouldn’t hesitate to say he looked like a dream, but at times sweet dreams can quickly turn into sour nightmares. One right situation can turn wrong expeditiously and as for me right now, I don’t need more turbulence.
As I was minding my business, I hear a loud echo from down the road.
“Amina!” said a female voice.
I gaze into the hues as a bright sun-ray beams onto a figure in the distance. I stare ahead trying to catch who it is.
She elegantly yet slowly walks up to me. Poised with a warm smile, a gentle breeze fluttering past her long orange dress.
I furrowed my brows.
“Subeyda?” I said doubtfully
It was her. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t seen her in years.
“Hi Amina, how are you?” She replied
“I’m fine, and you?” I asked curiously, waiting her to get to the point. I never enjoyed small talk to be frank. What does she suddenly want after all these years?
“I’m ok. Do you want to visit and have iftar with us? It’s been awhile.”
I hadn’t eaten properly in weeks. Normally I would’ve kindly declined just to not go back into past times. But I desperately needed fuel.
“Yes, sure. I’ll come over tonight?”
“Yeah, ok I’ll see you then.”
As we departed, I remembered Subeyda fondly. She was a best friend of mine. Well, so she used to be. She was practically like my sister. I didn’t know why she disappeared without a warning… at least maybe now I’ll find out what really happened to her.