Day 1 : Shattered.
They say the sun in Africa is harsh. I guess you haven't seen the sun in the north,
it is brutal.
It burns everything it touches then leaves the earth dry and cracked.
I’ve spent the last few days stationed outside Bama, where the soldiers speak in hushed tones, their faces hard like the land around us.
I don't know if it is the heat, or the fear of what is ahead .
But then it makes my chest tighten.
My name is Amara, I am twenty-seven, and I am a soldier. I grew up in the village of Abakpa in the East, where life was simple, peaceful, until the militants invaded our community .
They came with fire and violence to our peaceful village, burning everything in their wake.
My family lost everything, our home, our farm, our peace.I mourned and regretted surviving,
The sorrow broke me,
Then it hardened me.
When I heard about recruitment in the Nigerian army after my CERT exam. I took it.
It seemed like the only way to fight back, to protect what was left of the world I once knew.
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Today, the orders came from the higher ups.
We are heading out tomorrow to secure a village near the border. Millitants have been reported in the area.
And when at war, you don't question anything,
A commander tells you to wipe out a village,
Your duty is to ask “ How high”.
The plan was simple, secure the area, secure the village, and protect the civilians.
But I know better than to think anything about this war was that simple .I sit by the light of a small lantern, writing in this diary to keep my thoughts from running out of control. I can hear the murmurs of my comrades nearby, but they don’t understand.
I’ve learned that this war doesn’t care about understanding.
It takes what it wants, leaving only survivors who must learn to live with and by whatever is left.
Day 3 :First Contact
We reached the village just before dusk. It looked very peaceful. The houses were quiet, and the few villagers that remained greeted us with tired eyes.
I could feel the tension in the air. They wanted us to protect them, but it wasn’t that simple.
How could we protect them when we didn’t even know who and where the enemy was?
I’ve seen too much of this war to trust anyone easily.
By evening, our worst fears were confirmed. We were ambushed. The gunfire came out of nowhere ,sharp shots that split the quiet night into pieces.
I dove behind a mud hut, heart pounding, rifle raised.
In the distance, I saw shadows moving, dark figures hidden in the underbrush. My team scattered, returning fire, but the enemy was fast ,faster than we were taught to be .
I shot at a figure running to my left, but I don’t know if I hit. There was so much dust, so much chaos.
It felt like the world was closing in, the heat of the gunfire and the stench of gunpowder overwhelming everything.
When the shooting stopped, I looked around. Four of us were left standing. Two were wounded, their blood staining the dirt beneath them.
Sergeant Bala had a scratch across his forehead, blood running into his eyes.
His leg was twisted at an unnatural position. I helped him up, though I could feel my own hands trembling.
We didn’t make it out in one piece, but we survived. And that’s what matters in war “survival”.
But it doesn’t stop the questions. Why are we here?
Why are we fighting this fight that seems to have no end?
Day 5 : The Weight of Loss
The days ended together in a haze of dust and blood. We’ve moved deeper into the bush, closer to the militants stronghold.
The heat is unbearable, and the air smells like burning plastic and metal.
We don’t talk much anymore. Everyone keeps their head down, eyes focused on the path ahead.
The silence was oppressive.
This morning, we found the remains of a village. The houses had been burned, the crops destroyed. The air was thick with the stench of burnt blood. I can still see the bodies of women and children , innocent lives that were caught in the crossfire. Their eyes, staring into nothing.
And the nostalgic feeling was there again.
I don’t think anyone can truly understand the weight of that image until you see it yourself. It’s not the kind of thing you can forget.,,
It usually stuck to your mind
I’ve written about it in my diary, though it doesn’t feel like enough. No words could ever do justice to what we’ve seen, to what we’ve lost.
But I write anyway. Perhaps it will help me remember, perhaps it will help me make sense of it.
The soldiers around me are different now. I see it in their eyes. The fear, the fatigue.
They don’t talk about it, but I know they feel it too.
We’re all waiting for the same thing, for it to be over.But we don’t know if that will ever happen.
Day 7 : Again.
And it happened again.
I’m not sure what went wrong this time, but it was an ambush.
We were marching through a narrow path between two ridges, the ground hard underfoot. The millitants had been waiting for us. One minute, we were moving in silence,
Then Boom,
It was an explosion.
The first grenade went off too close. I felt the ground shake under me, and the shock sent me stumbling on my side.
I rolled behind a rock just in time to avoid a shot.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything except the ringing in my ears.
I looked up to see two of my comrades khadijat lying in the dirt. Her leg was gone. And she was bleeding.She was still breathing, but there was nothing I could do.
I crawled to her, but the moment I got close, a sniper’s bullet landed too close for comfort, forcing me to pull back, and it went straight to her skull.
I Looked away.
I've learnt to look away, not to see the light go off from their eye.If not , I will think about it , and many others at night.
The hours felt like days. I was pinned down. I have gone through this many times but now,All I could do was hold my breath and wait for the gunfire to stop.
When it finally did, the silence was worse than the fighting. We had lost three men.
There were no words.
No one said anything.
And No one knew anything.
We moved the bodies and set up camp, but I could feel the weight of kadijat absence in every step I took.She always tagged along, beside me.
Day 10 : Hope? Or Nothing.
Today, something moved.
Since we didn't get any more ordees from the higher ups, it dawned on us that , Even the higher ups do not know what we are fighting.
No enough information on the insurgency, but then we couldn't go back .We won't let the labours of our comrades be in vain,
That is us , that is what we have been turned to, not to move backwards, even in the face of death.
We pushed into the heart of the millitants held area.
The fighting was brutal, but we had the upper hand. I can’t say I felt proud of that no soldier feels proud of the violence or War.
But there’s a certain line of satisfaction in knowing that you’re one step closer to ending it.
We managed to burn the camp of the insurgents, and saved the villagers.
Their faces were gaunt, their eyes wide with fear. But they were free, for now.
And that’s something.
As we set up camp at the outskirt of the village, I caught sight of a little girl maybe seven or eight her clothes tattered, her eyes filled with fear.
She looked at me for a long time, and I nudged her to come ,very slowly, she came up to me.
She handed me a small, hand-carved wooden figurine. I didn’t know what to say.“I’m scared,” she whispered in
Hausa.“Will you take me to my mama,” I want my mama”
I held the figurine, too afraid to speak. What could I say?
That I will try?
That I will take her to her mummy?I don’t know if I could promise that, but I nodded.
And she hugged me tightly.
Then for the first time in a long while, I feel like maybe there’s a reason for it all.
By sunset, we march again. But tonight, I’ll hold onto this small, carved piece of wood.
It’s the only thing that’s made me feel human in days.
Day 12 :The War Never Ends
The enemy retreated, but there are always more.
We’ve pushed them back, but One thing I knew from these thing, it doesn't ever return to normal.
Hearts will be shredded.
That's after the unseemly endless sound of sorrow .
Then hearts will be hardened.
War takes everything.
But it also gives.It gives strength to those who survive, courage to those who must carry on.
Tomorrow, I will keep moving amidst fights. And I will keep writing, even if no one ever reads this.
I need it.
To remember.
To survive.