ASHES OF HOME

I was there, right in the middle of the battle, the fire. Houses burning, children crying, mothers screaming. I turned and saw them, the valley militants, with their 7 coloured flags, attacking our homes, our people. One of them approaching me. It feels like slow motion. He’s swinging his machete towards my face. Why can’t I move? It’s getting closer. Closer. Then right through my head.

Sweaty and gasping for air, I wake up yet again on my bedroom floor. The horrors of May still haunt me to this day. I reach for my phone laying besides me. 22nd June huh, it’s been a month already. I get up and wash my face. I look in the mirror and see what seemed to be a healthy and plump face. I’m reminded of when I first made it out. My skin dry and gritty, my muscles thin, no mass, skinny? no practically a skeleton. There was barely any food in the relief camps. There were too many people displaced. The atrocities of humanity and we are it’s by product.

I then go out for a walk. It’s still dark, so I take out a Malboro for a quick smoke. My last gf didn’t want me, now the people of my own state don’t want me, man, what a situation. Takes a long drag. Breathes out. Soon the smoke is done. I continue walking, just walking and not even thinking. Then I hear the birds, I guess the sun is almost out. I see a park in the distance. I walk towards it. I keep walking and my foot hits a bump on the road, I trip and fall. That kinda hurt. I brush off and  walk again. I hit a pole this time, shoulders caught when I thought I made a sharp enough maneuver. Maybe I’m a little lower on energy. Maybe I’m still half awake. But I walk towards the park again, like it’s Zion. How I long for Zion. I’m walking and it’s getting nearer… and nearer… and nearer… nearer. Why can’t I reach the park? Why am I getting closer yet not getting anywhere near it? The thoughts come flooding in. I can hear the children playing in the park. The sun is up already by now. The thoughts come flooding in. I remember a child being burnt inside an ambulance, screaming, crying. I look up and walk again hoping for some reason that if I make it to the park maybe my people will find Zion, yes, Zion our land. No one can take our holy land, our identity, our history, our hills from us. As I put one foot in front of the next, I hear the sound of the children getting louder. The sounds of the crackling houses come flooding in. I take more steps and more and more. My head starts hurting. My eyes sore. My breathing faster. No. I will make it to the park. I will make it to the park regardless. Nothing’s stopping me. I will make it. I will. I will. I must. I have to. I hope I make it.