I wonder what would be different if things were not as they are. I stare at the weird looking painting on the wall of the room I was wheeled into and there is not an ounce of recognition. My mind is just as blank as it was one year ago when I woke from that bed in the St. Mary General hospital crippled and orphaned.
I was told I lost my parents to a bomb explosion that happened two years before that in Jos, Nigeria. I was with them but luckily I only lost my legs and memories.
I guess I should have felt something than the void that resided in my chest but I couldn’t. I remember the man who was said to be my uncle giving me a ceramic jar telling me it contained my parents’ remains. I wondered if it was true because they did say the explosion left no one unscathed – except me. They found no bodies which makes my survival a thing of wonder given the fact that I was seated in between them, in the middle of the church and they didn’t survive it.
“You’re back.”
I turn my attention to the woman who has appeared in the room. She is average in height with long black hair and really long legs. Ironic.
Her gaze settles on me and I can’t help but notice the color of her eyes. Gray. She gives me a warm smile as she walks towards us. I say us because my uncle was the one who wheeled me in.
He meets her halfway, his back facing me but I hear them share a kiss before she leaves him and continues toward me. She is definitely not Nigerian. I am and so is my uncle.
“Hi. I’m Anna, your Aunt.” She bends to meet my eye and still has that sickening sweet smile on her face. I should smile back but I can’t bring myself to. I just stare. She doesn’t stop smiling though and she doesn’t ask my name either but she stands again at her full height then goes behind me to push my chair.
“Welcome dear. I assure you we are going to have lots of fun. It’s quite trying being the only girl here sometimes.”
This prompts me to look at my uncle and he nods before saying,
“Your cousins. They are all boys.”
I want to ask how many but I can’t bring myself to speak for some reason. I think of an answer to a question or something I just want to say, it’s there in my head, on the tip of my tongue but…nothing ever comes out. The doctor says I’m not mute but I might be experiencing what they call selective mutism.
I can still process a lot of things but I can’t talk. I’m not mute, but I can’t talk. ‘A little malfunction caused by anxiety’ they said but I don’t feel anything. I don’t know anything.
“There are three of them.” Anna starts to speak, “The oldest is Evan. He’s seventeen, Mark is fifteen and William is twelve. They are all at school right now but they knew you’d be coming.”
She says as she begins to wheel me to the opposite side of the room, then takes a turn to the left to a hallway alight with two light bulbs. We pass two doors on each side of the hall before we stop at the third on the right. She reaches above me to twist the knob.
“This is your room. I have no idea how you want it, so how about we go shopping when you feel like it?”
I can only nod but I don’t feel anything. Not even a slight twinge of excitement. I guess that comes with the fact that I don’t know who I am or what I am. Did I used to get excited at things like this before? Maybe not.
I wheel myself in this time, taking in the milky walls and dark blue bed sheets. The room is almost empty save for a wardrobe and the bed which is large but really low. I guess my inability to climb in bed was considered. There are light bulbs too and the floors are tiled.
“Here” Anna says from behind me, I turn as much as my neck would let me. She is pointing at a door.
“Your bathroom.”
I want to ask if I’d shower in my chair but don’t. She’s still smiling and I wonder if that smile ever left her face. I nod. She nods after and for the first time, her smile falters before she walks up to my front and squats, taking my hands in hers and looking up at me.
She’s searching. For what? I don’t know.
“I cannot begin to imagine how hard this must be for you. I know that you have no idea what I am saying because you have no idea who you are. You can’t process everything right now, but soon, you would be able to. I just want you to know that we are here for you and we, especially me, hope that you see us as more than what we are now. Strangers. I know you have lost all the memories that makes you, you. But don’t let that stop you from making new ones. Let’s make new memories.”
I feel warmth on my cheeks and it takes a moment to realize that I’m crying. She lightly brushes my cheeks, wiping the tears away. She’s crying too.
I nod. I nod my head because I feel a burst in my chest. Like a dam just broke.
“Thank you.”
I hear movement from the hallway at the same time Anna’s eyes widen a bit. I understand, I haven’t uttered a word in nearly three years if you consider the time I was in a coma.
Anna is smiling sweetly at me. Maybe I lost my memories. I lost a lot to that bomb blast. A lot. I don’t know if I will be like I was but deep down, I hope not. I don’t want to remember anything of my past. I want to become a new person. I want to turn this stranger into a person. Turn this stranger to myself.
This story is something I did not know if I would post because it is actually based on true stories. The Boko Haram that terrorized Nigeria for a long time, causing many to loose their life. The reason there is no name to our protagonist is because I wouldn't want my name to be brought up either if I were her. This response to the assignment by @dreemsteem was inspired by the thought of what would happen if things didn't happen.
In a way, this lady kind of reflects some of my thoughts. There are times I do not want memories.
Image by Patrick De Boeck from Pexels.
Held until I heard it was based on true events and I couldn't help feel nothing but sadness. These attacks should stop, so many displaced people, families member lost. We can only hope it doesn't happen to us but for how long can that hope save us
@deraaa this story is so heartbreaking despite the light you provide at the end to ease our horror. That’s why those that perpetrate senseless violence of any kind in the name of a cause or religion are called terrorists.
This piece is beautifully written and brings a sharp , insightful view of the horrors thrust on ordinary people, it’s a reality far more people should understand and you’ve offered us the vehicle. 😢
The effects of violence are dreadfully nasty. In fact the ongoing suffering caused by terrorism or war are incomprehensible because they’re so easily avoided; these are manmade consequences and they debilitate. You’ve brought the suffering very keenly to our attention and it’s certainly something that more people should know about.
Heartbreaking, exquisitely written piece.
Stunning piece of writing @deraaa . I did think this would be the work of Boko Haram, and unfortunately it reminds me of Belfast where I grew up during the Troubles.
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STOPYou write so well @deraaa
I stay glued till you got it cleared off with the insecurities we're faced in our country.
Nice job!
Great writing - I've missed your posts this last week
!LUV
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This would have been a very bad experience the terrorism has done more harm in this society.
May There Souls and the Souls of All the victims continue to Rest in Peace Amen 🙏
Reading from @dreemport
The description. I loved every bit of it. You did great with them.
I heard a lot about the terror that Boko Haram caused but never have had to read a true story of someone who directly experienced it.
I feel bad for your character. I hope he was able to create new memories.
Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you!
Hmmm, this got me really thinking, that they are some people who go through this in real life, I wonder how they cope, cause even imagining it, scares me a lot.
We pray for peace every day of our lives
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Popped in again from dreemport @deraaa and I hope all is well with you.
Beautifully written piece....this is so poignant deraaa... honestly I felt every words written down here in this article. Boko Haram has caused so many atrocities and left behind terrible memories and trauma.... really painful?... I love the peace making with her aunt and herself
Congratulations @deraaa!
Your story has been chosen as one of the best stories of the week and is part of the 75th Magazine of The Ink Well.
https://peakd.com/hive-170798/@theinkwell/the-ink-well-highlights-magazine-77
Nicely written faction albeit sad. It is so hard to imagine how the character/real person really feels but I totally empathise. Terrorism is so senseless.
This was deeply moving, Deraaa. A good piece of writing, made more impactful by the fact that it is based on real events. I haven't seen you around in a while so I am popping to your DM 💗 !LUV !ALIVE !PIZZA
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@deraaa! You Are Alive so I just staked 0.1 $ALIVE to your account on behalf of @samsmith1971. (6/10)
The tip has been paid for by the We Are Alive Tribe through the earnings on @alive.chat, feel free to swing by our daily chat any time you want.
Hehe. Will surely be goig there now. Thank you so much
💗🙏
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