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I recognized the place even before I saw it.
Even before the bus slowed and the driver shouted, " My stop, I could recognize its smell, that smell from the nearby waterfall. Although it looked different now, it was a narrow path cutting through cassava fields. My chest still tightened the way it always does when I walk toward something I had struggled to bury but never left behind.
I stepped off the bus and watched as it coughed smoke before disappearing down the road. I turned gently and moved down the barrow path, leaning into my stick with each step. The heat that afternoon pressed against my back.
Forty-two years ago I had come here with a rifle and a boy’s certainty that my country needed me.
Now, I returned with stiff knees and unanswered questions, like what exactly were we fighting for? I knew it was for my country, but for what reason exactly? We were never told.
I walked through the narrow path till a clearing appeared gradually. The spot where trenches once scarred the ground, now had maize standing tall and green, strong and healthy. I looked far into the field and a wooden shed leaned near the edge. I could see a young man working the soil with a hoe, steady and unhurried. He looked up when he heard my footsteps.
“Good afternoon, sir.” His voice held no suspicion, only politeness and maybe a bit of surprise.
“Good afternoon.” I approached, my eyes scanning the land like I had lost my life there. The land had done well to hide itself. No signs of shell holes or broken markers. No sign of death, just sunshine and life.
“Are you looking for someone?” the young farmer asked.
I shook my head. “No." I paused. "This might sound stupid but... I used to know this place.”
He took off his hat and rested on his hoe on his shoulder, curious. “Family land?”
I smiled at the question. “Don't fear, I am not here to claim your land. It's just old memories that brought me here."
He smiled. “I see." He bent over and pulled an umbrella from a bag on the floor just where he dropped his farm tools. We were standing over them. He pushed it open and handed them to me. "I just bought this land last year from the government. They auctioned it. They said it had been unused for decades. It has good soil.”
Unused? I thought to myself. I nodded, letting the word pass without correction. “You farm here alone?” I took the umbrella from him and watched as he unfolded a piece of cloth from the same bag and spread it on the floor. Then he motioned me to sit.
“Yes, sir. Trying to build something,” he replied, joining me on the floor. "Water?" He offered me water from a plastic cup all from the same bag.
I took the cup from him and drank, the warmth settling in my throat. We sat side by side, facing the crops.
I pointed with my stick. “Have you ever found metal in the soil right there?”
He looked at me surprised again. “Sometimes. Rusted scraps. Looks like something from the army. I threw them away though.”
I smiled “They’re not scraps. They're really from the army.”
He studied me more closely now. “Sir?”
I nodded. “This land was fought over,” I said. “A long time ago. Soldiers died here. I know because I fought with them."
The breeze shifted through the maize. The young man’s expression softened into surprise.
“I had no idea.”
“You young people don’t.”
He nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said.
"I think people who deserve that thanks the most are my friends who died in the battle." I let out a small breath. Gratitude like this is usually easy when you're not the one below the earth.
I pointed to the field. “A friend of mine died near where you planted those rows,” I said. “He believed we were shaping the future.” I turned to look at him. "They never told us then what exactly we were fighting for. But we never asked. We were just young with a rifle and a boy’s certainty that our country needed us."
The farmer lowered his eyes to the soil beneath his boots. After a pause, he asked, "Why are you here? Do you want something placed here? A marker? A stone?”
I didn't reply immediately. I looked from him to the open maize field bending gently in the sun. A place that once took life, raising life without the noise that once ruled.
I shook my head. “No. Let it grow. I just came to pay my last respects."
He nodded to my answer, though I could still see the confusion lingering on his face.
I stood up and turned toward the road. "I guess they'll be at peace now knowing that this place is now feeding life instead of taking it."
He stood up with me.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll take my leave now."
He took a small bow. A sign of respect and watched me as I walked away. My steps were soft, careful but steady. At the edge of the field, I stopped and looked back once more.
The land might not remember me. But I do.
And perhaps, knowing that it isn't vacant anymore was enough for me.
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Interesting, had a lot of hmmm while reading. Soldiers still fight till date not knowing who or what they are fighting for. I do hope and pray we find peace one day.
A very interesting story to read. I really like how the narrative gives it that nostalgic touch that the protagonist feels upon returning to his homeland. Very good work.
Thanks for sharing your story with us.
Excellent Thursday.
Sometimes, memories are one of those things that keep old people alive
Remembering such a land after all he had been through is commendable
Interesting piece, well done 👍
Hello @marriot5464, We note that you do comment on two stories, but we hope for comments that are less generic. We hope for comments that are specific about the story.
Thank you
I apologize if they're less generic. I'll do better next time.
There’s a quiet weight in returning to a place tied to both duty and youth.
I love how the past and present fold together, making the journey more than physical.
It reminds us that some experiences are never truly left behind they stay with us.
I respect soldiers a lot. Imagine fighting without knowing why you are fighting. Just obeying the last command. I love this.
You see the old one thing with them is so many memories but the good and bad, get close to them and hear stories.