A LETTER FROM SAMBISA: HELL ON EARTH

Dad, I would have love to start this letter with some compliments, as my teacher had thought me – it burdens me to do so, but my shivering hands won’t concede. With my head stuck between my dirty aching kneels, I’m helplessly writing you this letter using the feather of a bird and the blood of a fellow human, while taking refuge under a green shrub – splattered with blood; fresh blood.

Dad, is hell really somewhere faraway? I’m not questioning our faith, but i think hell is on earth. Yes! I have seen it, this place is hell. If I’m still on earth – which is the hope with which I’m writing this letter, then this place is hell on earth, and if it’s were I imagine it to be, sambisa forest, then I boldly say that sambisa is hell on earth; better still, it is the definition of hell on earth.

I write you this letter, not as the girl I use to be, the girl you knew me to be – the girl you made – but as a girl that have the memory of who i used to be. Disaster has befallen me, the unimaginable has happened to your princess, and terror has devoured this innocent face – that you say, reminds you of mum. I’m now a new person, a direct opposite of the girl I was. It wasn’t easy, but I did endured, pretended and smiled; even when whips come heavily on my tiny soft skin,  repeatedly; even when these blood sucking demons, defiled god’s temple – my body.

I’m still alive because I miss you – I want to see you again. Not only you: I miss your whips of correction: I miss those early morning hugs and kisses: I miss everything. I miss myself – this isn’t me. Dad, please stretch your hands and dry these tears from my eyes.

How many days have I spent here? 22 or 23? I’ve lost count. I lost count the day God’s temple was invaded, beaten, stripped of it’s linen, helplessly pinned to the ground and defiled. Daddy, will God here my prayers? Am I still his daughter? I’m no longer holy. Please, can you tell him that it wasn’t my fault? I’m sure he’ll listen to you, just like he did in the past. Don’t forget to tell him that I need a saviour – the other girls also need a saviour: the ones that jumped off the truck: the ones that went towards the other direction and those that were driven out of here, in a truck.

Someone dies here everyday. It’s either someone is slaughtered – like our chistmas chicken; an escaping hostage is shot – like in american movies, the ones you said i should stop watching, or someone is beaten to death.

Did i say, this place is hell on earth? Oh! I did. I’m sure, our captors are not human. Sometimes I wonder if they are cold hearted, but now I believe that they are the ones we bind in prayers – demons. But how did they get to me? didn’t we pray enough or was our fasting not enough? was it a secret sin? I’m sure God will forgive us. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the LORD will deliver us from them all.

I better stop here. I’ve stayed too long. I miss you dad. I pray the government rescue us soon. Bye daddy.

               JANE

 

#BRINGBACKOURGIRLS

 

warning: this is an impersonation of the abducted innocent female students from chibok, and should not be treated as a written letter from any of them – even though i strongly desire to here from any of them.

 

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