Once upon atime in Somalia by Evans Egualeona (phonics reading books txt) 📖

that survived both the bomb blast and brawl were set on stage in a gladiatorial combat against each other to the death, with knives as their only weapon of defense while the five of us, who where civilians were made to watch these men slaughter themselves to death, in order to stay alive.

The first fray was between captain Abdikarim, captain of our convoy and sergeant Abdi Ibrahim Rahmo. Abdikarim refused the fray, standing his ground not to fight with his fellow soldier and countryman after hit several times with the head of one of the rebel’s gun. This very act of stubbornness led to his flesh ripped from his bone piece by piece with the use of a col-moschin knife of extreme ratio by Captain Hussein, captain of the lead rebel group. Abdikarim was ripped beyond recognition as he screamed in pain, bleeding almost to death. It was a horrible experience, as we watched in tears, a human being pealed like a piece of banana. These men were really brutal, demons in human flesh without conscience, beast craving for blood to quench their taste, dogs sent from the afterlife. It was a terrible scene, as I plunder within my heart in question “why did I make this trip to Africa?” Africa is a wonderful continent; blessed by Mother Nature with lots of resources and beautiful landscape. The problem was just that I was in a good place at the wrong time. A place where civil war, poverty and anarchy were the order of the day, a place where soldiers are formed out of kids and promising youths, a place where the hope of humanity gradually fades because of the quest for power and wealth, a place where the most resilient of men could live, those that could meet the challenge of elemental extremes of drought, poverty, flood and fire.

These men had to fight; they had to kill because they needed to stay alive. Killing your fellow soldier, countryman, best friend, brother and squad mate was the only ticket away from the land of the dead. They had to do it, they had to obey or suffer the same fate with Abdikarim. Soldiers given to us by the security agency of somalia for safety reasons on our arrival became soldiers in captivity, faced with one option, ‘’kill’’ or ‘’be killed’’.

The second fray was between Sergeant Asad and Rahmo. At first Rahmo didn’t want to fight, he was willing to share in the same fate as his captain but was forced to, by the very words of Hussein the rebel captain

“ you are proving stubborn aren’t you?, I will peel the skin, piece by piece of everyone of your men and then that of these white folks and I will make you watch as I rape this young lady, if you refuse to obey my command”

“Now, bush monkey, Fight! Or watch as I do what I have said”

This very words of Hussein, prompt him into action. The fray began and Asad didn’t last five minutes. His neck was broken at his first charge towards Rahmo and died instantly. The third and last fray was between Corporal Dalmar and Corporal Ghedi. These men fought life out of themselves with bruise and deep cuts all over their bodies to the amusement of the rebel soldiers who guffawed in Arabic at every cut these men lashed on themselves. The fray lasted for ten minutes before Ghedi was finally killed, leaving Dalmar seriously injured.

“What a brilliant show!” Hussein exclaimed with an applaud

Turning to the five of us tired down on the floor with hard ropes, sitting at a corner by one of their trucks, he asked

“What are you white folks doing in Somalia?

Dr. Ratliff spoke up, in an attempt to give a simple reply to his question

“My name is Dr. Jonathan Ratliff; I am a pediatrician from Baptist memorial hospital, union City, Tennessee, united state. I am an American………..

As Ratliff spoke, he was interrupted with a gunshot on his right arm by Hussein

“I asked a simple question, what are you folk doing in my country? I don’t care to know where you are from…. So I ask again, what are folks doing in my country?

In agony, bleeding from his left arm, Dr. Ratliff replied in pain and with a distressful cry

“We were here to bury my father-in-law”

“Good” Hussein responded with a wicked smile on his face.

Releasing several shots into the air, he started speaking Arabic violently. Immediately, we were grabbed by his men, forcefully blind folded and dragged into one of the trucks like animals to the slaughter. They did some display, as I could hear in the dark, the chanting of the men shouting in Arabic, shooting into the thin air, as we moved in circles for few minutes before finally driving away. The call for backup was a waste of time. Were they to come hours after our distress call, they would have met with us and probably, we would have been rescued but hey! They were nowhere to be found. Were they scared? Were they afraid of the rebels? Or was it away they intended to use to draw the attention of the American government to the crisis in Somalia? These and many others question went through my mind, as I thought in the dark.

We travelled for hours and made several stops. They were tough, rough and brutal with every word and with every touch, hitting us with their weapon, speaking Arabic violently whenever we were been dragged from the truck at these stops. After few minutes of rest, we continued our journey. As we journeyed along, our truck suddenly stopped again. At this stop, few minutes later, I could hear gunshots, men shouting in Arabic, jumping down from their trucks to engage in what seemed to be a fire fight. I couldn’t see but could only hear the sound of bullets hitting the truck I was in and men I believed, shot to death.

After the raid which lasted for about fifteen minutes, we were finally rescued by another group. At first I thought they were men from the Somali government when the raid was still on but only to my amazement, after been released from the back of the truck were I was tired with my head down alongside my friends, I discovered that they were kids. Where I stood amazed and confused, a young teenage girl carrying a machine gun walked to me and asked

“Do you want to live?”

I nodded my head in fear, not knowing what to say, nor how best to respond to her question. And then she responded to my gesture

“If you want to live, please get into our truck, for the enemies reinforcement would be here in no distant time. One of their trucks during the fray escaped and believe me, they will be back in great numbers’’

I didn’t know what to say nor do than to obey her instructions. Dr. Ratliff who was losing a lot of blood due to the injury he sustained on his arm and I entered the same truck with this young teenager, while Mac Peterson, Fathia Ratliff and Dr. Stephaney Evans entered one of the other trucks. I stayed with Dr. Ratliff, at the back of the moving truck to help apply pressure on his wound in order to stop the bleeding because he had lost a lot of blood during the period we were held hostage by the rebels.

“Are you a doctor?” the young teenager asked

“Yes I am……. My name is Dr John Lewis, I am an oncologist (a cancer doctor) but you can call me Lewis’’.

“I prefer Doctor” she replied offering me a hand shake as she continued

‘’ Nadifa! My name is Nadifa!”

‘’A pleasure Nadifa’’ I replied, as I received the hand shake.

“You work for the united nations? She asked

“No I don’t” I answered

“So what are you doing in Somalia? She asked

“Actually, we are here because of Fathia Ratliff. We came in three days ago, all the way from the united state to bury her father. Her father died a fortnight of cancer back in the state at Baptist memorial hospital, Union City, Tennessee, were I work. And we had to come down because Fathia and her husband Jonathan are my very good friends, we are like a family. We came in three days ago with his corps to his homeland at Marca, and this morning while we were preparing to bury him, we got information that the rebel group were advancing towards our location. So we had to dig the ground in a hurry and dump him in there, in an unethical manner, to make haste before the enemy approached but we ran out of luck, as we were ambushed on our way to safety and taken hostage by the rebel group. We were actually headed for Mogadishu before the inception by the rebels, losing almost all of our men…… and then you came” I answered.

Looking straight into my very eyes, she said

“Lucky you,”

“Thanks!” I replied shivering

After a few minutes of silence, I asked

“So what’s your story?

“Save it for another day’’ she answered with an obnoxious look on her face towards me

Taking a deep breath, I responded

“Okey-dokey”

“So where are we headed?” I answered out of curiosity

“Somewhere safe for now, until we get help” she replied.

“I’m much obliged to-to you for helping us” I responded

We travelled for hours into the night and then made a stop by a pine tree to rest, and made camp. Arale and Samatar, young teenage boys of age fifteen, forged into soldiers of war grudgingly by the havoc committed on their people by the AL-shabaab militia group, killing every member of their family, except the two of them who were lucky to escape and later joined this group, fighting for survival, were made to fetch the woods we used to make fire, to warm ourselves and to serve as light in the dark as we sat around and made the ground our beds were we lay, sleeping there for the night.

“Will you be kind enough, to tell me Nadifa, where we are headed? Forgive my curiosity; I would like to know.” I asked

“We are heading towards Jowhar, northeast from here. It lays 90kilometers along the major road pointing north of the national capital of Mogadishu’’ she answered

“I thought Mogadishu was that way, were we are coming from?’’ I asked, pointing to the southwest

She smile at my question and said

“Somalia is a desert place. If you are not use to these lands, you get lost easily”.

Opening a map, she pointed to me our present location, which was east of Somalia. I was stunned on how we had got there, all the way from Port city, forty five miles southwest of Mogadishu before the inception. Taking a deep breath, I hummed.

“So are you ready to tell me your story now” I asked

“You never give up, do you? So what are you waiting to hear?” she answered with a question

“If you don’t mind telling me everything” I answered with a smile

“You mean the story of my life or that of Somalia?” she asked laughing

“Let’s start with you” I answered

“o.k.” taking a deep breath she continued

“As you already know, my name is Nadifa. I am from Afgooye district of the lower shabelle region here in Somalia where I once lived, four years ago with my family, when warlords assaulted our home, demanding for my hand in marriage. They tied my father to a chair and raped my mother to death as they made him watch.”

She pursed for a while and then continued, with a sober and sorrowful tune

“They butchered my twin brother Nadif and our new born baby Awa, piece by piece like animals and fed their bodies to their dogs. I couldn’t come out from my hideout because I was so scared, as I watched these bastards tear my family to pieces, feeding their bodies to their dogs’’

She pursed again for a while, wiped the tears off her face and