Halima – The Death of A Dream 7 & 8

Have you read the previous posts on Halima? Halima – The Death of a dream 5 & 6

Like I earlier said, nothing in the world could ever prepare any 16 year old for the kind of things our eyes were to see that day. The shriek of my friends on seeing the remains of the boys who were once class mates, boyfriends, soul mates, study partners, boys they had the beautiful privilege of sharing an epoch with, rose into soul wrenching wails. If any of us lives through this harrowing experience, one thing remains sure, we would never be the same again. If we survived this, the dent it would have cause to our minds would be one that the passage of time would never be able to fix. If we came out of this alive – with all we’ve been made to endure yet – we would be damaged in some many ways forever.

Had I known what our assailants had in store for us, I would have swallowed everything I just said before this because when their plans became apparent to us, we knew then that everything we had experienced was just a tip of the iceberg.  All of our pain until that moment was just like the gathering of dark cumulonimbus clouds. What we were going into was going to the mother of all terrors. A part of innocence was dying already yet the worst part of our ordeal was still in the offing.

The commands of our assailants interjected the wails of my friends turning their cries into whimpers for it was going to be almost impossible to stop them from letting out their grief even if it brought them no relief. How do you stifle a moan that emanates from your soul? How do you dam the flood of tears that has its source in the very depths of your being? If you’ve ever been driven to the point where grief scorns threats, if you’ve ever had circumstances drive you to the very brink of insanity, then you would know that there times when the threat of terror loses its novelty, times when the soul would find a way to drain itself – of the poison that threatens to submerge it – no matter what stands in its way.

And so the sing song cadence of our whimpers rose to compliment the hate filled command of our assailants. “ki yusuru!” Shut up! “Mu tefi!”  Let’s go!  And our whimpering continued as our souls could not just cease to express its dissatisfaction with this madness. At this point our terror had numbed us in many places that whimpering was the only response we had left. It wasn’t a thing of will; it was just a biological response.

All hell broke loose on our inside as a revelation of our future came to us – albeit a tiny glimpse. We became practically hysterical as they began to drag us, about 20 of us, towards their vehicles. Why not have your way with us here and kill us among friends? Where are you taking us to? Oh God! God! God! Lamentations that was inaudible. Groaning, wailing, screaming but the words coming out of our mouths were incoherent. The rambling of souls who lifted their eyes to the future and all they saw was this terror they couldn’t really explain. At the end of their revelation was a mystery much deeper than anything they’ve seen. Where are they taking us to?

By this time all I had on was my panties having discarded my only means of covering in my struggle with grief. Rough hands griped in places I wouldn’t like to mention – whether it’s was from the sheer force of my struggles or their lust I would never know – as they threw me and 2 other friends into their vehicle. The two friends with me were the 2 prettiest nymphets’ in our dorm. Something in my mind told me that we were together for a reason. And later events would confirm my intuition. We looked out through to vehicles as seventeen others were grouped into the other vehicles they had on ground. As the vehicles raised dust and left my school I felt this despair – a despair that flowed onto desolation. I looked towards the east on the northern sky and there it was, a golden orange ball larger than the earth rising to reveal itself. But today it’s a little different. The brightness and brilliance of the sun didn’t appeal to me. For once in my life, the one thing that once held profound beauty for me looked so ugly I turned from it. No. So ugly my soul turned from it.

It wasn’t even 7am yet when they took us but as we left, I had this evil feeling that my sun was already setting.

My name is HALIMA . . .   and that’s how they took me!

Halima – The Death of a Dream 9 & 10
The Halima Series is written by a good friend Chukwuemeka Ezeogu


One thought on “Halima – The Death of A Dream 7 & 8

  1. Pingback: Halima – The Death of A Dream 9 & 10 | Amoscp's Blog

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