#125. Floetry by JulietKego: Maina’s Message for Mama
RT: @ObyEzeks “OUR #ChibokGirlAminaAli of Mbalala village IS BACK!!!!!!! #218ShallBeBack because #HopeEndures” – Twitter, May 18, 2016
Maina’s Message for Mama
I am a little girl lost,
from Chibok.
I am the core
stench of my nation’s
festering,
rotten sore.
Ever since that night,
I dream of my mama
In dreams that I dream
of the dreams
that I dream,
as I lay here,
curled up,
on the hot,
harsh harmattan sands,
mourning
a fading away of dreams…….
I dream of my widowed,
wounded mother,
I see her
under the iroko tree
in the village square,
our special spot,
where we played
hide and seek,
And day-dreamed
about my dreams
fighting the fights
she could not fight,
Beneath
the iroko tree
where papa,
and big brother Abu
lay stripped,
lost in the forever sleep
of the spirits;
killed by the soldiers of faith.
My beautiful mama,
how she must languish
in anguish,
at the horror
of her sweet Maina,
lost in strange places,
among stranger faces.
They attacked my school
in Chibok
They call themselves
soldiers of faith.
Soldiers?
Stealers of my childhood!
I try to be brave
but there are days
I cannot hold back
my tears,
Strangled by the darkness
of Sambisa;
forest of my fears
and nightmares
And when dusk embraces dawn
in a goodnight kiss,
I taste the bile rise up,
at the sight
of my captors approaching…
Will I be shackled under
gun-barrel locks?
Will I be bartered off
for Nairas & cowrie beads?
Will I be mounted,
paraded on auction blocks?
Will I be lapped at lustfully,
as they place their bids?
Will I be squeezed and sucked
on my budding breasts?
Will I sleep on Sambisa’s
harsh rocks as beds?
Will I be invaded
by their diseased, erect heads?
Will I ever find words
for a horror that bears no name?
Will I ever be free
and heal from this shame?
Will I breathe unpolluted air
of child-like innocence again?
Will I find a part of me
that’s unscarred by this pain?
If you read this,
please take a trip
to my little town
of Chibok,
Take this message
to mama:
Tell her
her little Maina,
is safe, untouched.
Do not mention
that I,
whose age
is a single digit,
was made to marry
and carry…
Say nothing
of my growing
rounded form,
Or that I cannot tell
which of the soldiers of faith
Forcefully fathered
this seed
now nestled
in my womb
Do not ask
her forgiveness
for dark thoughts
that swirl
How I dream
of slipping away
in the forever sleep
of the tomb
Or that I pray ‘day and night
that her grandchild within me
disintegrates with the tide
And flow out
in bloody tears
between my
once innocent thighs
Tell her instead,
nations of the world
stood up, fought for me,
Tell her to wait for me
under the shaded Iroko tree
in the village square.
I shall hug her frail form
as she dances and rejoices.
Do tell my mama
that I will make it back home soon
Lie to her;
promise her
I shall see her
tomorrow, at noon.
And till you see me again,
remember to take
good care of my sisters
With every girl
you raise up,
my spirit
is lifted up to the stars…
(C) Juliet ‘Kego Ume-Onyido
