The Civil War in Sierra Leone
There was a war once, in my village.
Great-grandfather left behind; a blind man gone missing.
Right before my grandmother left
For faraway city that promised hope
for my grandmother and her four kids.
When she returned, she never saw her father again.
I can feel myself hardening with the landscape
To lose a father to mystery
Never know what happened to him.
Did the rebels kill him?
Did he wander to his death?
Did another family take him?
May Allah have mercy upon you
And put you beyond the rain’s tears.
The war awakened
the troubled art of witch-craft in my tribe
proud and mighty Mande.
Known Still for powerful juju that deflected bullets,
With a mythic eye.
Dark eyed men,
The rebels were no match against them.
They fought proudly in the war: My people, my pride.
Slain, bodies everywhere.
The river murmurs and chortles
Rebels chopping off arms, legs, hands,
Refugee camps filled with amputees, a generation
left incapable.
Souvenirs gifted by their own countrymen.
Rebels ravaged my country, my people, my tribe.
Then, a dark migration
women and girls stopped at borders
Utter cries
kidnapped, raped, killed –the same death
and its promises.
Voices still ringing in their throats.
May Allah have mercy upon you
and put you beyond the rain’s tears.
