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Introduction to Brandlady.com |
Witness
I am tossing in bed. The papyrus mat creaks. The night is filled with nightmares. I am running. Sometimes I am falling. Dark pits everywhere. Red eyes chase me. Mother says when you keep running in circles in your sleep you are sleeping with your legs folded. I force myself to wake up. I hear the neighbour’s dogs barking. I sit upright. Crazy dogs, they have disturbed my sleep.  Everyone says I am clever and he is stupid. The big boys always tease him.  The big boys hate me for reporting them. Okot too is ashamed of me. He says; “You are not a man. You never stop to fight back. Men are supposed to fight back, not run away.” Okot hates me too, I think because I am in a higher grade. Everyone says I am clever and he is stupid. The big boys always tease him and this leads to fights. After a fight last week, he told me, “I am going to run away from home. I am going to join the rebels.” I laughed at him. If he can’t even write how can he learn about guns? Soldiers have to know how to use guns. He only sneered at me and said, “You are not a man, so how can you know about guns?” That is why I refused to go out with him last night. If he is a man, then he should be brave enough to go out at night alone. Okot said when he comes back from the army he That thing, I saw you using it on the other boy.”
“Oh! You mean the stethoscope?For me, I want to become a doctor. I want to wear that thing around my neck. The one doctors wear. They press it on people’s chests. When I was sick, mother took me to the hospital. There was this child too that was sick; I saw the doctor putting that thing on the child’s chest. When my turn came, he did not use it. I asked him; “Doctor, why haven’t you used that on me?” “What?” the doctor asked “That thing, I saw you using it on the other boy.” “Oh! You mean the stethoscope? That’s right I used it on the other boy. Would you like to touch it?” “Yes please.” Mother was angry, “Opio, please don’t disturb the doctor, he is a busy man. Sorry doctor. Opio is a very inquisitive boy.” “In that case then I will let him listen to my chest”, the doctor said. “I can? I want to become a doctor too.” “Then you must work hard at school and go to Makerere to study medicine. Also, listen to your teachers.” “But sometimes teachers are wrong. And they don’t want to be corrected.” “Unfortunately many adults have that weakness.” “When I tried to correct my math teacher, he pulled my ears instead.” Mother was very impatient, “Thank you doctor. We really have to let you work. You have been very kind to Opio.” “No problem ma’am. Opio, come see me another time then we can have a lovely chat.” We have never gone back there. Although I have asked mother several times to take me to talk to the doctor. She just laughs and says the doctor is too busy. He has no time for naughty boys. Adults are difficult to understand. I wish they could just speak out their minds. My stomach aches. Maybe it is the raw mangoes we ate as we went to bring the cattle home. Mother says we should not eat raw mangoes. My stomach hurts, ouch. “Okot, Okot, Okot, go with me outside. I want to go to the latrine.” “Leave me alone. You refused to go with me the other day, remember?” “Then I will just have to do it here.” “Go right ahead and I will tell everyone in your class. And mother will make you smear cow-dung on the floor. I dare you to do it right there.” I expected this answer. I know he means his threats. I get up quickly, barely able to hold myself and open the door as quietly as possible then run as fast as my legs can carry me. I barely squat then all is released. The dogs continue barking. Something must be wrong. The barking is aggressive. The pit latrine is a distance from our hut, so before coming out, I take a peek at what is happening. I see men. They are running towards our home. They scream for everyone to come out. I hear doors being kicked and banged. Poor Okot, he is alone in our hut. What will happen to him? Our door is not locked. God let no one hurt my brother. I love him, although he can be mean sometimes. These must be rebels. Might even be the army. One can never tell the difference. I can’t just wait in the pit latrine. I have to warn Okot. I creep out, and head for the mango tree. I am shaking. I lie on the trunk of the tree for a while. The whole place is lit up. Is it morning already? I look where the sun rises from - it is still dark. Just as I am trying to figure it out, they set our huts on fire. I rush up the mango tree and hear Okot calling my name, “Opio! Opio! Where are you?” His scream dies in realisation. I move to a position where I can see clearly. All the huts are emptied. I do a quick count of heads. All are there. Little Lucy too, tightly tucked under her mother’s arms. I see Okot looking around. Is he searching for me? I can’t read what he is thinking. Maybe one day I will ask him. There is so much tenderness on his face. Does he care for me after all? The creases on father’s face betray his feelings. He is trying so hard to be brave.I look around. Several figures are guarding our home. I am lucky I went up the tree unnoticed. One of the men is talking. I am too far away to hear him. They divide my family into three groups. The first is a group of only men. There is my father, my grand father, and my two cousins. The second group is of women and children. Here is where my little two brothers and baby sister fall. There are five of us from my mother. My grandmother, mother, cousin’s wife, little Lucy and her other two sisters are all in this group. The last group has only three people. I would have been the fourth one. Okot is one of them. Then there is my cousin brother who is the same age as Okot. He is called Otim. He is in P.6. The third person is my cousin’s sister-in-law, Akidi, who is only visiting us. She is 13 years old. Her breasts are just beginning to peep from her dress. No one is allowed to say a word. A mere whisper earlier on earned Okot a slap so sharp that father cringed helplessly. The creases on father’s face betray his feelings. He is trying so hard to be brave. I can hear his voice reprimanding Okot and I, “be men! You’ve got to prove to be men.” Now as I watch his face, brimming with hatred for these people, my heart goes out to him. Mother is dead worried. Her eyes are almost out of their sockets. She looks older than I know. The burden of watching her loved ones being terrorized has aged her. The air is heavy with fear. I can see the rebels. Some of them are just young boys of my age. They are in army combats, some are in tatters. Others although new are too big for the boys. Some are stained. Looks like blood. The boy’s faces are gleaming with sweat. Blotches of soot from the burning huts make them seem like they are ready for the village dance. The armed men are running here and there. I almost loose my balance. I make noise. Eyes turn to the tree. Luckily, a mango falls down. The thugs loose interest. The man in charge screams instructions. “Set the huts on fire. Burn the granaries.” How can anyone burn food? These people are insane. They bring a huge group of people to our home. Herded like stray animals. They are placed into the three groups. All our neighbours are here. Could it be the whole village? A sob almost escapes my throat. What followed kept me on my knees on the tree trunk. Could I be the only witness? I pray, “God can you hear and answer even the prayers of a little boy? Save my family and the whole village.” There was going to be a ritual of some sort. When the realisation struck home, I screamed with the crowd. At first I thought I would collapse, but I hang on tight. God! They were chopping off heads. Elderly men were first. The rest were made to watch. A man is led into the ring, his hands tied behind. A rope is thrown at his feet to entangle him like they did to animals. The rope is swiftly pulled and the man falls. As soon as he touches the ground, one of the boys rushes and strikes a blow on the nape of his head. Blood splatters all over. The head is hurled into the burning huts, leaving the torso twitching. The next victim is dragged into the ring. The ritual repeated. It is no different from what the butcher man did. Only not so many animals are slaughtered at one go. The place is pregnant with silence. Only the laboured breathing of the victims is heard. Every silence, however heavy, will be broken. The crowd can not sustain it any longer. They have reached the limit. A shrill cry pierces the silence. Suddenly there is whimpering. Deep heavy sobs. Uncontrolled wailing follows. The crowd knows they will be dead anyway. I wail with them. We wail in frenzy. We beg for mercy. The louder the wailing gets, the more brutal the thugs get. They chop off heads at random. The groans of the dead mingle with the weeping of the living. The air is rank with fresh blood, human waste and fear. The place is littered with twitching bodies. They make for the second group, women and children. They say they are going to teach them how to cry louder. How inhuman can human beings become? I witness it in the shelter of the mango tree. The rogues are excited. They chant slogans of their cause. Knives are pulled out, brandished as they jump up and down. Each grabs a victim. Women are priority. Children cast aside. Innocent cries fall on deaf ears. They slice off ears, noses and lips. The more the victims wail the more frenzy the rogues become. Their pain makes these beasts reach a state of insane pleasure. They rip their victim’s clothes off. Rape the women. Full pleasure can not be attained without sexual satisfaction. Children watch helplessly. Wondering what awaits them. They are already dead. They are moving corpses. What is worse than watching your father beheaded, his head roasted in your burning hut, your mother’s nose, lips and ears cut off, and your little sister raped? What more really? Tears flow down my face uncontrollably. I reach the limit. I scream, “I want my mother.” 
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