Sierra Leonean Boy Soldier by Samira JaJi
Sierra Leonean BOY SOLDIER
by Samira JaJi
Featured Photo: cc/(AdrianHillman, photo ID: 26239379, from iStock by Getty Images)
I used to be good with my hands
I used to do good with my hands
I loved to play the drums
Carefree beats and melodies inspired by my beautiful homeland
Until one day without warning, the sheet music changed and the ground shook with the harsh vibrations of advancing rebel groups in the merciless trampling marching band
They found us in our home …
Windows boarded up and doors sealed
We tried to conceal ourselves
& spare our ears from the sounds of death and destruction the Grimm Reaper composed
just beyond our makeshift wood and tin refuge
But they found us anyway
They amused themselves for a little while,
Tormenting us by showing off what their sinister instruments could do
Their conductor then forced me to play a solo
So I traded my innocence for the false promise of my loved ones spared lives and the instrument needed to play the requested piece of blood-soaked sheet music
From which I played every red note 3 times over: for my Mother, Father, and Grandmother
I CUT, skin deep
DRIP, drop blood
SNAP, crack bones
RIP, tear flesh
They beg, scream, shout
The blade scrapes table
HANDS hit ground
I witnessed them SHOT, point blank
My spirit torn from my body I became a zombie, resigned to the fact that I would have to march on with the war mongering marching band
Morality and I became estranged
As I became more involved in playing the symphony of warfare that
Set fire to villages
Burned bodies
Raped, pillaged,
Broke the necks and backs of those that tried to flee the music
And I cut their pleading hands off
Making them release heart wrenching screams in harmony with the last breath that escaped from the lips of their loved ones’ final whimper of agony
It was a blessing for all when the diminuendo came
Intense violent conflict decreased until the chaotic raucous was replaced by uneasy silence
It was in this silence that I reunited with my guilt
I looked down at my hands, they had turned red
I used to do good, with my hands
Like indelible ink blood has left my hands permanently red
So I try to do better, with my hands
But if not for this war that has torn my land
And had I just a bit of opportunity, can you imagine what I could’ve done…
Not with my hands, but with my mind.
SUSQUEHANNA UNIVERSITY
@IforcoIor.org
@Samira JaJi 2015
