Chasing Freedom

Born into chaos, where silence is unheard of and gunshots have become a sense of normalcy. Life was unkind, but she made it softer. Running through rubble felt like running through a park somewhere in Connecticut. We shared dreams of leaving this place, though they seemed distant, and the world we'd sometimes see on TV, a utopia of some sort. The idea of a land where people can live out their dreams and become anything they want in life made us question our worthiness. What did we do to make us so unworthy of the same privilege? Unworthy of peace.

With her abrupt disappearance from school, I had to resort to sneaking out at night to see her. My mother feared the risk of the last son she had still breathing crossing paths with rebels. I'd hold my breath as I made my way to the unfinished building where we'd meet. Climbing up, I spotted her, feet dangling off the edge of the rooftop.

"Ah Nyoni, you've made it." She turned towards me with a grin.

Letting out a big exhale, I chuckled and claimed my spot next to her. Up here, it's just us, no war, our moment of peace. The moonlight poured into her eyes as if it were a benagil cave showing its depth. Her hair was wildly out, big, soft, and fluffy like clouds. The thing people made the most of, but I thought was the most beautiful head of hair. Continuing my gaze, I noticed a bandage wrapped around her arm. Confused and worried, I asked, "What happened?".

She briefly glanced down at her arm before reaching into her red pouch, pulling out a bag of plantain chips while smiling. Something I once grew tired of has now become a delicacy. After opening the bag, she moved it over to me. Without any further questions, I took a handful, closed my eyes, and indulged. Faded memories resurfaced from eating plantain chips at the market to tasting the salty sea while swimming. Things I was too young to appreciate fully, now my mind is consumed with images of despair.

"The ships come in 2 days," she stated with a mouth full of chips.

The next 2 days bring an opportunity to escape and find refuge in a neighboring country. Two ships will be at the dock taking in refugees. Chances of getting in are slim; more people will be left at the dock than those who are taken. We could also get stuck in crossfire, but it's a risk we're willing to take.

"Can you believe it?" I asked, "The first summer of freedom, we'll be able to remember."

Giving a slight smile, she turned and looked up at the night sky. Noticing a sudden shift in her demeanor, I chalked it up to nervousness. Being stuck between death and freedom does have a way of making your stomach churn.

"I won't be on the journey there with you and mama, but when you reach, go to the ship marked with white chalk, fight your way in if you have to," she asserted. "I will find you".

Looking up at her in an attempt to figure out where this sureness came from or how she'd even know a ship would be marked. Paralyzed by thought, I simply nodded and let out a faint "ok." Images of how the day would go flashed across my mind, and my body attempted to play out the emotions, heart racing, palms sweaty, head hot.

She and I lay there until dusk, communicating not by words but by energy.

Two days later...

With the sun beaming onto our skin, my mother and I finally made it to the dock. There was a sea of people in front of us we could barely see the ships. I clung to my mother's hand tightly as we maneuvered through the crowd. People pushed, some fell, only to be trampled to death. With every push through the crowd, my eyes wandered away from the ships in search of her. I told myself we would meet on the ship; there was no room for doubt. I could hear my heart speed up the closer we got to the marked ship. Armed guards stood by the entrance. Squeezing tighter onto my mother's hand, I continued my fight towards the ship.

Finally getting to the front, I raised our government IDs tied to a broken lanyard.

"Here! here!" I shouted with everything in me. A guard pulled my arm up to the entrance of the boarding deck. Stepping onto the ship, relief flowed throughout my body like a bucket of warm water dripping from my head to my toes. I raised my hand, entangled with my mother's, towards my heart and squeezed some more while turning to meet her with a smile. The strangest thing happened, my eyes did not see my mother. Looking back down at my clenched hand, it was empty, holding nothing except the indents made by my nails. Fatigue took over me it became hard to breathe. I fell into the wall of the ship. How'd I lose my mother? Where did I lose my mother? Rising in an attempt to run out, the entrance was closed. That familiar sound of gunshots played...rebels were here.

Using the remaining strength in my body, I went up the main deck to look around in hopes of spotting at least one of the only two people I had left. Vision blurred from sweat and tears; it was hard to make out what was happening. Then, I spotted a figure with fluffy hair, a red pouch, and... a rifle? being dragged by militia men, kicking their legs. One of the men raised their gun, and the figure went limp.

I slid down, head hung low, hearing silence for the first time, and everything went black.

Years later...

Somewhere in Connecticut, I watch as people go on runs, partners taking walks, and kids playing with their pets. I sit and recount the blurred memories of that fateful day. There was only one person I knew with a red pouch and fluffy hair like clouds, but I question if my exhaustion caused me to hallucinate. Why would militia men aim to kill her? Why would she be holding a rifle? The fate of my mother also comes up; she was trampled to death, or made it onto one of the ships somehow.

That day, I was chasing freedom, my first summer of peace, but the chains of war were replaced by something much heavier, the aching pain of what could have been versus what is. Every night, I'm haunted by thoughts of her kindness, optimism, and dreams ... she was the sweetest girl. Yes, I made it to Connecticut somehow, but instead of running, I sit and imagine her going for runs. Wondering if she would be a writer? activist? model? actress? everything?

It's said that our souls choose aspects of our lives before we are born. I can't help but question that theory because there's no way I would've chosen a life without her.