Day two hundred,
I braid my hair, and cover it with a head tie,
Once a symbol of pride, I hide it now
My arms ache from the constant braiding and wrapping of hair that has grown past my butt
But my body would suffer more consequences if I was taken to be some warlord’s “wife”
So, I continue to braid and wrap
There’s no way to hide my light skin,
I say my prayers to God and pray that’s enough
Is there even a God?
Day two hundred and—-i’ve stopped counting
Gbee sits across the canoe from me
100 pounds of cassava sits in between us
We arrive, 15 miles on a canoe and a car ride later, we sell
I’m left behind,
25 miles walking back, in the dense tropical rainforest, pouring rain
I’m covered in mud,
Well at least my skin is hidden
I make it home, the fever takes me
There is a God
Another day,
In the back of a transport truck, I’m with Gbee again
This time a 50 gallon drum of jet fuel sits between us
We get off, today was a good day, I sell all the goods, I’m packing up,
A truck roars by, the stench of them is left behind before I can look up.
I hear the full stop,
They’re turning around
My hair, my skin,
I place a blank look on my face, I let the drool come out of my mouth
“She’s not well,” and they drive off
There is someone up there looking out for me
Day ninety-three
Hundred of miles away from my parents
My sister has become my mother
I watch as my nieces and younger siblings starve
I leave the house even though there were shots fired less than 10 minutes ago
I have my sister’s gold
I trade her necklace for 3 cans of rice
We have it with salt
My family is fed
Day one hundred and fifty
I venture further out to look for food
Our neighbors have all left
The muscles on my body have become hollow
Somehow we still have gas for the car
I approach the intersection, a pyramid blocks my way
Oh God it’s human heads, the faces and hair are still intact
I think of Cynthia, her shiny boundless hair, I should have said many things to her
I say a silent prayer for her
Authored by Anonymous
Featured Picture by Annie Spratt
