THE COW VOICE

It was a raining night, cold and frightening. I could feel the taste of Mother Earth on my tongue, and yes, this pain, this excruciating pain. Have I been hit by a truck? Or did “Sango” (god of thunder) decide to strike me? I held on to my lower abdomen, feeling as though my womb was about to explode. I really don't know; something's wrong. I'm screaming, but I can't hear my own voice, and no tears either.

Earlier, I was sleeping, having one of those weird dreams with no image, just total darkness. It was a long day, and nights are always longer. We waited like we always do, as long as we could, but she always waits longer; she has no choice. Well, I'm done waiting. This 15-year-old body needs rest; everything is set. There shouldn't be any drama, so I thought.

Hours passed, maybe not. Something shattered the front door—heavy, scared feet ran silently but with haste. I heard cow's voice. Are these Fulani boys back again? I stepped out, only to get hit. Oh! The pain was mind-blowing. Who am I kidding? Body-blowing. I went back to my crawling days; I crawled, and this body can't run. Into the rain, I crawled, wondering why? How? Was it because I didn't keep a vigil? “The cow voice” followed, kicked the hot lantern I had with me. Oh, don't tell me he wants to strike one more time; this will kill me.

Then she screamed, "Kill her, and the whole world will know!" I thought, killing me, and telling the whole world is just some messed up martyr stuff, for Christ's sake! I won’t be here when the world knows.  Please spare me, and the world knows nothing.

The next morning, cow voice sobered up and asked just one question: what happened last night? I looked at her, hoping to see a little ray of light. No, what I saw was just pure dark resignation. Then I knew I had to get out of here before this shithole before it sinks me.