Save Us, We're Starving To Death

See, I found myself behind the leaves of a tree, in a very poor city called Bangoi-Kouni. Found a news article that I wasn’t able to read. The only thing I have seen is the year is 1973. Turned to my left to witness a lonely child crying, approached her and started wiping her tear. She said: 

«  My daddy just died in front of me. The paper that made up my family has been torn to pieces. It seems I cannot peace in this foreign country. My territory, soil so dry, not even a leaf can stay onto a tree. Momma tried to find blueberries and, in ann attempt to feed me. She ended up in man’s way, he violently put his hand across the face of my mommy. Her cheek is bleeding and that is another reason why I’m crying. Tears aren’t changing the outcome of the fate I’m trying to run from. It’s accustomed, for young girls to marry richer or older pigs, in order to get out the slums. I’m one of them that has to endure the consequences of the past. He said he wanted to pass me a ring so flashy that it could get me out of that thing used for housing. I’m crying because he said that we would be trying for a baby as soon as we get married. Not even waiting for my majority. I mean shit, I’m 5 years away from 15 and that’s not because I’ve started bleeding that I’m ready for breeding. 

If I do have a kid, I’m hoping that he will be stronger than me in the sens that I never see him weep. The name I’m thing about is Mada-« 

 

 

Another time jump to 2002, before the start of my childhood and in the hood, of a car, a model named « Ghetto ». A young girl bleeding came to me. 

« I need help, my mother just beat me. With a belt, buckle up for what I’m about to say. You see I was rescued by this woman in the late nineties, she brought me here in this violent city. Why am I bleeding, why did I receive a beating ? Because I voiced my dreams of being a nurse or a doctor one day. Hoping that she could be smiling. She replied that I better wipe my banana shaped set of teeth because the reading is much more gloomy. Said that her past; getting married before she even read or get a degree. Added that I should substrat that so called dream and replace it by my likely future. 

Me, i contested what she had been saying by yelling and here. She started slapping me calling me silly for trying to run away from my destiny. Sprinted away by the front door out this one way street she forced me to drive in. If I do have a sibling, I hope that he can pursue his dreams or at least start expressing his true feelings. « 

 

I’ll remember that day in 2019 forever. Saw momma kick my sister out the house for having gone down the wrong path, at least that’s what she deemed it as. "She strayed away from her deen ». Sis said: 

« I know I haven’t been very kind to you these last few days, even broke your phone on Tuesday. But you’re kind, I’ll buy you a new one, one way or another. Don’t hear what she’ll say, I’m not some kind of slut, the reason you heard screams coming out the hallway is because another man tried to force his way in. I thought I could trust him, mom thought we were fucking, this whole time he had been raping me. But you know how she is. She said that sex could only occur after I get a ring, tried explaining my side of this window shaped story. But she tried to trap me in a rectangular shaped box with no air flowing. As I’m crying and suffocating from these accusations. This rejection is pressing against my chest, I physically can’t breathe. 

I want you to not fall into her behaviour so controlling: who cares if you’re not perfect academically ? 

Don’t let her lower your self-esteem. Probably the reason why I’m stacking money to get a fat sucking surgery. And before I start fading, I want to say that I want you to be yourself, not perfect because you’re just a kid. » 

 

I open the lid of the can that was this year, found my niece crying and streaming, I didn’t know why and she explained to me: 

« I’m tired of caring, tired of sharing, I’ve been there for everybody. But who cares about me ? I call your sister « mommy » but man has she done a shit job at raising me. So much so that I have to be the one parenting my siblings. I’m barely eighteen, can she not see that this backpack is too heavy for me to carry ? I still recall her saying that this prepares me for my future life after my wedding. Said that after 30, women aren’t worth marrying. Completely overlooking my dream of one day becoming or having a degree in engineering. Shit, I’m pretty good at drawing, maybe that could make sure that I’m eating. In actuality, I’m starving and slavery hasn’t been abolished because my mom has put chains around my neck. I cannot speak let along sing, and if she catches me crying, I will surely get a beating. From my father because « that’s not what we do here ». So please, dear uncle, I hope that you can live on and follow your dream free from other people’s emotions weighing on your spirit » 

 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and start thinking  «  Am I doomed ? ». Every night I look up to the moo, hoping that the rose that make up my dreams can bloom. My mind is full of gloom, haven’t found the loot in this adventure I’m about to lose. The truth ? I feel all of you, the trauma is hereditary. I didn’t want to end up crying from being slapped on the cheek. So I faked my cheering. And you’re right, everybody’s expectations is sure a heavy load to carry. She’s right, I’m still pissed off about my phone breaking. I mean you’re correct; I do have trouble expressing what I’m feeling, just like you, it seems. 

I’m writing a bunch, the only thing maintaining my breath, without that I would be starving to death. I’m in need of food, for somebody to feed me love, hoping I could eat off these writing schemes. Really stuck in this schema of other people not listening to my heart breaking is really tiring. When it comes to I will be marrying, dear mother would be disappointed if I told her that it was one gonna be Lucy. Will probably get a lecture or a beating, if she’s not a black queen straight in her den. Probably get dropped from the fractured family boat if I’m not straight, like the friend I was writing about. 

I’m just trying to not drown, hoping my texts can stay afloat. I’m starting to lose hope; falling down the slippery slope. 

I see a fire ready to burn anyone five times and forever. We call it Hell, but knowing my life circumstances and Lucy, at least my marriage with her. That’s the only place that I’ll stay at long term. 

Maybe I deserve it ? 

If so, there’s no point in hoping for an ending other than starving. 

 

 

 

I met an imam on a quiet night,
his voice soft, his presence light.
He saw the words I kept inside
and said, “Son, you don’t need to hide.
Come pray with me—let your silence divide.”

We stood beneath a sky so wide.

«  O Allah, opener of hearts and speech,
let courage rise to what my lips can’t reach.
Guide my tongue with truth You send,
make fear break, make silence end.

Amin. » 

The imam smiled and touched my hand.
“Go speak, my boy. Allah understands.”