11/04/2025
*Uren's Story*
I am Uren, an SS3 student from GSS Manguna, Bokkos, Plateau State. My people, the Ron and Kulere, held our yearly festival, and people came from all over. Not because everything was alright, but because the festival gave us strength. It reminded us that we are still here, still alive. Even though we keep losing people, we cannot stop living.
*The Weight of Oswald's Nightfall*
I woke up with the weight of Oswald's "Nightfall in Soweto" pressing heavily on my chest. Mr. Mallo, our literature teacher, had painted it vividly when he taught the poem. "Feel it. Poetry is meant to be felt," he had said. I felt it, all right. The fear. The dusk falling like judgment.
*The Attack*
It was loud and close. A rhythm now too familiar. First at night, now in broad daylight. A group of attackers was moving in on our village and the nearby ones too. We froze, not knowing what to do. Smoke began rising, big, black clouds. Houses were burning. We saw people running, screaming.
*Hiding from the Attackers*
We squeezed in, my siblings and I, while my parents and one of my brothers covered the hole with dry leaves and grass. They stayed outside. There was no room for all of us. From that tiny breath-hole, I watched. The men on bikes came. Five of them. Guns slung carelessly like tools of a craft they had effortlessly mastered.
*The Slaughter*
They spoke in Hausa with a Fulani accent: "Shegu jamu kakashe dukan ku!" Then more chants of "God is great," and more bikes revving into the distance. Their glee carried by gunshots and war cries: Eeehhuuhuuuuu! rent the air as they made their way to join the others. And then, there was silence, except for my mother's wail.
*The Aftermath*
We saw the assailants, what they looked like, the language they spoke, how they prayed to the god they prayed to. We also know that their kind occupy many of the villages around that were razed before now. It is said that when people are pushed to the wall, they will push back, not out of bravery, but out of necessity.
*The Invaders*
The invaders have awakened something dangerous, not just pain, but memory. And memory, when soaked in blood, never forgets.
