by Ben Dosso
Samba Diallo could not see the sun anymore. It seemed the sun had lay down. He did not know the sun had a house in the sky where it was going to bed every evening and waking up in the morning. Suddenly, he threw a glance in the direction where the pickup truck was heading to. The high beam light of a car was lighting the road but both the sides were dark. He could not make out any difference between things. Everything seemed similar. Everything was sand. He could not see any more the trees that he had when he was leaving his home. The tree’s branches were not beating them like in the long truck. There were no herbs also. A whirlwind of dust was preventing him to see where they were coming from. Samba Diallo felt himself in a big void. And when people told him that they already were in a desert, his big wish to go back home became very bitter in his throat as if he had drunk a glass of gallbladder juice. He wanted to jump from the pickup truck where they were heaped up on top of each other. But the high speed at which the driver was driving made him scared. The four wheels of Pickup truck were tearing the sand like an astronautic rocket moving in space. It was probably late, even if Samba Diallo could jump from the pickup truck, he could no longer know where they were coming from nor where they were going to. Jumping was synonymous to death. He would probably get lost. In front of him were unlimited sand dunes and behind were the same. Left and right also were similar. There was no a compass to locate oneself. Only the driver knew where they were heading to. The driver and his assistant needed only strong people and they weren’t wasting their time with people who could no longer stand. People who were weakened from thirst and hunger were thrown on the hot sand like garbage bags. The young man who was accidentally fallen off in the middle during that race, the driver did not stop to wait for him. He just continued driving as if no one had fallen. And Samba Diallo began to imagine what would have become of him if he had taken the risk of jumping down.
Over time, Samba was moving away from his home. He knew he was born there, but he no longer knew where he was located. The hell on the Earth had opened its door to him.
Hell does not exist anywhere. It exists only when refugees are on the road to exile. And it becomes mostly harder when refugees are only a kid on the same road to the exile, and there is no one to give a hand to him nor defend him in the face of daily violence that claps him as “welcome” on the street. The environment that he frequents acts instantly and transforms him as it wishes so.
The first morning on the desert was another world. Everything was different. The violent and dry wind and a deadly cold. The pickup truck was passing some burnt cars during combats and many cadavers of people on this sand of Sahara who had fallen from thirst and hunger throughout their journey during this perilous desert crossing. However, when the sun was coming up, the color of sand was very complicated to describe. A beautiful morning but impossible to describe it because of moral pressures. Samba Diallo could see the limit of the sand dune according to the limit of his views. The cold was insurmountable, more than the winter cold. There was no snowflake falling there. But it was as if Samba Diallo was sitting on some icy hills because of the dry wind. His whole body was freezing. His throat was drained. And the skin folded during the night. Also, during the day, nothing could prevent the sunrays to project its burning light. They could make the brain boil. But the evening, the hotter temperature turned into colder temperature. And on this ocean of sand, some million tons of sand were superimposed in stairs like an escalator as if they were handmade. There were also all geometric figures between these impressive natural architectures and implanted away from the eyes was living a four-legged animal. It was looking for a weak prey where there was no food or water. The nature has its mysteries we ignore. We will never come to an end with discovering the many mysteries of nature and all that it holds. Impossible to analyze how this little animal was filling his stomach every single day. Meanwhile, days and nights were going by. They could no longer be counted. While Samba Diallo was accumulating days without drinking or eating, the hot wind was drying his throat and the dust was yellowing his teeth. It seemed the driver knew the dangers of desert already. He had all materials to protect himself against the dry wind that was making everyone thirsty. He was protected from head to toes. And Samba Diallo and many other people were exposed to the sun like solar panels. But lighting nothing. The driver made a step of kindness toward these hopeless by taking out a little quantity of hot water from radiator to serve the travelers a drink. They could not drink it quickly enough. No one wanted to let others take the first sip of water. A fierce fight got triggered, the water bottle broke. Nobody could drink this hot water still. Their eyes were turning red, obviously from hunger and thirst. The journey was becoming a journey of eternity, and Samba Diallo was getting famished. Fortunately, in Samba Diallo’s back pocket, there was a little packet of crackers that he had stolen from a store. He was putting these crackers one by one on his tongue discreetly. And his saliva was gradually wetting them. Then, he was swallowing this wet cracker, without biting on it. For his safety. Because if someone knew he was eating something, the other travelers would want to break his jaws and get these wet cookies from his mouth to serve themselves, despite the fact that it wasn’t enough for all of them.
Every time Samba Diallo was fleeing different wars, he used to remark the presence of many men who were wearing blue helmets. Their uniforms were different from his invincible daddy’s. He did not know where these men under blue helmets were from. He used to see them only during war periods. Probably the wars were symbolic to these blue helmets according to him. He saw them twice in two different countries. It was only war zones. He wanted to know more about them. He then curiously asked a lady who was sitting next to him. By one look, he could tell the lady did not seem ready to talk to someone. Her eyes were in the hollow of her face. She had lost weight a lot. She only had skin on her bones. She had the face of an old woman. Out of respect, Samba Diallo wanted to call her Grandma. But a doubt was hovering in his mind. Some people do not like to be called by their ages. Age is often misleading. Today, we cannot trust appearances. Some people look younger for their age while some grow old quicker. But the lady was dizzy, probably from hunger and thirst. And as Samba Diallo wanted to know what these men in blue helmets were doing there, he kept disturbing the lady. The lady could not lift her head. She simply answered Samba Diallo with a proverb “When a husband’s beating his wife, there is only the neighbors who can come to her rescue.”
Samba Diallo did not understand what she exactly wanted to tell him through this proverb. “Who might have the courage to beat his wife in this ruthless condition?” said Samba Diallo confusedly.
“Hmmm, you youngsters of today are really stupid people that I ever saw. You never grow mentally to understand life very quickly,” said the lady. Adding, “These Blue Helmets like you said are United Nation peacekeeping forces. Their roles are special. They are unique and dynamic instruments developed by the organization as a way to help countries torn by conflict to create the conditions for lasting peace since its foundation in 1948,” said the lady enthusiastically.
Samba Diallo replied, saying, “But I knew before, in case of a big fire in a housing, we were generally calling the firefighters to blow the fire out, making sure the fire does not burn the entire building. We don’t take fire to blow the fire out. Otherwise, it could be propagated at a higher speed. But it could be unfortunately one of the biggest human stupidity and a serious human error to send blue helmets into armed conflicts in order to restore peace. Thousands get burnt under the watchful eyes of these peacekeepers where they are supposed to protect the masses. And these Peace negotiations always lead to revenge. The populations continue falling during each war like rotten mangoes at the mercy of insects. The remorse lasts only a moment, removing the survivors under the debris of the collapsed houses by chemical bombs. The dead would never be able talk about their discontents. They are quickly forgotten the day after the bloody disasters and people would no longer remember that huge alarmin
g numbers.” Meanwhile, Samba Diallo was also dying from tiredness, hunger, and thirst. He was weakened by the jostling. In this despair, they saw tents installed a little bit further away. All travelers were so happy. They were screaming with joy. They were hugging each other. It was a big relief. This time, Samba Diallo got a smile on his lips and his heart was a little relieved. He was breathing a new air. A new wind was blowing around him like the fresh air breezes the skin at the beach. Step by step, they were approaching the tents. Samba Diallo was so excited to jump from the pickup truck and take a seat under the tents. At first look, the tents seemed like a refugee camp. All signs were proving that it was a refugee camp. As soon as the pickup truck slowed down closer to the tents, Samba Diallo rapidly jumped, looking for a good seat under one of those tents. Analyzing the distance traveled, he thought he had gotten an Eden garden. He thought he was in an oasis in this desert. And the new arrivals’ percentage did not stop increasing. After taking place, Samba Diallo thought that he was finally removed from all dangers that could push him to death. Few moments later, a man emerged from behind one of the tents, with a gun on his shoulder. And every passing second, these armed men were becoming numerous everywhere. All these men were dressed in Arabian traditional clothes. Their heads were also covered. It was difficult to see their faces in the scarves that covered their heads. The paradise which Samba Diallo was imagining was ephemeral. It was too good to be true and his big joy became a river of tears. They had fell into a wrong hole of exile during their journey. As a matter of fact, they were welcomed in a soldiers’ camp. The armed group was different from the Blue Helmets, but suspended between two countries. These soldiers were all well-armed. They did not wear military uniforms like the other militaries Samba Diallo had already seen before. The refugee camp logo was written on these infamous tents. It was obviously readable without using pharmaceutical glasses. It was just a makeup to massively attract people in distress. The camp was full of all the influential nationalities. Their weaker preys were only teenagers who did not have any defense.
At first look, it was believable that these soldiers were only State’s Islamic fighters, hidden behind bushy beards like Amazonian forest. They were united for the same goal. And to easily make the communication with them, Samba Diallo did not absolutely master his dialect which was so dear to him. Anyway, it was not important for these soldiers. But Samba Diallo’s culture was still intact. No one could snatch it from him. So, he used to speak one of the languages that the settlers had bequeathed at his home during the human civilization that he had learned at school. Soldiers who could speak the international language were telling people what to do (they were forcing people to call their families for ransom). Samba Diallo could not speak any Tamashek alphabet (desert area dialect). Thereafter, an outbreak of violence rained. Many fathers had to undergo excessive violence. Many mothers were raped and humiliated in the presence of their own kids by these Lords of War. Children had only their little eyes to cry for their parents. They were crying loudly to let others hear the torture session that the soldiers were inflicting under their eyes. But the desert was not echoing up. After that wave of violence, kids continued playing on the sand as if they hadn’t been crying. They did not care anymore about this different misery colors that were reigning there, these poor innocents.
As everyone had his turn of torture, Samba Diallo was waiting for his turn. He started shaking from fear. To dry his tears, one of soldiers found a method that seemed to him better and most effective.
“You better zip your stinky mouth. You are no longer the little prince pampered in the arms of this slut that you considered as mom. We are not here to waste all day to give you a nursing bottle. Give us your parents’ address right now!!!” said violently the young soldier with a gun on Samba Diallo’s temple, kicking strongly on him stomach. Samba Diallo instantly wet his pants with pee, without realizing it.
“I don’t know my parents’ address,” said Samba Diallo, answering the questions that the young soldier asked him as if he was learning to speak. He could not connect the words together to make a correct phrase. There were only some vowels that were flowing between his wet lips.
“You don’t know your parents’ address?” said the young soldier.
“I used to know it but not anymore,” said Samba Diallo.
“Alright! Look over there. You would be locked up, waiting for your family to send the ransom to release you. Otherwise you will die here. Understood!?” said the young soldier with fury.
“Yes, understood!” said Samba Diallo sadly. He didn’t even know who to call to pay for his ransom.
As a matter of fact, it was so hard for him to accept that someone had insulted his genetic umbrella. His genetic umbrella who bore him in her belly during the two hundred and seventy days with stomachaches and nervousness, who was so dear to him. But the young soldier had insulted her as if he knew his genetic umbrella in this dirty old job of the world. Samba Diallo could not break the jaws of young soldier to honor the name of his genetic umbrella. He felt weakened from being unable to face this situation, but not discouraged to not find a solution. His strong muscle was just a plastic that could not resist the pressure from the young soldier. He was just shouting as if he was in a funeral of a loved one. Moreover, among that human flow, there was a little girl that Samba Diallo did not know before. But some people called her Amy. She had a face of a doll and fairy ears with round beads. Her breasts had just began to develop. She was only a grain among a kilogram of sesame, physically endowed with doe beauty. She would have gotten all ingredients to seduce despite being covered in dust. But, observing her face and her expressions, she was just a little innocent girl who was smiling to the life if the war had not impeded her steps. But at her turn of torture, she had been raped by several people. That day, there was a muscled fighting in front of the door of her feminine private part. Not only raped, but also brutalized because she had tried to resist them. On the other hand, she had fought with all her might. She had flooded in her own sweat as if she had fallen in a barrel of water. She had shouted a lot. Samba Diallo was just hearing her voice in the wind. But Amy was slightly losing her voice because of the pain. Samba Diallo was seeing Amy’s mouth opening largely and closing so slowly. He was brutally terrorized by Amy’s painful shouts. The violence that they were inflicting upon her was stronger. The dress she was wearing was covered in blood, Samba Diallo thought that Amy had been brutally cut between her legs. She was shouting because of savagely losing her virginity. After a few minutes, she was silently shouting. Her voice was low. Samba Diallo thought she had become mute. On Amy’s tongue, some sentences were coming out of her mouth with difficulty in a haphazard way. Such as “I am hurting,” “I cannot anymore,” “I am thirsty,” “Give me some water,” “Kill me, please,” “Help me, Mom,” “I need you right now, Mom, please, don’t let me down. Otherwise, I’m going to die.” Amy did not need to speak louder to be heard. Samba Diallo could decode everything easily that she was trying to say. He understood Amy’s maternal dialect. He knew that Amy really needed help. He felt Amy’s pain both physically and morally; he did not have a sister of his own and had always wished for one. He was living with a big emptiness inside him. He no longer wanted to play with his multiple toys. Sometimes, he used to blame his genetic umbrella for refusing to give him a sister. His genetic umbrella had already bought him so many toys to persuade him. But despite Amy’s painful shouts, Samba Diallo could not rescue her. After her torture session, Amy was limping on her feet like a lamb who was on all fours. “If we were in this moment in a world of law, I could be deferred before a judge for the non-assistance to the person in danger. Because I felt guilty for all the violence Amy had suffered from,” said Samba Diallo. He was blaming himself for the non-assistance. He thought he should have gone and helped Amy to avoid this wave of violence. He added, “Certainly, people could have transferred me to a prison with the police siren and lock me up behind prison grids. I would have served my sent
ence without parole. Maybe, I would have been forgotten in the prison.” However, he was helpless in the face of this drama. He was just a flightless penguin that couldn’t use his wings to fly out of the danger. He was just a little meat piece in a million of fiery embers. And all these travelers were locked in the mouths of the same carnivores that were devouring them. Samba Diallo could not protect himself nor protect someone else. Afterward, about a week later, after that collective rape, Amy was painfully suffering from stomachaches. And over time, everything got changed in Amy’s body. She was daily metamorphosing from her toes to her hair’s roots. Her chest was gaining volume, nausea and frequent urges to urinate. By signs, we could conclude something had been done in her belly. The young girl would become a mother in the coming months. Her belly was gradually swelling. Yet, she still seemed like a small child, no more than 10 years of age. While in the desert, water is rare like the marriage of a prince to a leper. Water was more valuable than the auction of gold in a market. People could beg someone to pee to get some water. There was no mineral water nor something to eat and her health was deteriorating quickly. Amy was losing a lot of weight and had become like a broom. She could not support a long-term pregnancy anymore. There was no a doctor there to take care of her nor a hospital. Only white powders used by soldiers. She ended up having a miscarriage. The monstrous cold at nighttime and the burning sun of daytime were insupportable for her, as they were for all other travelers during this journey. And one early morning, Samba Diallo and others found Amy bent on herself like a snake. Her whole body was frozen. She had passed away. And Samba Diallo and others continued their journey. None of these travelers were remorseful for her. All of them had unsentimental hearts, rougher than a rock. Because they were suffering daily from the same tragedy and were usually seeing this kind of scenes under their eyes practically every single day. Amy also had successively multiplied malignant diseases. Sometimes, when we can’t save someone who is fighting between death and life, we can only desperately and discreetly wish the person death and for them to have peace in Heaven.