Post by Eko Tunde on Jul 10, 2008 16:28:18 GMT -5
-- Small village in Nigeria. Eko, age 12. --
The dust rose in small clouds through the air with each brush of a foot along the earth. It hadn't rained in many weeks, and might not for many more, though the villagers hoped this would not be the case. If the drought did not let up soon, even their wells would be dry, and they would be forced to buy water from their distant neighbors, or else the militia. And goodness knows, they could not afford to buy anything more from those men. What it cost them in their own anguish far outweighed the simple price of water.
Eko approached his defender, and neatly brushed the ball back behind his body with his foot, switching directions almost mid-dribble, so that he was able to dart past the defender easily. It might seem silly to some, even childish for him to be playing football out here in the square with the younger boys. After all, he was approaching manhood. Soon the days of this foolery would be passed and he would have to do a man's work. However, there was still time left in his childhood. Besides, what better way to watch over Yemi than accompany him in his play? He'd sworn to his parents that he would always watch over his younger brother, and it was a task he truly took to heart. Plus, he did enjoy football. For a boy of his size, he was surprisingly quick.
Eko faltered in his drive as he heard gunshots nearby. The ball rolled away from his feet, forgotten, and came to rest in the dust several yards away. It did not matter; all of the boys knew, that sounds meant play time was over. They ceased their match, gathering together in a clump at the back of the lot they were playing in, closer to the buildings. It did not matter where they stood, they would never be less of a target than anyone else. However, this gave them more a sense of security than if they simply stood in the open where they were.
Eko lifted a hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the sunlight so that he could see the approaching jeep. More rounds were fired into the air. He used to flinch, when he heard the sounds and saw the militia coming. But now he was so used to them, that they were a common sound to him. His brother, however, looking frightfully up at him and sought the warmth and comfort of Eko's hand. He folded his larger palm over Yemi's and squeezed the boy's hand reassuringly. There was a bright glint of sunlight where the rays bounced off a bit of bright metal on the jeep. Eko followed the reflection until it was close, until it came to a stop in the middle of the square. Around them, all of the villagers stood frozen. They knew these militia men were not to be messed with, were not to be crossed. It was best to act as docile as possible when they came.
The men were laughing, smirking as they always did. They acted like they ruled this land and the village, as if they had control over its people. In some ways that was true; there were few who dared to stand up to them, when the militiamen had guns and the villages could not afford them. Eko watched with a feeling of cold dread in his stomach as two of them grabbed one of the elders roughly and dragged him to the center of the square, forcing him to his knees upon the earth. Yemi gripped his hand tighter, and it was though they both knew this would not end well.
Things seemed to go from bad to worse as one of the men came towards the two brothers. Eko's hand was squeezing Yemi's more tightly than ever now, but the older man was reaching for his brother now too, grabbing him by the cloth of his shirt, pulling him away. "No!" Eko protested, "no, please." But Yemi was torn away from his grasp, and though he clutched out for him he could not bring him back. He watched with bated breath as Yemi too was dragged to the center of the lot, handed a gun, and told to shoot the old man.
Eko wanted to run toward them, to yell at them, "he's just a child!" Yemi was not much younger than Eko himself, but the older sibling frequently felt like the guardian of his brother. Yemi was innocent of all sins, and he should be sheltered from this, from these horrors. These men were asking Yemi to committ the greatest sin of all: murder. The gun quivered in Yemi's two small hands, and Eko shook his head in horror, his eyes fixed to the scene, unable to move. There was silence in the square as all of the villagers did the same, waiting see if the child would succumb to this. If he did not... well, there was no guaranteeing he'd be any better off. Time seemed interminable, and finally Eko could bear it no longer. His feet finally seemed to awaken, and he darted forward and wrenched the gun from his brother's hands. If Yemi shot the elder, he would be a sinner. If he did not, he would be killed. Eko had no choice. He cocked the gun and aimed the muzzle straight at the old mans heart. Then he pulled the trigger.
The resulting crack seemed to echo in the little village center. There was a cry of terror and surprise from the villagers, and Eko felt all of the blood drain from his face. He had murdered a man in cold blood. He stared in terror at the gun in his hands, before it was yanked away by one of the militia men. He turned his face to catch a glimpse of his brother, but Yemi's eyes were downturned, his gaze resolutely removed from the bloody scene. Eko's heart rose in his throat. He had committed the ultimate sin. But there was laughter, coming from the men of the militia, and the leader returned the gun to its holster at his side with a sneer. "What's your name, boy?" Eko stared blankly at him, unable to react. The man grew impatient. "I said, what's your name, boy?"
Slowly, feebly, Eko replied. "Eko."
"Look at Mr. Eko," the man said with another cold laugh. "No hesitation, a born killer!" He grabbed Eko roughly by the arm and pulled him forward. There was muttering all around him, but he heard none of it. The man ripped the cross from his neck, and cast it into the dirt. The boy stared at it for a moment, filled with sadness and self loathing. And then he was pushed forward, instructed to get in the back of the truck. He blinked. And then they were driving away. The last think Eko saw before they rounded a stand of trees, was Yemi's figure bent down to the dirt, recovering the discarded cross.
The dust rose in small clouds through the air with each brush of a foot along the earth. It hadn't rained in many weeks, and might not for many more, though the villagers hoped this would not be the case. If the drought did not let up soon, even their wells would be dry, and they would be forced to buy water from their distant neighbors, or else the militia. And goodness knows, they could not afford to buy anything more from those men. What it cost them in their own anguish far outweighed the simple price of water.
Eko approached his defender, and neatly brushed the ball back behind his body with his foot, switching directions almost mid-dribble, so that he was able to dart past the defender easily. It might seem silly to some, even childish for him to be playing football out here in the square with the younger boys. After all, he was approaching manhood. Soon the days of this foolery would be passed and he would have to do a man's work. However, there was still time left in his childhood. Besides, what better way to watch over Yemi than accompany him in his play? He'd sworn to his parents that he would always watch over his younger brother, and it was a task he truly took to heart. Plus, he did enjoy football. For a boy of his size, he was surprisingly quick.
Eko faltered in his drive as he heard gunshots nearby. The ball rolled away from his feet, forgotten, and came to rest in the dust several yards away. It did not matter; all of the boys knew, that sounds meant play time was over. They ceased their match, gathering together in a clump at the back of the lot they were playing in, closer to the buildings. It did not matter where they stood, they would never be less of a target than anyone else. However, this gave them more a sense of security than if they simply stood in the open where they were.
Eko lifted a hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the sunlight so that he could see the approaching jeep. More rounds were fired into the air. He used to flinch, when he heard the sounds and saw the militia coming. But now he was so used to them, that they were a common sound to him. His brother, however, looking frightfully up at him and sought the warmth and comfort of Eko's hand. He folded his larger palm over Yemi's and squeezed the boy's hand reassuringly. There was a bright glint of sunlight where the rays bounced off a bit of bright metal on the jeep. Eko followed the reflection until it was close, until it came to a stop in the middle of the square. Around them, all of the villagers stood frozen. They knew these militia men were not to be messed with, were not to be crossed. It was best to act as docile as possible when they came.
The men were laughing, smirking as they always did. They acted like they ruled this land and the village, as if they had control over its people. In some ways that was true; there were few who dared to stand up to them, when the militiamen had guns and the villages could not afford them. Eko watched with a feeling of cold dread in his stomach as two of them grabbed one of the elders roughly and dragged him to the center of the square, forcing him to his knees upon the earth. Yemi gripped his hand tighter, and it was though they both knew this would not end well.
Things seemed to go from bad to worse as one of the men came towards the two brothers. Eko's hand was squeezing Yemi's more tightly than ever now, but the older man was reaching for his brother now too, grabbing him by the cloth of his shirt, pulling him away. "No!" Eko protested, "no, please." But Yemi was torn away from his grasp, and though he clutched out for him he could not bring him back. He watched with bated breath as Yemi too was dragged to the center of the lot, handed a gun, and told to shoot the old man.
Eko wanted to run toward them, to yell at them, "he's just a child!" Yemi was not much younger than Eko himself, but the older sibling frequently felt like the guardian of his brother. Yemi was innocent of all sins, and he should be sheltered from this, from these horrors. These men were asking Yemi to committ the greatest sin of all: murder. The gun quivered in Yemi's two small hands, and Eko shook his head in horror, his eyes fixed to the scene, unable to move. There was silence in the square as all of the villagers did the same, waiting see if the child would succumb to this. If he did not... well, there was no guaranteeing he'd be any better off. Time seemed interminable, and finally Eko could bear it no longer. His feet finally seemed to awaken, and he darted forward and wrenched the gun from his brother's hands. If Yemi shot the elder, he would be a sinner. If he did not, he would be killed. Eko had no choice. He cocked the gun and aimed the muzzle straight at the old mans heart. Then he pulled the trigger.
The resulting crack seemed to echo in the little village center. There was a cry of terror and surprise from the villagers, and Eko felt all of the blood drain from his face. He had murdered a man in cold blood. He stared in terror at the gun in his hands, before it was yanked away by one of the militia men. He turned his face to catch a glimpse of his brother, but Yemi's eyes were downturned, his gaze resolutely removed from the bloody scene. Eko's heart rose in his throat. He had committed the ultimate sin. But there was laughter, coming from the men of the militia, and the leader returned the gun to its holster at his side with a sneer. "What's your name, boy?" Eko stared blankly at him, unable to react. The man grew impatient. "I said, what's your name, boy?"
Slowly, feebly, Eko replied. "Eko."
"Look at Mr. Eko," the man said with another cold laugh. "No hesitation, a born killer!" He grabbed Eko roughly by the arm and pulled him forward. There was muttering all around him, but he heard none of it. The man ripped the cross from his neck, and cast it into the dirt. The boy stared at it for a moment, filled with sadness and self loathing. And then he was pushed forward, instructed to get in the back of the truck. He blinked. And then they were driving away. The last think Eko saw before they rounded a stand of trees, was Yemi's figure bent down to the dirt, recovering the discarded cross.
