Author: Victoria Naa Takia Nunoo Title: Save Our Souls The sounds of war songs, deep in the

night. Our hearts raced in panic and everyone stood in a rush. Mum and dad were nowhere to be found. We had only each other, my brother and I. Gun shots flew in every direction and so did our tensed legs. There were still frozen eyes everywhere with red stains! Too red to be ordinary. From whence our little legs found strength was unknown. Till we saw them They were hanging by the back of that truck and were being dragged with so many others. We had to protect ourselves from the vision ahead, but he couldnt let hold it together and neither could I. Our cry gave sold us out and there was nowhere to hide. They separated us and mocked us; we were their puppets of inspiration. He was asked to touch me, my own brother An abomination, incest! Death! He just blinked and stared at me with tears dripping down his face. He wouldnt dare! And that gave them a reason to take off his limb. He cried in pain; I screamed in ache. As I watched my brother, loose a limp after a limp till he was nothing!

I was weak; I was already dead yet they wouldnt let me be. Each stole a part of me and cut through me till I got used to it. I was a slave; a slave to their thirsty sexual desire. Then I blacked out

Chapter One (The birthday)

The Smell Of Mashed Yam Decorated With Boiled Eggs Filled The Whole Compound. It Was My Older Brothers 15th Birthday and Our House Was Filled With All Kinds of People Trooping In And Out Lolo, Get Some More Yam from Daavis Compound. Buut Dada, I just went there for palm oil I grumbled. I have been running around blengo today and Im almost worn out, but I very well know that if I dont comply I will face severe lashing at dawn; what I fear most is for mother to unleash her anger at dawnof all times dawn. Mother never spared the rod, not even begging and pretending to be good would gain her pity and forgiveness. She only spoke at night, her rod. The thin long stick of discipline always worked on our backs, a smooth corrector. I didnt want an appointment tonight with it so I had to heed her command.

Picking up an old woven basket from our unfinished cooking place, I raced down the road. It was muddy, the rains had stopped but the little pools of partly dried earth still stayed as evidence of it. I hopped my way on stones across the mud, not watching to ruin my lovely dress for the occasion. All around me, people seemed to talk about the same thing, Elections! They seemed to have a forecast or better still a premonition about what the outcome of the elections would be. In open shops, the only thing that was heard talking would be an old wireless radio, with a number of sweaty men of all ages gathered around, listening to nothing but the onward and constant rave of politicians doing what they do bestpromise! I did not really understand what it was about politics that kept everyone talking. I hated having to hear men and women in dispute over what seemed to be a fruitless argument. This was now the state of my town, pending the election. All that mattered to me was to know the name of our new president to escape the wrath of my school teacher. She was another friend of The smooth corrector. A woman in her mid thirties yet looked as though she was forty five. Her son, Abu was the best in class. I pitied Abu, having to live with the smooth corrector nonstop, both at home and at school. No wonder he remained the top of the class. It was evident that the smooth corrector had indeed corrected his life!

LoloLolo! Brought me back into reality. Oh, it was only Musa, the village drunkard. We all knew him, and he knew us all. It was rumoured he was the only one who lived mostly on liquor than food. That I believe, for his look confirmed it. Musa was the thinnest thing Ive seen aside the smooth corrector. He had bones which could be counted from a distance; and a collar bone as huge and deep that I was sure could hold a pale of water, or better still could hold two to three bottles of the akpeteshie he worshipped. The only thing that was actually growing fat on him was his belly and his head. The poor thing looked and was shaped like a seahorse. His lips were a testimony to his menace, not forgetting the fiery red glare in his eyes. I do not know how he ended up a drunk, although they claim he used to be a lovely chap. The rest of the story I do not know for no one had the time to tell me. Lolo, Lolo see how plump youve grown he saluted me with the breath of death itself. You are growing oo, you are really becoming as beautiful as this bottle he swung to my face a half empty bottle of this companion. Trying as much as possible to avoid him breathing the breath of death on me again, for I was sure of my death if I happened again, I dodged him in every way I could. I need to come and see your parents for your hand in marriage, you kn-ow I would be a great husband right? Right? Eeiii mewu, he said as he stumbled.

I took this opportunity to get as far away from him as I could. My journey was interrupted because I was now at Daavis house to pick the yams.

Chapter Two (Usual promises) We would build schools; we would build hospitals, better roads! Just vote for VIP, our vision is in progress was the only news on the radio so boring, considering the fact that that was our only source of modern entertainment! Our wireless radio which used to play sweet songs to us was now a talking machine. They speak of the same thing over and over each election year. Their exact keywords? Schools! More hospitals! Better roads! What had we not heard? The only school in my town looked like a hen coup. We had to study in fours on each desk with part of our buttocks hanging. Our only blackboard was now officially turning white with old age and the only thing holding the ceiling of the classroom from falling on our dear selves was the grace of God! Rainy days were holidays for us, since the roof leaked from everywhere. Not even windows could protect us from the rain because there wasnt any. On such days our only joy was because we escaped tuition. Our pain and anger came after the rain, where we had to clean out the damage and the rubbish it gathered to our school compound.

If one was not lucky enough to catch cold or anything worse, then the hospital would be an unfortunate choice to make. Our only health centre was in no condition better than our school. It was virtually in a much sickening mood and shape than the sick person been brought there. All the young and energetic doctors and nurses had in one way or the other found their ways out of town, leaving only the much older nurses. These nurses left there are simply tired and impatient, with foul and bitter tempers and they cant be blamed. They work when they want to, since there are paid after constant delays. A sick person taken to this health centre usually comes back sicker and in a worse condition. To this effect many residents sort to the use of herbs to treat common ailments which doesnt always work since one does not know what exactly may be the problem with him or her. In serious cases like that the only option will be to convey the sick person to the nearest town for treatment and most people do not make it through the journey and arrive dead and cold. The roads are in deadly shape, with pot holes the size and width of dug out trenches. Drivers could easily burst a tyre in just one drive into a pot hole. A journey which will usually take 15mins all other things being equal, now takes between 45 to 1hour and that is only if one gets access to a lorry. The poor nature of the roads has seen most of the commercial drivers flee to the cities to work.

These politicians only visit my town when they need votes, and once they win its goodbye to Blengo until years after. Blengo has been promised heaven and earth, but only in words. Not an act of construction has been attempted here, and this time blengo is not going down without a fight; I hear that on the radio a lot. On the streets is no different! They say no school, no vote. They chant no clinic, no vote. We are tired, is the cry of every man on the street and what of the children? Our faces remain long and disappointed with little hope of what the future spells for us. I was only 14, but I could sense the pressure in the atmosphere. They spoke about the election as though a bomb was about to go off. They talked about the poisonous rivalry between the ruling government and the opposition and though I did not understand much I could feel the mounting up of pressure with each passing day. I was scared of what could happen since we had been told horrible stories of conflicts and wars in school resulting from this same politics. I was not ready to lose everything I had to them. Not my dad who broke his back as a mason to put bread on our table, or my mum who on a normal and happy day would gather us around and tell us tales of the great ananse and her life stories as a child. My brother and I loved to sit outside at night and listen to frogs croak loudly as though it was to signal the end of the world.

We seldom went to church, because dad saw it as a waste of day which could fetch him so extra money. When my mother finally succeeds in dragging him to church, he wouldnt cease to complain about how long the sermon was and how the preacher constantly looked at him whiles preaching. Dad was also a great disciplinarian. He never spared the rod lest he spoils his child. I think that remained the only words from the bible he took seriously. My brother and I constantly had to deal with his foul temper and whenever we heard dad calling, it was only one word that raced as lightening into our heads; doom! Dads call meant correction time, and left us in a panic especially when you are fully aware of your crime. He would whip us and after put on this evil grin on his face, signifying a job well done! We always consoled ourselves with four wordsjust some more years! In hope and dream of liberation and freedom from dads bondage and claws.

Chapter Three (Adulthood)