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“Wake up! Hurry up! This is our chance to leave,” she said as she shook me roughly.

I woke up and rubbed my eyes. I could hear the sounds of gunshots and horrible screams of children coming from outside.

“What’s going on?” I panicked.

“I don’t know. It seems another group attacked our camp. We have to run away from here if we want to see another dawn. Get up!” she said quickly and rushed to wake the other children in the small room.

“But where do we run to?” I asked her i quickly changed into the only good clothes I could boast of, an old blouse with patches and a faded black skirt. I fixed my veil on my head and rushed to her side. The other kids were now wide awake. She grabbed my hand and that of another girl called Chika.

“Listen very carefully, this is a matter of life and death. We have to run like we have never ran before. Even if we get separated while running, don’t stop. On the count of three-”

We didn’t wait for her to finish counting because we heard a loud explosion and we all ran out in different direction. She was holding my hands tightly as we ran towards the entrance of the compound. We ran in a zigzag way in order to avoid stray bullets.

Outside was a gory sight. We even stepped on blood and guts of people on the floor. As we rushed past a corridor, we saw Jaja, the camp cook, drenched in his own blood. His hands were trying to stop blood coming from his neck. He was barely alive.

I turned to search for Chika but she was no where to be found.

“Chika! Where is she? You were holding her before, right?” I asked her as we ran.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Just run! Keep running!” she said in pain as she dragged me along.
I began to cry and recite Al-Fatiha(a chapter of The Holy Quran) silently.

“Stop crying! Run faster!” she shouted at me as we ran out of the compound.
We ran and ran until we could not hear those horrible sounds again. We fell on the ground and…

“Omaaaaaaaaa!”

I jolted up from my sleep and looked around the room. Oh! Another nightmare!
I was drenched in sweat and was panting heavily. I don’t think I will ever be free from that night. That night when I watched Lulu, my friend, die in my arms.

We were both thirteen years of age when we met at the camp. That camp was for kidnapped children. They were kept there until the females were sold as prostitutes to brothels and the boys were sold as house helps to neighbouring countries so that we do not have the chance of meeting any of our family again.

I was kidnapped after I started living in the orphanage where my mother dumped me at the age of twelve.
Strange right? I stayed in the orphanage for a year. I was kidnapped that day on my way to the market to buy pineapples for Mother Hannah(She was the owner of the orphanage). Perhaps if I had not offered to help her, I would not be in this situation now.

Lulu had told me that she was kidnapped on her way from school. When we met at the camp, we immediately became friends. She became my sister and my mother. She was my only source of happiness during the one month I stayed in the camp.

Children were sold in batches in the camp. Lulu and I were in the same and would have been sold into prostitution the following week had we not escaped.
I watched as life slipped out if lulu as sge breathed her last breath. She was lying in my arms, a smile on her lips.

“Make it to Jannah, so that we could be together forever,” were her last words as she died. She had been shot on her stomach as we ran for our dear life. She was just holding on to the last bits of life so she could see me to safety. Oh my Lulu!

“Omaaaaa! I will not call your name again. The next thing I will use to remind you will be the back of my slippers.”

I quickly sprang up from my mat as if an ant bit me. I folded the mat and kept it in a corner of the poorly lit room with just one small window. Soft snores drew my attention and I stole a quick glance at my foster brothers and sister. We were four in number.

I went out of the room to the toilet at the corner of the compound that the children used. It was hardly a toilet. It was a shack with a pit latrine that stank more than death. I pinched my nose and went in. After I relieved myself, I came out and spat the saliva I was trying so hard not to swallow. I went to the back yard and performed ablution.

After performing my Fajr prayer(Early morning prayer performed by Muslims), I changed into a faded brown gown and combed my natural wave of soft, long and curly hair. I put it in a single braid and fixed my veil in my head.

I am the product of a Nigerian father and an Egyptian mother. I was tall, had pale skin, oval face, a long straight nose and beautiful grey eyes. My father used to tell me that I took my mother’s skin colour, oval face, hair and grey eyes while I took his slightly plumb lips, height and straight nose. To sum it all, I was beauty and beauty was me. But beauty sometimes comes with problems. It was my outstanding beauty that caught the eyes of the kidnappers because they thought someone like me would be good market for them.

I entered the main house and went into the living room. The other children and I live in the boys quarter. She was sitting in her favourite cane chair with cushions on it. I moved closer to her, with fear radiating from my body, knelt before her and greeted, “Assalamalaykum(Peace be upon you), mama.”

“Walaykumsalam! Have you finished dreaming? Oma, let me tell you, if you don’t finish making breakfast before seven this morning, you will not like what I will do to you,” she spoke without blinking.

Ya Allah(My dear God)! I don’t even want to know what she can do. If Shaytan(Satan) was in search of a wife, Mama Fatoumata was the perfect candidate for the post. She was our foster mother and the mother of only one child, Tolani, who was currently in a boy’s college in Kano state.
Mama Fatoumata was the definition of a ruthless woman. She could beat a child from dawn till dusk without breaking a sweat.

“I hope you remember the last beating I gave you?” she asked.

“Yes, mama,” I replied her. I remembered that beating very well. It is imprinted in my memory and still very fresh. I forgot to add pepper to the soup I made last week and she beat me with her koboko(a kind of rope made from leather), after which she told me to kneel outside under the hot Northern scorching sun. That day I cried and begged her to let me in but she didn’t until it was night time.

“Good! So I suggest you hurry up and make akara(fried beans cake) and kunu(pap) for breakfast. Where are the remaining children? All you children do everytime is sleep. Wretched children!”

I left her presence and hurried into the kitchen. I really don’t want to be beaten today.
Mama Fatoumata was a Fulani woman in her early thirties. She has fine aquiline facial features. She has long dark hair which is usually braided that hang from either sides of her head. She likes to wear large, gold earrings known as kootone kange and heavy silver rings and bangles. Indeed, she is a very attractive woman. Today, she was wearing a yellow abaya(long flowing gown) and black veil. Her wrists were adorned with bracelets and her feets were covered with leather slippers.

The other children and I do not underestimate that slippers. The soles of it are as hard as rock. Anytime Mama Fatoumata left eye twitches, it means she wants to use the slippers on us. So with time, we have learnt to stay far away from her anytime we wronged her.

I made breakfast on time and served some to her. Then I packed some for her husband, our foster father, Mr Adetola who everyone normally call Papa Tolani.
Papa Tolani was a better version of his wife in terms of wickedness. I can’t even describe him. Just imagine the most cruel thing a person can do. Put Papa Tolani in that picture and you have a definition of wickedness.

By the time I was done, my foster brothers and sister were awake and going about their daily chores.
There was Usama and Fahad who were the same age with me while there was Saba who was a year younger than us.
I was fifteen.

“Saba!” mama called.

“I am coming,” Saba answered.

“Tell Usama to prepare and come to the shop. I will be going to the market and he is to watch the shop,” mama told her as she looked for her handbag.

“Yes, mama,” Saba said.

“Oma!”

“Mama, I am here,” I said as I rushed ti meet her.

“The rest of you should prepare and go to the factory right now. Your Papa must be hungry. I am going. Lock this house before you leave. If you forget! If you forget! Let me not say what I will do to you,” she said and left the house.

“At last the witch has left,” Usama commented.

“Usama! Shhh!” I cautioned.

“What! Let her hear me. She is a witch,” he said and started dusting the chairs.

“Usama! I know you’re a champion but be careful. Mama is very wicked o. If she catches you, okay, I won’t talk again,” Saba said and Usama sent her a glare.

“What can mama do that she has not done to us? We are immune to her punishments,” Fahad said as he beat his chest proudly.

“That is what you said before she applied salt to your injury because you forgot to warm the beans which caused it to sour. Your eyes were so red as you cried throughout the night,” Saba taunted him.

“Then you kept quiet after Papa threatened to throw you out so you could sleep outside in the cold, harmattan night,” I added and we all burst into laughter except Fahad. He glared at us playfully but joined in the laughter.

“Remember we have to leave by eight this morning and this is already past seven. I do not want to crawl in the gravel in papa’s factory. Lets hurry up!” Usama said and we quickly prepared to leave.

Usama and Fahad had been with our foster parents far longer than Saba and I. They had stayed with them for five years while I had stayed here for two years. Saba came last year.
Usama had told me that Mama knew his family back in kano and she offered to bring him here in Sokoto and put him in school. When they arrived here, Papa said he would work in his shoe factory instead of going to school. Usama did not return to Kano because his family was so poor that there could hardly afford three square meals. So he decided to stay back in Sokoto and work for Papa. With no pay. In papa’s own words, the pay was free food and a bed to sleep at night. What a wicked man.

As for Fahad, Papa saw him in the market place where he carried load for people. Papa asked him to follow him so he could work for him and he agreed.

Saba is an orphan and mama brought her from the her sister’s place. Saba was brought to be an house help in the house.How can a fourteen year old girl become an house help?
What cruelty!


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