A Home Away From Home in The East

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“Here! Take my hand. Remember what I told you. Be good and stay quiet. Until we meet again.” Nugo picked up her pace as the truck’s engine kicked. “Ameer! Take good care of Harun.” Her eyes rested on Suri. “My brave girl. Stay strong.” Her voice was now competing with the heart-wrenching cries of children.

“Mama! Mama!” The three children clutched her hands firmly like they would never let go. As the truck fired on, their grip began to loosen and they could barely touch the tip of her fingers. Nugo surrendered and fell to the ground alongside other wailing mothers. They watched as the truck full of little terrified children drove off.

Nugo clasped her hands to her bosom and began humming her children’s names. The women beside her began humming too and soon, it became a tribe of shattered women seated on the ground chanting the names of their beloved children. Like a collective spirit, they all felt a little sense of hope simmer through the heaviness in their hearts.

The year was 2010 and the rebel group terrorizing northeastern Nigeria had encroached into the heart of Zoran. Many were unsure of the motive of this cruel insurgency. Perhaps politically motivated to take control of the largest geopolitical zone of the country. However, one thing was for sure. They were merciless and Zoran was no longer a safe place to raise children.

Across the nation, sympathizers had come together to form a Relief organization. This system was designed to take in children and foster them until then Northeast was stable enough to take them home.

Nugo’s children had joined the first batch of children to leave for the Eastern part of the country. The Zoran women were not particularly pleased with this arrangement. They had heard unspeakable things about the East. “They are mean to kids. The naughty ones get punished or have their tongues cut.” They had been told. However, any choice other than their current state of daily killings and bloodbaths was better.

The ride to the East was a very long, cold, and, scary one. The children huddled close to each other covered in skimpy blankets and mostly praying through the ride. They occasionally flinched at darting sounds and hisses whenever the truck slowed down at military checkpoints. They soon grew accustomed to the sharp flashlights on their pitiful faces and backpacks whenever the soldiers did a routine check. At dawn, they arrived on the outskirts of the Eastern town of Udu and were greeted by the humid air that soothed their dry skin and cracked lips.

No soldiers were patrolling with guns and no distant rumbling and gunshots. People were about their daily lives freely. The evergreen and serene vegetation made the children ease up a little bit but they soon recoiled into their covers when they felt the stares of onlookers all over them. “Poor things,” they had said. Minutes later, three sets of siblings had already been dropped off with new families. A couple of moments later, the truck slowed in front of a decent flat with a small garden in front of it.

A middle-aged tall woman with firm eyes and hands came out to greet the soldiers. They handed her some papers and let Ameer, Suri, and Harun out of the truck.

“Children? This way.” She gestured to her front door. Her voice was even firmer than her gaze and the kids could barely look at her. Harun clung to Suri and slowly, they tiptoed into the house.

Ameer took in the scent of freshly baked buns. A strange kind of music played from the television and the old furniture in the living room was clean and neatly arranged.

“I'm Agnes and you must be Ameer 10, Suri 8, and Harun 5.” Agnes paused as if waiting for a response. The children just stared at their feet. “The first room on the left is yours and the bathroom is down the hall. There are clean clothes in the closet. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.” She continued as she walked back to her kitchen.

Moments later, Agnes had set the table. “Go on now. You must be hungry.” She took off her apron and went in to change. When Agnes returned, she found the children gazing at their plates untouched.

“Oh Agnes, what were you thinking? You are a retired soldier and you know nothing about kids.” She smacked her head and sighed. Ameer and Suri exchanged dreadful glances.

“Do you need me to feed you now? Is that it? Well, don't you even talk?”

Little Harun reached for a bun but Suri hit it off his hand.

“Hmmh.” Agnes picked up a bun. She looked at them suspiciously before taking two full bites. She made loud savoring sounds and peeked at them.

Immediately, the children devoured their plates like a set of hungry little cubs. Agnes watched them and a faint smile escaped her lips.

Days passed and Agnes noticed how terrified they were around her. They were mostly glued to each other, answering questions by nodding and flinching around her as though they expected something horrible to happen.

One night, Agnes, feeling thirsty, had gone to the kitchen for a glass of water. On her way back, she heard muffled giggles and laughter. She drew closer to the children's room and slowly pushed the door enough to see through. The children were too busy performing to notice the door slightly Ajar.

Ameer wore a crooked glass upside down. He held a long wooden spoon and pretended to be scolding invisible children. Suri wore an oversized apron and pressed her lips together. She was pacing up and down like Agnes did whenever she kneaded dough in the kitchen. Harun was just prancing up and down the room in Agnes' old shoes and Jewelry.

Agnes watched in shock and amusement as the children came alive in their little world. They weren't trembling or fidgeting like they always appeared around her. They were simply kids who just wanted to live out their childhood.

“So when the cat’s away, the mice will play eh?” Agnes whispered. She stood watching the kids for a couple of more minutes before she retreated to her bedroom.

The next morning, the children were tiptoeing to the living room when they stopped in their tracks. Agnes was seated on the dining table waiting patiently for them. She had one of their little hats perched on her head, a tape on her lips, and a small blanket around her like a cape. She held out a paper that read, “I’m the silent one today, no words shall escape my lips.”

Ameer and Suri looked at each other and a long moment of silence followed. Before Ameer could stop himself, he let out a startled giggle. Suri gasped and Harun covered his mouth.

“You-you look so funny,” Ameer stuttered.

“Huh? Are my ears deceiving me or did someone just speak?” Agnes’ eyes popped.

“You-you don't cut children's tongues here?” Ameer stuttered again.

“What?” Agnes walked to Harun and bent, pulling him closer. She gestured for the older children and embraced them. “Who has been filling your heads with such nonsense?” Her voice was no longer firm. Just weak and reassuring.

Agnes held the children until she felt the stiffness seep away. From that day, the silence began to unravel one sentence at a time. From questions like, “Can I have more bread?” to praises like, “It is the best I ever had,” the children warmed Agnes’ heart.

Soon, laughter, teasing and jokes filled the hallways and the children’s voices were now weaving into the aura of the house. The East, the once dreadful unknown, had now become a place the children could call home again.