Celebrating East African Writing!
Zawadi woke up in the morning feeling empty, tired and confused. The site of her aunt screaming and pleading with City Council askaris not to take her away was still clear in her mind. She could hear the cries of the other children left behind by their mothers running after the askaris running away with their wares and hurling them onto the rugged pickup van. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. Tears rolled down her eyes. She looked around the tin hut she shared with her aunt and realized that she had gone to bed without locking the door. Or had she? She could not remember anymore. She did not know where to begin. For most of the night she had sat on the floor in a corner in the room,cold hungry and scared. She kept hoping that the door would open and her aunt would walk into the room. She never did.
She struggled out of bed and walked gingerly to the window. When she opened it, she knew it must have been around seven o’ clock. The milk vendor was winding up and closing his kiosk. Usually by the time the mothers had sent their children to school,he had sold out his milk stock for the day. Scared at the thought of what may have happened to her aunt,Zawadi began to tremble. Her feet could hardly support her so she sat down on the floor again. She thought of screaming but fear overcame her. At that moment she remembered what her aunt did every night before they went to bed and every morning when they woke up. She knelt down and said a prayer,thanking God for their life and whatever they had. She asked God to take care of her aunt and bring her back safely. Then she felt better, got up,wore her school uniform,pulled out her school bag from under the bed,locked the door and walked to school.
Eliphas Nyamogo, Writer with Amka