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May 10th, 1965

James
Trials and Truths

The camp was alive with the clamor of training, a symphony of metal clashing and harsh commands. I had been immersed in this relentless routine for a week now, each day a battle against my own limits. Today, I felt the crushing weight of two rocks strapped to my shoulders. My legs protested with every step, each muscle aching in protest as I stumbled through the demanding course.

With every stride, the rocks dug deeper into my flesh, the raw edges leaving angry red marks on my skin. My breath came in labored gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the pressure. I forced myself to keep moving, the voice of Aike echoing in my ears like a relentless metronome, pushing me to endure.

"Faster! C'mon, faster," he said, with a clap of his hands.

The relentless pounding of my feet against the ground was the only sound that accompanied me. My vision blurred as I fought to stay upright, the weight of the rocks threatening to pull me down. Just when I thought I couldn't take another step, I was ordered to crawl. The rough terrain scraped against my skin, each movement a painful reminder of my exhaustion. I gritted my teeth, focusing on the small, incremental progress I was making. Then I saw Sheba, practicing her machete combats with two soldiers, beating them effortlessly. I watched her briefly charge one of them to the ground and hit him with the back of her elbow. Her thick braids sitting on her head like a crown.

"Hey, focus!" Aike shouted, stepping on my right hand, the previously injured one. I glared at him, my eyes showing pure seething hate. What was wrong with this man, making my life a living hell? He seemed watching me closely, yet I wondered if it was because I was a foreigner or because Sheba wanted to help me. Did he feel that I was a threat to her and their village?

Hours later, as I lay on the ground, trying to catch my breath, Aike approached me with a machete in hand. His eyes held a mixture of challenge and curiosity. "Let's see how you handle this," he said, thrusting the weapon towards me.

I took the machete, feeling its weight shift in my grip. The blade glinted in the afternoon light, and I focused on the task. With a series of swift, practiced movements, I demonstrated my skill on the mannequin, cutting the head off in one take, and then splitting it in two pieces. I looked at Sheba, and although she gave no visible reaction, I knew she was proud. Her technique worked and made me better.

"Try another!" Aike ordered, and then I moved on to the next mannequin. His eyes widened in surprise as I executed a series of precise cuts and swings. For a moment, the grueling training faded into the background, replaced by the sharp focus required to master the weapon. But Aike's initial surprise quickly turned into irritation. "Sheba, come here."

Sheba came, hesitant and somewhat weary. "Fight James," he commanded, his frustration evident. The command was not just a challenge—it was a demand for a spectacle. "I need you two in combat."

Sheba's eyes met mine across the training field. There was a brief, unspoken exchange between us, a silent agreement that neither of us wanted to escalate the conflict. We moved towards each other, our motions cautious and measured. The desire to avoid causing harm was clear in our every move, our blades barely grazing each other. The soldiers gawked at each other and then back at Aike, making him even more heated at his failed strategy.

"Enough of this charade!" he roared. Without warning, he launched a direct attack toward me, his posture letting Sheba know to set herself aside. The blade sliced through the air, and I felt the sharp sting as it cut into my side. I staggered, the sudden pain overwhelming, but Aike didn't stop. He pressed on, his attacks relentless and more aggressive. I tried to study his movements, yet they were too fast to catch up. Each time his blade went up in the air, I saw death waving at me. The tightness in my gut threatened me to give in. I blocked one of his hits, then the machete cut through my arm.