Fireflies

Sunset had only just arrived when the smoke rose into the sky. The grey and red mixed together in a dance, attempting to destroy the other before night closed in and snuffed out the loser.

Never do I remember a time when mother was so terrified of the night. Amadi, Cayman, and I could not sleep, for the sound of her pacing seemed to echo through our small home until she would stop at the door and stare out into the night.

Cayman, who was eleven at the time, told Amadi and I not to worry about our mama. "There was only a bit of smoke in the sky." He told us, "If anything, it was only a gathering that got a bit out of hand." My brother then placed our beds next to each other before telling us, "Go to sleep now. I've got work to do tomorrow."

I could tell that Amadi believed his words, since she was only four and very naïve about the ways of the world, but I wasn't. I knew that there was something Mama wasn't telling us about that smoke.

Mama only ever paced when she was lying or nervous. It's what happened every night for the first three months after father disappeared, stopping only after a solider appeared at our door.

Cayman didn't let me listen, telling me that it wasn't our business, but I think I knew what happened already. Our papa wasn't ever coming back. He was gone.

It wasn't that much of a surprise. I had begun to question his return after the first week. Cayman had held out for a month. Amadi didn't even have a memory of papa so she didn't know that he was gone.

The time that followed was one of great sorrow. Mama cried every night, praying, begging, someone to bring him back to us. But papa never came back. We were forced to get on with our lives, with Cayman as the new man of the house.

Everything was alright for a few years, but during that time, war settled into our land.

Mothers and fathers spoke in whispered tones, glancing around every so often, as if to make sure they were not being overheard. Cayman heard them though. He told me about how the nearby villages had been attacked and destroyed one by one.

Once mama heard him telling Amadi and I the stories. I think it terrified Cayman that she wasn't even mad. She only brought us all in close to her heart and told said, "Listen to me children. If those men ever come here, you must not be found. I have heard the gossip. Some of them are traitors from our own villages. Do not let them catch you."

I didn't know what that meant then, but four days after the smoke and fire danced with the copper sun, we knew that our home would be the next to be choked by the night.

They came for us at sunset too. There was first the sound of planes in the distance, followed by the shouting.

Mama had come bursting into our bedroom, distress visibly displayed across her face. "Come along Afia," she told me, her voice shaking as she picked up Amadi, "We must leave now before they reach us."

I was hesitant, for I had not seen my brother since that morning, "Mama what about Cayman?" I asked, confused, "Is he not coming too?"

She didn't answer me besides a shake of her head, but I knew something bad must have happened by the way her shoulders slumped inwards dejectedly.  My mama was a strong woman, even after my papa disappeared, and it hurt to see her looking so much like one of the worn out dolls she often fixed up for Amadi and I.

When we stepped into the doorway, I stopped in shock. Outside was complete and utter chaos.

There were people running every which way, and I saw a few of the women mama talks to being dragged away, screaming, by their hair.