"...and they left with hope they would find a better place" my ma finished as she soothed the hair of Danla. When the two pairs of eyes closed, Ma gently raised her hand up from Danla's black curled hair and gave each of the children a small peck on the cheek. I watched her from the doorway. She was tucking both of the children into the cloth while swatting the mosquitoes which were luring to the flame of the melting candle. Ma then stood up and blew the already half melted candle with a gentle breeze. Giving a final glance at Danla and Kanko she made her way on the sandy floor until she noticed me in my sky blue nightgown and my head resting on the wooden door frame, boiling because of the temperature.
"Loyata, darling, you should be getting to bed" Ma mentioned in a caring voice. When saying this I feel ashamed for some reason and I look down at my feet where my toes are buried in sand.
"I can't sleep, It's too hot" I mumbled. Ma walked towards me and stood in front of me. She then lifted my chin with her weak, rough and wrinkled hands.
"Oh Loyata, your just like your mother" she reminded with a smile while she glared at me with her coal black eyes. Her statement may have sounded strange to anyone. There is something everyone has to understand: just because I call Anitja 'ma' she isn't my mother, she isn't even Danla's or Kanko's mother, but our grandmother. For all she has done for us calling her our grandmother wasn't enough because not only she is our grandmother but our only hope to survival.
Way back when I was only six years old I lived with both of my siblings, my mother, my father and my grandmother. Danla was already two years of age and my mother was pregnant with Kanko. It always seemed that we were a happy family, but after what happened I realised I was wrong. The day that Kanko was born, everyone was celebrating the birth of Kanko. The whole day people congratulated our family and until the morning after everything was normal. When the morning arrived I woke up to the sound of the newly born baby, that wasn't even named. I got up from my bed and approached mother's and father's bedroom and there was my grandmother trying to calm down the screeching baby. It was as if someone was writing on a black board with a chalk making a piercing sound.
"Where is mother?" I asked in a solemn voice, predicting that my father was already at work. That question I regret asking all my life! My grandmother didn't tell me what had happened at first, but lied saying my parents had went on a trip. After a year of my parents being on a trip I obviously got suspicious. I started confronting my grandmother and started blaming her that my mum and dad aren't coming back, until the most dreadful day of my life approached. The voice of my Ma telling me that my parents somehow ran away from us, their children, made me fill neglected and useless. After Ma spoke I felt a huge pain in my chest as if someone had just dug a spear through my heart, and started to cry a long river that seemed to be eternal. Just when I was at breaking point Ma explained that no one knew why this cruel deed had been comitted, for some reason this made me feel better, knowing that there was a possibility they didn't run away from their children.
From that day forward my life goal was to find out why they went missing, but no such luck. Gone without a trace. No clues left behind. I was determined to find something that would lead to my parents' disappearance. Nothing. After years of trying I gave up from the search, thought it was useless. I was right. I had to move on, it was the only option.
