Midnight Echoes (ONLY PREVIEW)

Chapter 56

"Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven."
~Henry Ward Beecher

--
Here he was again, Suraj; in the Teachers Village IDP Camp in the heart of Borno state. He'd been here countless times, since they started discussions about IDP charity reach-outs. But it was a different type of feeling every single time he came. Every single time.

This time, today, more than the feeling of sympathy, more than the feeling of utter mortification, Suraj felt a certain anger rising to his chest. It was a sharp feeling he literally felt his chest heave in an inward and outward motion. His throat felt dry, more from the rising anger than from the fasting in his mouth.

This anger, it clouded his feeling of sympathy. Because heck, how the hell did this seem so normal, condonable. How dare a handful number of people invade people's homes and kill them. Rape them. Abduct them. Displace them!

Reflexively, his eyes travelled to the many groups of children, as they played under the light drizzle. Boys, carefree, in worn-out clothes played with a toy car that was made from cartons and sticks. They'd attached a thin rope to the toy car, and while they'd gone a little distance, a tyre came off. The boys laughed. Stopped to fix it.

Suraj closed his eyes, looked away. It was so unfair. How they had to ecperience a childhood like this, in a place like this. So so unfair.

Accross, people moved about with their routines, unfazed. A girl with hair the colour of ripe mango packed off worn clothes from the line outside, as she shield herself from the light drizzle. An old man sat by a tent, brushing his teeth with a miswaq.

"There are almost three thousand IDPs here and counting," their agent, Bukar, was saying. Suraj recorded that on an iPad. "Usually, donations come more during Ramadan. From private persons and organizations. But it's hardly enough. Most of these children are forced to fast even though they are not of age."

Again, Suraj was forced to look back at the boys. He recalled how, in childhood, he would insist on fasting during Ramadan, and would always come back home with the food his mother packed, untouched. How ironical, that the children here were forced to fast.

They moved ahead and the girl with the yellow hair shyly waved at Bukar and walked past.

"That is Falmata," Bukar said. "We gave her one thousand naira to start a trade and she was able to make five hundred naira profit in one week. I will email you the list of all others whom we've given a capital to start a trade."

"Right. What percent of the fund was allocated to empowerment?"

"Thirty percent." Bukar said. Suraj nodded and recorded it.

They walked by a tent, at the entrance of which sat a lone woman, with eyes that stared into nothingness. Suraj saw how Bukar walked to her and squatted at her front, such that his knees and the woman's almost touch.

"Greetings of peace, Bāna," he greeted the woman who nodded. "Glad tidings for your patience and prayers. Your Lord is aware of the cries of your heart. And He'll grant you relief." The woman nodded again and Bukar stood up. Walked further.

"Poor woman," Bukar shook his head.

"Whatever happened to her?"

"That's Bāna, she's from Baga. She lost her three-year old while on the run. When she came here newly, she was unconsolable. She was a mother of two- a newborn and the toddler. So when boko haram attacked them, she had to run with the kids. But it was too difficult to run with two kids at the same time and so she let go of the toddler. She said 'I felt his fingers slip off mine but I had to leave him behind, hoping that someone might just pick him. I couldn't hold them both. I turned to look at my child one last time. He was crying and calling unto me, stretching forth his arms. That image has never left me eversince.' "