Published via Ecency

The sound of boots echoed in the dusty village square as dusk fell like a shroud. Ajayi's worst fear had become a reality. With his heart in his mouth, he watched the soldiers, who lined the trucks, bark orders in a language half the villagers couldn’t even understand. In his trembling hands, he clutched a slip of paper, a conscription notice. A one-way ticket to war.

Sixteen-year-old Ajayi stared at it hard and long.

He didn’t understand most of the words. All he knew was that it had his name and the army’s seal. And at the bottom was written, one terrifying sentence;

“Report or be taken by force.”

His mother stood behind him, her thin arms wrapped around her only son, as if that could stop the soldiers from taking him. Her face had aged in hours, lines carved by fear and helplessness.

“Maybe if we hide you in that dry pit behind the goat pen, you would be safe..…” she whispered.

“They will burn everything Iya, like they did in Oshogbo." Ajayi said, voice quiet.

His heart broke as his nine-year-old little sister, Bosede, clung to his leg.

“Don’t go, I promise I'll be good. I won’t fight in the market again and I won't be rude to you again, I swear.” She pleaded, her tear-streaked face upturned.

Ajayi knelt and gathered her in his arms, hiding his own tears. He felt his heart wrenched from his chest.

“I have to go, please or they’ll take Iya too.”

Then the horn blared. The final call. An officer, with a jagged mark on his face, shouted out names and as his' was mentioned, Ajayi hugged his mother, swallowing his tears. War had no room for them.

“Take this,” she said sadly, pressing something into his palm.

It was a small locket, tied with a strip of cloth. It had belonged to his late father and his mother had kept it all these years.

“For luck,” she said in between sobs. “For coming back.”

He couldn’t speak. He just nodded and climbed aboard. As the truck pulled away, he could still hear the wailing of Iya and Bosede. He felt dead inside, even before he had gone to battle

A year later....

The heavy silence in the forest stifled Ajayi. The birds had learned not to sing in the face of such devastation. Even they, understood. He crouched low in the mud, clutching his rusted rifle. His uniform hung loose on his thin frame. He hadn’t eaten food in days and he was slowly slipping away. His unit had been ambushed — almost all were gone, the handful left, scattered.

One thing kept him going. Home. Thoughts of yam porridge, his favourite meal. Of Bosede's laughter. Of Iya's songs.

In his pocket, he could still feel the locket, his good luck charm. 'For coming back' charm.

A twig snapped. Ajayi froze.

He recognized the voices approaching, they were not Nigerian, they were the enemies.

He held his breath and ran.

Gunfire erupted after him. Tree branches tore at his face. Thorns ripped through his sleeves. Bullets tore through the trees.

He didn’t stop. He didn't look back. Not until he fell into a ditch.

Bones broken.

Blood trickling from his side. But he was not dead, he was alive.

Two years later…

The war ended, just like that. There was a sudden silence after years of noise, of guns and bombs. Ajayi was among the lucky few to return.

When he walked into his village with nothing but a limp and a small bag, he had become a soldier. Now nineteen, with eyes that had seen bloodshed to last them a lifetime.

Their house… it was gone. Burnt to the ground.

Bosede… gone. Died from an unknown disease the year before, the neighbours said.

Ajayi dropped to his knees..... And wept.

And his mother?

"She fled to a refugee camp in Ogbomosho.”

So he walked. For many days.

Finally, in a dusty camp hidden in the fields, he saw her.

Iya.

Grief etched deeply, in the lines on her face.

She stared as if he were a ghost.

“Ajayi?” she whispered.

He nodded.