To Know A Soul Longer

This is a Poetry/Prose/Story about Ugandan child soldiers

To Know a Soul Longer

 

It seems death is beguiled

At the sight of a child

 Who has seen so much death that

 The child’s spirit has become

 Pained and bereft

And apathy has become nursemaid

as his memory of love fades

 So ,now, the child no longer knows how to cry

Because As a child soldier

he’s seen so many people die.

And he’s killed, albeit against his will,

But should we forget it

He’s a lost child

 still

 

At ten years of age Ojore wonders what it is to wake up free. The last time he had peaceful nights sleep may have been when he was in his mothers’ womb. But, he doubts that. Since, she was probably killed before he was out of the womb long. He does not know his mother. He only knows her name; Namono. He just knows she existed. He does not remember loving her, only loving her memory.

 

So, now rebels have given Ojore his family history. They have forced him to have the violent and tenuous one he has. He’s Ugandan by birth, soldier by force and he believes “forgotten by God”. He asks himself often: does God see what maniacs force children to do here? It is a passing question that he really doesn’t have time to ponder for long. For children have no time for such things here.  At least children from northern Uganda don’t. Here, children only have time for war. These are the new faces of war and its warrior’s. Childhood is hoped for not expected here.

 

The last time Ojore saw another child he was forced to kill them with a stick or die himself. The words soldier, killer, and survivor blend uneasily into the faces of eight to ten year olds here. Those who should be entrusted to guard childhood and innocence, instead, destroy its memory. They keep their own unholy memories going. So, we will remember them as murderers. Children do not play games or eat often here. Food is for the lucky and children are often unlucky here. Blood runs more freely than water here. And play, well, that is for those who ask death to their door. And death always wants to play. And death has many names it answers to here; cholera, malaria, malnutrition and H.I.V. It’s always knocking and looking for playmates.

 

 But, Ojore, he does not feel like playing today. He does not feel like answering the door. So, today Ojore will decline death. So, he rises quickly. He rises to do what no child should ever be asked to do. He rises to take the place of men on a battle-field that they created. It’s a battlefield they’ve asked him and other children to maintain.

 

Damn them and their war!

 

So, as Ojore begins his forced patrol he still finds time to ask a few questions of the world. Like: What it is to be a child and not have to kill to stay alive? What is a family? What is love? Will I get to grow old? And how much longer do I have to live as a child soldier? Is that enough time on earth to know my soul?

 

It seems death is beguiled

At the sight of a child

 Who has seen so much death that

 The child’s spirit has become

 Pained and bereft

And apathy has become nursemaid

as his memory of love fades

 So ,now, the child no longer knows how to cry

Because As a child soldier

 he’s seen so many people die.

And he’s killed, albeit against his will,

But should we forget it

He’s a lost child

 

 Still