Series, Societal, Stories, The Single Story

The Single Story: My Name is Asad

I am excited. But I am sad too. I am excited and sad.

Today, Mama, Amina, Ayana and I make the journey out of this place. Amina and Ayana are my sisters. Amina is six and Ayana is three. I like Ayana more than I like Amina. Amina doesn’t respect me but Ayanna does. Like her name says, she is my Beautiful Blossom.

I am sad because the meaning of this is that Papa is not coming back. He left seven days ago to go to the capital to try and get some food for Ayana and the rest of us. We ran out of cornmeal and we couldn’t get more because there is no more food in this place. Many people have long since made the three day trek to the capital to try and get some. Those that still have some money have bought passage. But mama refused to let Papa go. We hear that the fighting there is really serious. When the food stopped coming into our village, we were lucky because we still had some and so Mama rationed it. When we started running out, she begged and pleaded with papa not to go. She did not want him to die in Mogadishu. She said that the government would resolve the issues and the fighting would stop before we totally ran out. Me, I was torn. I did not want Papa to go, but he is a man; we men have to be strong and provide for our family. Even when we ran out of food completely, mama still did not let him go. And then Ayana stopped moving. Papa left the next day.

Its seven days now and he has not returned. Last night, I was able to convince mama that if we stay here, we will die. You see, I have to be the man now and take care of them. Papa is gone. I want to cry but I will not. I cannot. I am a man. I convinced mama that we should go to Kenya. It is a bit far but I know some of our neighbors that have gone. I don’t know if they have reached but it is better than staying here. Our only other option to get food is to go to the capital but the fighting there is too much. I can fight and protect myself but I cannot protect the rest of my family because I have no weapon.

So today, we leave for Kenya. I will take the 300shillings and 37senti that I have been saving since my 9th birthday last year. It is not much at all. When Jamal left last month, he told me that his father had bought all of them passage with one hundred dollars. This is about thirty thousand shillings. But I will take along my bicycle and my football so that I can sell or exchange. We will start our journey on foot but if we see any vehicle, I will talk with the driver, man to man. Perhaps he will be kind.
Mama and Amina are weak but they can still walk. I will carry Ayana on my back. She still has not moved. Mama has tried to give her milk from her breasts but there is none. Every morning and evening, I put my face close to her nostrils so that I can feel her breath. This morning, I had to wait a while before I felt it. I was so afraid that she had left us.

I woke up very early this morning and decided to take a walk outside our village before we set out. I wanted to see if I could see anything on the ground or in any abandoned house that may be useful on our journey. It was as if the Gods smiled on us because after about 2hours, I have been able to gather 75shillings and a few items of clothing. This will definitely help us. As I make the long walk back, I am excited. Not even the rumbling of thunder can make me sad. I look up but the weather is not cloudy so I’m sure it will not rain. I have a feeling that things are about to get better for us. I begin humming to myself.

As I get nearer to our village, I see smoke rising. I do not understand this. Is someone cooking? Where did they get food from? I begin to walk faster. Before I know it, I am running. I enter the village and I cannot believe my eyes. It is not possible. I cannot stop running. I have to get to our house. I have to get Mama and my sisters out of there. I get to the front of our house and I stop. Our house is not where to used to be. Like the rest of the village, all I see in its place is fire and smoke and ash. Nothing else. It is then that I realize that the thunder was not thunder. I begin to look frantically around for mama and Ayana and Amina. I know they are hiding somewhere. But we have to leave for Kenya now if we want to make headway.

Mama! Amina!

Ayana!

I continue to search for them and shout their names but they will not come. Do they not know that we have to hurry?

Ayana!

And then I see it. Ironically, it lies beside the thing that the medicine man gave us. He said it would protect us in case the fighting came to our side. That was a long time ago and Papa paid a lot of shillings for it.
I walk towards it slowly. I pick it up. Not the thing but Ayana’s little hand. It is covered in dirt and blood but I know it is hers. It still has the little cloth that I tied around it when she turned three. I promised her that one day I would buy her real gold bracelets. She had laughed that day as if she understood what I was saying.

I look at the hand and touch her tiny fingers. I look up and see a clear spot a few feet from where I am standing. I walk to it and begin to dig the ground with my hands. When I bury her hand, I will look around for a part of Mama and Amina so that I can do the same for them. My chest is choked up and tears want to come. But I cannot cry. I am a man. Where will I go now? I cannot cry. What will I do? I will not cry.

My name is Asad. The Lion. I will not cry.

 

Big Focus: Recent uprisings in the Arab world and the ongoing fighting in Somalia

 

‘Dania: So that’s the first one. If you have a Single Story please send it to idamjane@gmail.com

I won’t ask any specific writers but I’d like to call out a few great writers I know who don’t write as often as they should:

Evi Parker (@UncleJevi) Perhaps its time to let the ink flow again?

Mr Sawyer (@MallamSawyerr) Stop being lazy!

@Qurr Let the thoughts out of your head…

‘Jibola Lawal (@JibolaL) A certain Pearl something might fit into this, no? That’s if you finally get around to finishing it *rme*

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, please read the intro here

26 thoughts on “The Single Story: My Name is Asad”

  1. He shud cry tho. God knows my heart bleeds for the thousands of people who live this story day in day out. There is far too much suffering in this place called earth… and sadly, the ‘privileged’ don’t do enough to help out.

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  2. Damn…this is a story mehn…shet!!!! Dania I was hoping you wouldn’t mention me…see the people you’re grouping me with…hian…I will try my best sha…good thing the series doesnt have a specified duration :D…
    Great stuff darling…good to have you back…hurray for Team Sad…Her Royal Majesty has returned…hehehehehehe

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  3. In order not to cry, I try to pretend dat dese tins dnt hapen. Talk of self deciet! But dats d only way I can maintain sanity. @kblewin, truth is “we” r d “privileged”, as long as we have food @our disposal. So wat r “we” doing 2help out? Its nt necesarily d wealthy n affluent, aii?

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    1. That was what i meant dear. everybody from the man who can afford three nice meals a day to Mr Gates is the ‘privileged’. problem is we all expect the next man to help the needy

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  4. And Shez bak with a bang.daz my gurl. Gud story n its so real asin I feel for the boi. Lukin 4wad 2d rest tho
    Do an oil story also nah :|

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  5. *real tears* Sigh….

    This is beautifully tragic. The part about the cloth bracelet on the disembodied hand created a lump in my throat, a huge lump that plainly refused to go away. :(

    Welcome back to Blogsville, Ada.

    P.S. I am honoured to be invited to write here. I hope I can send you my story in a couple of days.

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  6. We hear about wars, starvation and terrorism like everyday, and sadly, it’s become a cliche. Watching the news and seeing a brief documentry about hunger and famine in somali or djibouti doesnt move me as much as it should. It’s not until u hear individual stories that the true depth of thee people’s plight registers on u. U right so beautifully, i cried after reading this..i promise i did!

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  7. I really haven’t been able to picture starvation or living in war-torn places. This post is interesting to me in that, it brings a personal touch to it. Not just d statistics on CNN.
    What can we do to help their situation?

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  8. Pearl fire! I’m tired of the tasbih sef! Everytime I count it, it says something different! Msschw! Come sef, why is it my full name you just went out and called like that? Have you no fear or respect left in this world? *angry face*

    BESIDES, a write-BAN-ation means I am not writing! TILL MILAN!

    Besides, I am uninterested in immersing myself the depths of sadness that yourself and Betty choose to bathe with.

    P.S.: It is kinda inconvenient typing with one hand and you holding the other behind my back.

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  9. And the sob stories are back. Ada the happy child with her sad, sad tales… which we have come to love. I love this story, largely cos of the way it takes something that seems so distant and brings it home and I haven’t even been able to bring home home in my own writing yet :(

    Welcome back, lovey…

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  10. Amad is just 10 yrs & he has lost everything. I av never understood the concept of war & why it is deemed the solution. Apologies in advance to religious pundits but it is situations like this that make me understand people who don’t believe in God. It’s not like they don’t pray or they don’t go to meet God but yet so many bad things happen. There’s nothing I can do about this and it jus makes me overwhelmingly sad.

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    1. dear all students
      first my name is amina iam 20 years old live in kenya live with my parents like english i went to learn english for may study please learn you english online
      thanks
      i am sincerely

      Like

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