My story is somewhat of the tragic type. I grew up in the suburbs of Somalia where civilians never lived a good life. Where food was a blessing and a privilege and never a constant, where i grew men would rape children and fathers would coward down and say nothing, this is where i grew up and this is my home.
Everyday has become a constant struggle to live, it has been a constant war to live or to die. My name is Amiina Amburro i am 15 years of age and this is the life i have been forced to live
My father died in the war, I can remember that day as though it were a few minutes ago. The soldiers for the government had come banging on our make shift front door asking for all men to come out, my parents had worried looks plastered on their faces as if they knew why the soldiers had come out of their camps to talk to men of the poor society. It had hit me like a bull dosser when I had realized that they were here to collect my father to whisk him of into the ongoing and everlasting war that had begun in 1990. My mother was a teacher and this gave me an advantage. My father had looked at his family, his two malnourished children and his skimpy wife, with tears running down his bony cheeks he gave us all an encouraging smile and kissed all of us good bye. I look at him hoping he would find a way out of this mess, but all he said was " Amina madowgii madow ahaa wuxuu u ahaa mid amaan ah ilmahayga " which means " Amiina my blackened rose be safe my child" his raspy voice from the lack of water had made him croak out meaningful words
I tore my eyes of my wonderful father, and held my baby brother in my arms. He opened the creaky make shift door and walked into the darkness of the night.
We lived in the village next to the Kenya border after moving from Merca.
Mama and Papa had always said that if they never made it and if the rebels or government officials came we should pack all our things and run to Nairobi. We were taught to only trust ourselves, and that was the life my family was born
and i pray that iz ntot it wikl be like in the end
CITEȘTI
Black Rose
Non-ficțiuneI am an African woman, and i will say it with pride. I am insulted I am spat on I have been looked down, but no one can break me. I have suffered great lost I have endured every pain of motherhood in every which way I have lost a jewel I am an Afr...
