The Ray of Faith

The Ray of Faith

Adrian Brown

It was another day on the farm. Mother was milking the cows, father was gathering wheat, my brother was planting seeds and I was feeding the chickens. We all had our share of chores around the farm. Sometimes it was a challenge, but everyone could manage. We were all close in our family. We were very tight. Nothing could separate us. My father often helped out at the local market, where he would count the money that came in. He was a very smart man. My mother too, was very intelligent, but needed to stay back to take care of my brother. I enjoyed playing with my brother. He was only four years old. At that age, kids are so young and innocent. Kids are as playful as animals. They’re so much fun. Whenever I finished doing my duties around our home and our farm, I would always find myself kicking a ball around in my room. It was easy to do, because the ground was flat and dry. My room was beneath the rest of the house. I guess you could call it the basement. Although, every once in a while a rat would sneak into my room and chew on the ball. I would have to blow the ball up with my mouth. The task took many hours, but it kept me busy. 

Our family was very well known. Every night we had someone visiting. The whole community knew each other and trusted each other. I didn’t have a lot of close friends, but I always interacted with the kids who came to visit us with their parents. I was one of the oldest children in our community. I was only sixteen. Even though we felt like we had everything we could want, our community and in fact our entire country, were suffering from a lack of water. Most of us were poor too. When I say my father counted the money, I really mean he counted the livestock people brought in to trade for whatever source of food was delivered by the government. The government that was controlling our land at the time was a dictatorship. Strict laws were in place. We had very little freedom and could not leave the country.

I always dreamed of living somewhere wonderful. A place where people are capable of expressing themselves and have access to a stable source of nutrition. Especially water. A country where the authorities would listen to the citizens. A country where we would be free to do and go where ever we wanted. Our country didn’t have the best relations with other countries. In fact, there was a lot of tension. There was nothing we could do about it. We just went about our lives and watched as our neighbours began to suffer. We didn’t worry, because we had each other. I just wish I could live with my family forever. Companionship is really the only way to live and survive here. Anyway, like I said, we have each other. 

Even when I was growing up I did not go to school has much as the others. My mother was afraid I would get lost or kidnapped walking to school. At the time, our country was a very dangerous place to live in, because the authorities were in battle with a rebel group. Therefore, I had a late start to my schooling. My mother did teach me a bit at home, but mostly how to live safely. Not what one plus three was. She taught me how to cook, sew, what is wrong from right. She was very loving and caring with me. After all, I was her first child. She couldn’t afford to screw up or lose me. She also taught me not to be afraid. To be brave, but not too bold. She taught me how I could survive alone. I never really understood why, because we would always stay together. 

I was starting to understand why now. Rebel forces had gotten stronger and they were on an outbreak of a war with the government. Everything was becoming chaotic. The country which I called home started to slowly fall apart. It was beginning to be unsafe. I was starting to feel scared, even though I wasn’t supposed too. Meanwhile, my little brother was frightened to death. I felt awful for him.  With the outbreak of a war, the drought here began to worsen. Our crops were starting to all die. It was some kind of sign. 

        Bombs were going off. Day and night you would hear a “boom” or a “bang”. The war was official now. Dozens of people were being killed. Dozens of guiltless people. My father’s market was set ablaze and the main town was falling in ruins. The clashes with the two opposing groups were at their strongest. Every block there was a bomb going off and the ghastly cries of people as they were brutally executed. It was similar to the end of civilisation in ancient Egypt. My parents, both scared, tried to remain calm so we wouldn’t see their fear. Despite their efforts, it was obvious they were horrified. Day after day the violence was rising and quickly approaching. We were in lockdown at our house and had not stepped out in days. We were hastily starving. 

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