Pressure Within My Soul

It’s been a long time I had a blog post and I was beginning to wonder what would marry my fingers and the keyboard in digital union once again. This did.

Yesterday, I asked my students to write an essay on any topic that came to mind. I didn’t give them a topic as I wanted what they would write to be a mirror, for me, of their hearts.
Some wrote pretty hilarious essays and others made me marvel at their depth of thought. But none had the effect of this student. Here’s what she wrote:

“My name is Sadiya Muhammad (not her real name). The day I will never forget
the death of my father.
My father die in Borno state. Boko Haram attack killed my father. My father
die on Friday afternoon after the prayer of Zuhr. The date is 5/2/2015. My
father die because he is helping his country.
My father this is the day I will never forget your death my father. R.I.P my
father. ”

I finished reading this and all I could manage was a sad, sad smile as I looked up her face. In that moment I saw a much deeper sadness etched and rested on her countenance. I have read her short essay over and over again. Even as I pen these words I have a tear in my eye.

She remembers the date, time and events surrounding this unfortunate story. That strikes me. Maybe it is less a griping detail for you but for someone as I who is not very good with dates, it strikes me.

Why do I write this?
If I thought it would in some way get to those in the corridors of power, I would hope this would instigate them to put in more hours, resources and time into the already good work they’ve begun. And to say to take care of the families of the fallen heroes who defended our land with their sweat and blood; not merely leaving them to add up to the statistics.

If I thought this would somehow graze the eyes of those men who will leave their families and face many lonely nights; the sound of shells and explosives their only companion I would say fight on. They battle, shoulder to shoulder, gun in hand with with others like them, unsure of the morning after, fighting for families unknown. Those are the real heroes of these times.

But I am sure this will get to you. And what I say to you is to remember the North. A lot of children have been made fatherless, some orphans. A lot of people have been displaced, many without hope. Many a family has been fractured and torn apart to never unite again for as long as they live.

You will never lighten a load until you feel the pressure within your own soul.

Take on some of the pressure. Do what you must. Do what you can.
I believe in the power of prayer far more than I believe in tangibles. Pray for them.

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Written by Komolafe Kolawole while serving our fatherland.
Culled from Mind to Pen

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