POV: Suraken Kamau

Year 717

A year has passed since the end of hostilities, and disaster has struck the whole of Mopodi country.

As Jengo acclimatised to our nation, a multitude of incidents began to occur. Women complained of his behaviour, which bordered on harassment. His words often went beyond his thoughts; he didn't hesitate to be vulgar in the presence of children and contemptuous of people from different backgrounds. We sensed an anomaly, but curiously he was always docile towards my father, like a stingy employee who behaves impeccably in front of his superior.

However, as soon as my father turned his back, a hideous expression painted itself on Jengo's face, as if he were struggling to conceal his disdain.

One morning, a civilian neighbour came knocking on our door to tell us about his misadventures with Jengo. He said that he had often seen Jengo in his window, scribbling what appeared to be a letter, and that each time, Jengo would disappear into the woods in the dead of night.

Intrigued, Ayana, my friends and I decided to spy on him discreetly, knowing the forest like the back of our hand. One evening, we slipped away from our homes in silence, then watched Jengo's house from a distance. As soon as we saw him moving away, we stealthily followed him, hiding behind tree trunks. That's when we caught him in the company of several strangers.

Brother, it's been ages!" exclaimed one of them, embracing Jengo. He was dressed in hunting clothes.

"Come on, my friend, I'm doing wonderfully. Your presence here confirms that the preparations are complete?" Jengo retorted in a peculiar tone, as if orchestrating some kind of stratagem.

"Indeed, we have prepared the weapons, the cages and the nets for our good old hunt. How much do you estimate your prey to be?" asked a second man with a shotgun.

"35,000, my dear", declared Jengo with a sneer.

I noticed that one of my companions was starting to shiver, then she whispered her thoughts to us with a horrified look on her face:

"Thirty-five thousand is the number of souls living in our country. I heard Jengo asking my mother about it the other day."

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A shiver ran through our group, and Ayana tripped over a branch, alerting those we were spying on.

"It seems that one of the lambs has escaped from its pen," proclaimed one of them, pointing his gun in our direction.

We all fled at that moment, racing back to our village. But just as we arrived home to tell our parents, a fire broke out in the forest surrounding our hamlet.

The culprits? Jengo and his gang, in fact mercenaries and human traffickers!

Jengo, the individual we had rescued, cared for and welcomed into our community, had betrayed our trust. He had attacked the strongest men in the village, causing chaos and panic. My father, Kamau, was one of his victims.

That night remains engraved in my memory, the terror and horror that befell our village. I stood in the square, watching helplessly as Jengo approached my father. Before I could intervene, he had plunged his blade into him as he tried to protect us from the many attackers, leaving him lifeless on the ground.

The fury drove me out of control. I grabbed a blade from the ground and lunged at Jengo, my father's killer, but I only made the situation worse. He grabbed me by the collar, threw me to the ground and kicked me hard. When he was satisfied, he grabbed my left arm and broke it.

Ayana had taken refuge with my mother, who was in our house, unaware of my ordeal, but at that moment I had become the most vulnerable hostage there was.

My mother, who could wield a ruh, defended herself as best she could against the henchmen who were trying to hurt her and her daughter. But when Jengo appeared before her with a blade to her throat and a broken arm, he left her no choice.

"If you don't want your offspring to join your husband, you'd better submit to us," he declared lasciviously. Too young to understand the situation, I watched helplessly as the mercenaries and traffickers dominated my mother, while my sister and I were powerless.

The sight of that atrocity scarred us forever.

Just as one of the henchmen was about to treat Ayana in the same way, despite my pleas, my mother took advantage of the attackers' distraction to wrap my sister and me in her ruh. She gave us a suit of armour made of this mystical energy, with the ability to surround whoever she wanted with a metallic protection that, when destroyed, caused terrible injuries to whoever was responsible for its destruction. Jengo, aware of this, forbade anyone to attack me or Ayana.

I witnessed all the abuse my mother suffered. I only remember the screams, the sobs and the pleas, but above all the last look she gave me, similar to the one she used to give me when she reminded me to always look after my little sister and protect the weak.

My mother succumbed to the violence, giving me one last gentle look, as if to tell me not to worry, that she wanted me to be happy in spite of everything, that I had to protect my sister.

Later, we found ourselves in a cell with other children reduced to slavery. Among us were our friends, but also younger children and older teenagers.

For weeks, as the wagon that transported us moved forward, none of the children had the strength to speak. It was likely that many of them had gone through what I had. Ayana had lost the will to speak, and I never heard from her again. I took it upon myself to play the court jester with my fellow sufferers, asking for their names and promising never to forget them.

The fateful moment arrived, the cart stopped for me, and I realised that I was going to be separated from everyone, but especially from my little sister. My father had bequeathed his genetic heritage to me, while my mother had told me to always protect the weakest. Although unable to manipulate Ruh, my will alone allowed me to transfer my mother's power to a girl I had befriended during the journey, even if it left me vulnerable.

Ayana refused to let go of me, still unable to utter a word, but I made her understand that we would meet again, even if it was a lie.

It's now been six years since I was reduced to slavery, since my body was exploited for back-breaking work, and I'm clinging on to hope so as not to sink into the abyss of depression.

Thank you for listening to me, Zayn. You're the only person I've told my story to.