Morning of escape
Wednesday 6th 1969

Is it the sea that will swallow us first, or the new world waiting for us at the tongue of the shore?
I thought as I studied the crystal sea, chaotically crashing against itself in wraps of waves.
The ship is filled with hundreds of souls searching for home, away from home.
Fear of the unknown dances on our life-drained faces, to the tune of our fearful thoughts. We carry leftover hope in our empty bellies from last night, having barely escaped a country that has taken from us the last remnants of safety and freedom.
The home we once knew is now awash with hate, blood, bodies, and the memories of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends—people and places our eyes may never find again, but our hearts will forever carry.

Will this new land have its people wrapped in sharp tongues, or will they greet us with open arms, like a doormat at the entrance of a home with “Welcome” boldly inscribed on it?
Will our skin determine our acceptance, or will humanity prevail, embracing us wholly, regardless of skin colour, language, or country?
For the first time, I looked at my skin with disgust. Oh! I have never hated anything this much. I have never felt so rejected. Skin as black as coal.
To feel insecure because of a place or someone is one thing, but to be insecure in one’s own existence is a whole different level of ache and madness.
I shut my eyes and sighed in indescribable, chaotic pain.
I opened them again to admire the last wave as it tumbled over the other, the sea wiggling softly, as though it were trying to catch its breath from the ‘wave play.’
What if I close my eyes, fall into the arms of the cold sea, and dance myself to the bottom?
Perhaps the sea would welcome me into herself, regardless of my identity.

For the first time since the cold bloody war, I have never felt so safe, so free, so at peace in the arms of death.
Quickly, I turned away from the roaring, cold sea in fear, and my eyes fell upon the bony child suckling her mother’s last breast milk, oblivious to the situation.
I shut my eyes again and clasped my shaky hands between my cold laps.

By King Chisom Clement