I’m running…running for my dear life…away from the pythonic grip of death desperately seeking to embrace me. The wind relays his message to me “I can run but not hide”. I hear his taunting high pitched shrieks echo in the dark and the once lively forest in a blink of an eye keeps mum. Fear, his long time ally in the extermination business, swoops down on me, sending goose bumps racing over my body.
My heart palpitates like the beating of the Konga drum while my head re-enacts the pounding exercise between the mortar and the pestle. I hear the exchange of gun fire put up by the Husha team from the Kafali Resistance who had given their lives so we could escape. Ground shaking explosion, cries of the wounded, heavy artillery discharging bullets slaughtering men like chickens rend the air…men who were fathers, brothers, husbands, lovers, loyalists to the opposition, who had been brain washed to exterminate us. I duck branches, jump over fallen logs, splash through streams, pausing now and again to return the gun fire by our enemies who are hell bent on capturing us.
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