Our Rising Passion Piece is from Desiree Rubadiri, a returning writer and a highschooler who who loves God. She enjoys the wonders of nature that God has given to us. She was born in Botswana but her heritage is from all over the world. Some of her hobbies are singing, writing, playing basketball and doing hair. She attends His People Church and her school is St Mary’s DSG.
Early on Sunday morning my family and I were preparing for church. My papa told me that in God’s house you will always be safe. It was the only time my brother and I could ever leave the house. We had stopped attending school three months ago. The civil war in Uganda was diffusing throughout the country and so was Kony’s propaganda. I could understand why papa had restricted us. We already lost mama when she went to the shops a few months back.
What do I last recall…? The church. I blanked and now I am at the back of this truck. Riding in the pitch black darkness with my hands tied behind my back, with a blindfold upon my eyes and a rag in my mouth. I felt the warmth of other bodies next to me; well they seemed to be warm. I hear men shouting at each other at the front of the truck in Swahili. I tried to scream but there was an immense pain within my stomach. I remained silent as fear began to penetrate from my body into my soul. I hear the clanging of the metal infrastructure of this truck, it was loud but my ears did not hurt. It was my heart that received all the pain. The uncertainty is killing me as I waited anxiously to get out of there. Little did I know that it was only the beginning.
I prayed, “God please help me,” as I was thrown out of the truck onto the rocky floor, the pain no longer infiltrated my body. I was numb. I remembered all things work out for the good of those who love Him.
They unveiled my eyes and attached a new rope from my hands to the person in front and behind me. I saw them take lifeless bodies and discard them into a cart. As I gazed at the cart I felt a gash of pain on my side. These men were holding whips and shouting at all of the girls to walk. In the corner of my eye I saw the cart go alight. I stood aghast. I was stationary. Had my eyes deceived me? I felt the second gash on my side and I fell to the ground. I tasted the ground. It tasted like fear. My surrender was imperative to survive. I could not withstand this agony. They had aligned us. They brought more soldiers but I could smell they had just come from a mission. Their odour was potent. The soldiers from the truck now paired a girl with a soldier and they walked away until I could not see these pairs any longer. Then it was me.
“What is this blood?” the soldier exclaimed at me. My blood had drenched through my dress. All I could do was weep as he slapped my face and then beat me. He threw me out the shack. Eventually, I regained a small amount of strength to move, from lying to sitting up, from sitting up to standing and from standing to walking. I walked not knowing where I was going as if I had no purpose but a premonition.
I saw a white building. A church. I saw a white dove and I remembered to never give up hope and the message from church last week: “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.”
I prayed to thank Him, my Father, that through every situation, turmoil and triumph “Yes all things work out for Your good.”
With Love, DR.
Emily Dickinson- “Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314) Lines: 1-4 “Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314) – Poetry Foundation. 2016. “Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314) – Poetry Foundation. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42889. [Accessed 16 May 2016]. The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)