Kamaria Ife
When you grow up with nothing, not even clean water, love is something you never expect to have. Your dreams are composed of the things most people take for granted. I grew up in a small village somewhere in Africa. I never knew the name. This was a place where most people didn’t survive past their infancy, let alone to adulthood. There came a day when a man claiming to be a prince came to our village. He was looking for a woman to bring home as his wife.
Everyone wanted to be chosen. A chance to leave this place, to enjoy the comforts of a normal life, who wouldn’t want that? He arrived dressed in a flowing shirt and pants that were embroidered with magnificent colors. Blue like the sky and red like the sunset. He truly resembled royalty as he walked among us. I didn’t push past the other girls, nor did I shout at him to attract his attention. I simply stared at him as he passed and he looked back at me.
I was young, I had only just turned eighteen, and I had never once considered the possibility of love. Still, when our eyes met, I was convinced that I had felt it. It was a rumbling in your stomach, but not the kind you heard when you went to sleep hungry. No, it was more like sparks of fire dancing around inside of you.
My heart raced, but for once it wasn’t because I was scared. On the contrary, I was excited. He walked over to me and smiled with perfect white teeth. His hand came down and gently touched mine. I felt like lightning was shooting through me. I was convinced that this was the love so many people strived for in their lives.
He took me with him, and we went back to his home. It was magnificent, the largest building I had ever laid eyes upon. There was a fountain in the front courtyard that flowed with fresh clean water. I remember trying to drink it, but the prince stopped me. I was embarrassed, but he didn’t seem to care.
We went inside and I marveled at the lush carpets, the intricate art that hung upon the walls, and the priceless vases and sculptures that were spread throughout the house. I took a shower for the first time in my life and it was magnificent. I could change the temperature of the water whenever I wanted. When I was cleaned up, that night I was served a meal fit for a princess. It was hard to believe that any of this was real. It all seemed too good to be true.
That’s because it was.
I lived the greatest years of my life in that house. I had grown from a scrawny and emaciated girl into a black and big beautiful woman. Then in one night it was all taken from me. I didn’t know much about my husband, all I knew was that he cared for me, and I in turn cared for him. He was clearly rich and powerful, but that was the extent of my knowledge.
I was sleeping comfortably in a bed with silk sheets when I heard a furious pounding on the front door. My eyes shot open as my husband climbed out of bed.
“Who could that be?” I asked.
“Stay here,” he said.
I watched him walk over to the wardrobe in the corner. He had a key for it that he kept around his neck for safekeeping. I had never seen him open it before. He took the key off, unlocked it, and threw open the doors. Inside was a plethora of weapons. Everything from pistols, to assault rifles, to shotguns and grenades. He pulled out one of the assault rifles and went to work checking the clip. He held it in one hand as he picked up one of the grenades.
He set everything down on his desk beside the wardrobe as the pounding on the front door resumed downstairs. He pulled a pistol from the arsenal, checked the clip, and then walked over to me.
“You don’t know how to use this, I’m sure, but you’re going to need it.”
I was terrified, my heart was thundering my chest as I took the gun with shaking hands. This was fear, an emotion I was more than acquainted with.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
He picked up his rifle and the grenade.
“Point and shoot, love point and shoot.”
He walked out of the bedroom and I sat on the bed with the gun in my hand. He had turned the safety off before he handed it to me. It was ready to take lives, all I had to do was pull the trigger.
A deafening explosion came from downstairs. I fell back against the headboard of the bed as the sound of gunfire came from downstairs. There were several pops, followed by the repeating tap of an assault rifle. The exchange continued for some time as I sat perfectly still staring at the open doorway. Fear had paralyzed me, my legs were like stone.
The gunfire stopped. The silence was almost worse than the noise.
“Come on out! We know you’re up there!” a man shouted.
My hands gripped the gun tightly. I lifted it up and aimed it at the open doorway. The barrel shook as I tried to hold it steady. I heard the footsteps of someone coming to get me. Several men filled the doorway. I froze, I couldn’t pull the trigger. One of the men walked over and pulled the gun out of my hands.
“Well, I suppose Mawimbi won the bet,” one said.
They all laughed as if it didn’t matter. Something hard struck me across the back of my head, and everything went black.
When I woke up again, I was in a room with no windows and only one door. It smelled horrific. It was also pitch black and I was laying on a thin mattress. Before I moved I heard someone else stir in the room. Metal clanged together and echoed through the space.
“Who is that?” I asked.
When I tried to stand up, I felt a cold metal cuff around my right ankle. It was attached to a chain that didn’t afford me enough slack to stand on my feet. I could barely climb onto my knees.
I heard another chain, and then another. No one spoke, though, but I could feel their eyes on me.
“Where am I? Please, someone answer me!”
No one answered.
A loud grinding noise came from the door to the room. A moment later it swung open and light poured through. I had to shield my eyes, but for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the other people in the room.
Three others in total, all women. They seemed to be African like me, but judging by their bodies, they had been here for a long time. I saw the rusty chains that held us down and the stained mattresses.
A large man stood in the doorway with four plates stacked atop one another. He walked inside and set them down just within the reach of a woman.
“Share this time,” he said.
I picked up the plate and smelled the food on it. It was slop, with no definitive flavor or texture. I ate it anyway, I needed my strength. One way or another, I was going to get out of here.