Fear is Worse Than Death
Is trouble coming again, or is my fear starting to creep in? It is less than two hours to midnight and I am sure I heard gunshots, I tried to reach my friend but he was fast asleep, I couldn't wake him up, what if it was all in my head, he shouldn't have to share in my burden of fear.
Every sound I heard was like the village was under attack all over again, "it is not logical for the thugs to attack again; it is also risky for them", I said to myself, a way to convince the troubled me to be at peace, but troubled me had to reply, he just had to "and when have humans been logical." My hands started shaking vigorously, I picked up my phone to let a friend know of the situation, but the untroubled me said to me "There is nothing she can do, you will only make her troubled", it was faint but I heard and I couldn’t pretend otherwise, so I texted the people I was chatting before I heard the sound of the gunshots, I texted them goodnight.
With every lizard that moved, with every creeping animal in the bush that crept, with every cricket that chirped and with every breeze that swept, my heart trembled even more. I planned my escape, I re-planned to include my roommate, and I re-planned yet again to include my landlord and landlady. Leave nobody behind the honourable me insisted, as I shivered. The narcissistic me seemed to comfort me a little, with what I already knew "We will all die anyway".
What an impeccable escape plan I commended myself, I checked my phone to confirm if my phone wasn’t on aeroplane mode, wondering why my employer hasn’t messaged me on what to do, waiting for a villager who cares and has my mobile number to reach out to me; to help the foreigner in their midst, my mind can be vile, it had that urge to shatter any shed of peace I had left. The sociopathic me said, "What if they got to them first."
Chills passed through my body system, my breathing quivered, and every bike that passed sounded like it was carrying three armed people like that unfortunate day, I wondered, will they be more than 200 armed men today? I could hear someone running at full speed towards the major road, I could hear the swings of their machete, and I got lost in my thoughts for a moment "Why do they call machete here knife? why do they keep their machete here in beautiful pouches like the ancient Koreans kept their swords." "Even more beautiful than the ancient Korean’s pouches", the dramatic me said, which brought me back to reality.
I lost hope, I prayed, and I begged God. I could hear them coming towards the house, this could not possibly be in my head I told myself, there was no stopping them now, I listen carefully to the silence of the night, I could detect four men coming closer, I planned to put my escape plan into action, but then I wondered what I feared, was it death? loss? what exactly did I fear? I wondered, I don’t know, No! I do know, I feared the fearful experience that was to be had.
Maybe it was lizards and squirrels lurking around in the bush, they are not big enough, probably cane rats. Don’t hide from the truth, it is the four men coming.
I decided to close my eyes, I decided to accept my fate and then I went to a dedicated part of my mind, where fear and emotions didn’t exist, where logic ruled. I thought to myself "When the whole village was empty because the villagers ran away, I was bold. When my roommate, a villager and I were the only one in the village at night I was bold. When I saw the head of a sheep placed on the road as a souvenir of their vileness I was bold. When I saw their handiwork, the result of their destruction in its full measure I was bold. But now, I am surrounded by high-fenced walls, and somehow fear crept in and made me bare. I left the safe part of my head, I had to face reality sooner or later; well sooner rather than later I suppose.
Let the worse happen I murmured, somehow I seemed to have found the bold me, I remembered the word of the only villager who didn’t run the last time "Anyone who comes to attack me or attempts to take what is mine, on my own land, whatever happens to me, I will make sure I place on them a reminder of me that they will take to their graves, an unforgettable reminder of our encounter."
Suddenly the fear of clouds started to fade rapidly, and it all started to make sense, apparently, it had all been in my head, somehow I relieved the experience in a bad way. The gunshots I heard were part of the ceremony for the burial the next day, the person running towards the road did that for his hustle; illegal oil bunkering vehicles couldn’t pass his route unless they gave him something light. And the rest? My mind made it up.
I started to say out loud "Fear is worse than death", "Fear is worse than death", "Fear is worse than death", "Fear is.., thank you Jesus, let this house be a Goshen area."
