This is the story of Mariatu Kamara, well, part of the story. This is the part in which her story begins, and where her life becomes painful and threadbare.
Mariatu Kamara was a girl like many others in Sierra Leone. Nearly twelve years old when her world had begun to spin faster, she lived in a small village, called Magborou, with a large family. None in her village went to school, all in her village were very poor. None of them could afford an education, and they needed all of the help they could get to work the fields so they could at least have enough food and money to survive another year. This is said from Mariatu's perspective on pages 13 and 14, in quotes that vaguely describes how she feels about the lack of education and the harsh, demanding work.
"None of the kids in my village went to school. My family, like everyone else in Magborou, was very poor. 'We need you to help us with the chores on the farm,' Marie explained. Occasionally children from wealthier families and villages would pass through Magborou on their way to and from school. Some of these children went to boarding schools in Sierra Leone's capital city, Freetown. I felt sad when I saw them. I wished I could see for myself what a big city looked like.
Starting from the time I was about seven, and strong enough to carry plastic jugs of water or straw baskets full of corn on my head, I spent my mornings planting and harvesting food on our farm outside Magborou. No one owned land in the villages; we all shared the farm."
The significance of this passage is that it explains, in her own words, how Mariatu feels about how poor her and her family are, and about not being able to go to school. Mariatu's situation of poverty and constant fear that they will not have enough food or money to survive the year forces her and her family to stay working in their fields all day until they run themselves ragged, only to start again the next day. Needing all the help they could get in the fields, Mariatu and her family had neither the time nor money for school. This is some background on Mariatu, so people will know what she comes from, and what was taken from her.
I titled this blog "Torn to Pieces" to describe not only what had happened to Mariatu, but what happened to her life, as well. In the sense of being physically torn to pieces, she had lost her hands to the rebels, but in the emotional and psychological sense of the word, her life was ripped apart, twisted, and formed into something unrecognizable, even to her. In the next part of this blog, you will see exactly what I mean by this.
Fear was drawn from rumours of rebel attacks nearby, getting closer to Mariatu's village with each passing day. But there is nothing to worry about. It's all just rumours, at least according to the village chairman. But Mariatu's village hides in the bush anyway, just to be safe. There is a quote on page 22 that puts this in Mariatu's words.
"Whenever we heard a rumor that the rebels were close, the chairman would order all of the villagers in Magborou to flee into the bush." Another quote on page 23 says this:
"Around the fire at night, we would tell stories or share what we had heard about the war. We would lie on our backs and stare up at the moon and stars. I remembered, though, that long ago my father had told me never to count the stars. 'If you do, and you land on the star that is you, you will die,' he said. I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but I knew I didn't want to die."
The first quote shows just how poorly the living conditions were in Magborou, relying on rumours and hiding to keep them safe from the rebel attacks that plagued the country, because there is no kind of law enforcement to protect them. The second quote from page 23 gives you a look at what their fear of the rebels has done, to the point of making hiding in the bush, sometimes for months, seem as normal to Mariatu and her village as working the fields in Magborou. It also shows how much she wants to live, which helps her greatly in the days to come.
On page 25, a quote from Mariatu's grandmother reads, "'Whenever you dream of palm oil,' my grandmother had told me when I was seven, 'blood will spill by the end of the day.'" And how right she was.
Mariatu's village moved to Manarma to be safe, but as Mariatu dreamt of palm oil, her simple fear of the rebels turned into a living nightmare. The morning after she dreamt of palm oil, Mariatu's uncle, Alie, sent her and some of her cousins to do one simple task: go back to Magborou for supplies. But the simple task became impossible, as the sleeping beast that was Mariatu's palm oil nightmare came alive, shifting from imagination to horrifying reality in a matter of seconds. This is where Mariatu's thrashing struggle pulls her head under the roiling black water.
What the rebels did to Mariatu was a horror in itself, but what they did to her family, to the people she knew and loved, that was it's own world of torture that Mariatu relived constantly. The rebels had torn Mariatu apart, chopping off her hands before letting her go to find help, but before they had done this, they had ripped her apart in a completely different way; the rebels had burned some of her family alive, along with some villagers, which included a woman with a baby. They had killed people from her village, people she knew and cared about. The rest of the people she was travelling with were taken, and she had no idea if she would ever see them again.
Imagine if this happened to you. Imagine if, all of a sudden, everyone you knew and loved was taken or killed right in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to save them, knowing that you would die, too. Only instead of dying and joining your loved ones, you lose your hands and are sent away, made into an example of how much power and ferocity the people who took everything from you possess. What would you do? In the face of so much death and destruction, would you die in a fruitless attempt to save your people? Would you do what Mariatu had done, and lived to find help and your family? Would you wait to see what other horrors will come your way? If you had faced as much pain as Mariatu had, if you had lost as much as she did, I ask you this: What would you do?
When the only thing keeping you alive is your own will to live, the hope that you will see some of your loved ones alive, you have enough strength to keep going. That is what Mariatu did, she kept on going. And after a few days of trying to find help, all the while trying to survive, she finally found what would be her salvation: a kind man who gave her something to eat and who pointed her toward safety. The man gave her a mango to eat and it was enough to get her to Port Loko for help. This man had ultimately saved Mariatu's life, giving her food so she wouldn't starve, and giving her directions so she wouldn't get lost, doomed to wander the land until she bled out or succumbed to infection. The man had saved her life, and to this day she does not know his name.
But, all was not lost to the rebels, for once she had reached Port Loko, she discovered that her cousins, Ibrahim and Mohamed had survived, but like Mariatu, their hands had been cut off by the rebels. Once they reached Freetown, the three cousins had found that their other cousin, Adamsay, had also survived the rebel attack, missing her hands, but alive. The discovery that Mariatu's cousins had survived the rebel attack after she had thought them all to be dead brought her as much happiness as she could be possibly have, and in turn began to mend her shattered heart and spirit. But like all good things, her joy was short-lived.
Mariatu had no idea she was pregnant. She didn't understand, how could this happen to her? On page 65, Mariatu says this herself.
"'You're pregnant,' the doctor said to me again. 'You are going to have a baby. Do you understand?'
Abibatu, a large woman with Marie's warm smile, had tears in her eyes. 'How did this happen to you?' she asked me.
'I don't know,' I muttered. 'I don't know.' It didn't make any sense."
This quote shows how innocent Mariatu is, and explains further how horrible the things she had seen, the things done to her, had been. Mariatu had no idea how or why she was pregnant. She would soon remember what had happened to her. The rebels did not do this to her, but someone she knew, someone from her village. Mariatu had warned her auntie Marie of Salieu, tried to make her understand what he was doing, but Marie did not listen. And Mariatu suffered greatly for it. At the end of chapter seven, on page 71, Mariatu prays for her suffering to end.
And I ask you this: Could you ever do what Mariatu had done? Could you have faced all the horrors she had? She wants her suffering to end so badly that she wants to die. This is what Mariatu had prayed for:
"'Take me, Allah. Take my baby and me. I want to die.'"
As overwhelming and unbearable as this may all be; and despite all of the horrors she had witnessed, this is not the end of her story. No, this is where Mariatu Kamara's story takes flight.
I titled this blog "Torn to Pieces" to describe not only what had happened to Mariatu, but what happened to her life, as well. In the sense of being physically torn to pieces, she had lost her hands to the rebels, but in the emotional and psychological sense of the word, her life was ripped apart, twisted, and formed into something unrecognizable, even to her. In the next part of this blog, you will see exactly what I mean by this.
Fear was drawn from rumours of rebel attacks nearby, getting closer to Mariatu's village with each passing day. But there is nothing to worry about. It's all just rumours, at least according to the village chairman. But Mariatu's village hides in the bush anyway, just to be safe. There is a quote on page 22 that puts this in Mariatu's words.
"Whenever we heard a rumor that the rebels were close, the chairman would order all of the villagers in Magborou to flee into the bush." Another quote on page 23 says this:
"Around the fire at night, we would tell stories or share what we had heard about the war. We would lie on our backs and stare up at the moon and stars. I remembered, though, that long ago my father had told me never to count the stars. 'If you do, and you land on the star that is you, you will die,' he said. I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but I knew I didn't want to die."
The first quote shows just how poorly the living conditions were in Magborou, relying on rumours and hiding to keep them safe from the rebel attacks that plagued the country, because there is no kind of law enforcement to protect them. The second quote from page 23 gives you a look at what their fear of the rebels has done, to the point of making hiding in the bush, sometimes for months, seem as normal to Mariatu and her village as working the fields in Magborou. It also shows how much she wants to live, which helps her greatly in the days to come.
On page 25, a quote from Mariatu's grandmother reads, "'Whenever you dream of palm oil,' my grandmother had told me when I was seven, 'blood will spill by the end of the day.'" And how right she was.
Mariatu's village moved to Manarma to be safe, but as Mariatu dreamt of palm oil, her simple fear of the rebels turned into a living nightmare. The morning after she dreamt of palm oil, Mariatu's uncle, Alie, sent her and some of her cousins to do one simple task: go back to Magborou for supplies. But the simple task became impossible, as the sleeping beast that was Mariatu's palm oil nightmare came alive, shifting from imagination to horrifying reality in a matter of seconds. This is where Mariatu's thrashing struggle pulls her head under the roiling black water.
What the rebels did to Mariatu was a horror in itself, but what they did to her family, to the people she knew and loved, that was it's own world of torture that Mariatu relived constantly. The rebels had torn Mariatu apart, chopping off her hands before letting her go to find help, but before they had done this, they had ripped her apart in a completely different way; the rebels had burned some of her family alive, along with some villagers, which included a woman with a baby. They had killed people from her village, people she knew and cared about. The rest of the people she was travelling with were taken, and she had no idea if she would ever see them again.
Imagine if this happened to you. Imagine if, all of a sudden, everyone you knew and loved was taken or killed right in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to save them, knowing that you would die, too. Only instead of dying and joining your loved ones, you lose your hands and are sent away, made into an example of how much power and ferocity the people who took everything from you possess. What would you do? In the face of so much death and destruction, would you die in a fruitless attempt to save your people? Would you do what Mariatu had done, and lived to find help and your family? Would you wait to see what other horrors will come your way? If you had faced as much pain as Mariatu had, if you had lost as much as she did, I ask you this: What would you do?
When the only thing keeping you alive is your own will to live, the hope that you will see some of your loved ones alive, you have enough strength to keep going. That is what Mariatu did, she kept on going. And after a few days of trying to find help, all the while trying to survive, she finally found what would be her salvation: a kind man who gave her something to eat and who pointed her toward safety. The man gave her a mango to eat and it was enough to get her to Port Loko for help. This man had ultimately saved Mariatu's life, giving her food so she wouldn't starve, and giving her directions so she wouldn't get lost, doomed to wander the land until she bled out or succumbed to infection. The man had saved her life, and to this day she does not know his name.
But, all was not lost to the rebels, for once she had reached Port Loko, she discovered that her cousins, Ibrahim and Mohamed had survived, but like Mariatu, their hands had been cut off by the rebels. Once they reached Freetown, the three cousins had found that their other cousin, Adamsay, had also survived the rebel attack, missing her hands, but alive. The discovery that Mariatu's cousins had survived the rebel attack after she had thought them all to be dead brought her as much happiness as she could be possibly have, and in turn began to mend her shattered heart and spirit. But like all good things, her joy was short-lived.
Mariatu had no idea she was pregnant. She didn't understand, how could this happen to her? On page 65, Mariatu says this herself.
"'You're pregnant,' the doctor said to me again. 'You are going to have a baby. Do you understand?'
Abibatu, a large woman with Marie's warm smile, had tears in her eyes. 'How did this happen to you?' she asked me.
'I don't know,' I muttered. 'I don't know.' It didn't make any sense."
This quote shows how innocent Mariatu is, and explains further how horrible the things she had seen, the things done to her, had been. Mariatu had no idea how or why she was pregnant. She would soon remember what had happened to her. The rebels did not do this to her, but someone she knew, someone from her village. Mariatu had warned her auntie Marie of Salieu, tried to make her understand what he was doing, but Marie did not listen. And Mariatu suffered greatly for it. At the end of chapter seven, on page 71, Mariatu prays for her suffering to end.
And I ask you this: Could you ever do what Mariatu had done? Could you have faced all the horrors she had? She wants her suffering to end so badly that she wants to die. This is what Mariatu had prayed for:
"'Take me, Allah. Take my baby and me. I want to die.'"
As overwhelming and unbearable as this may all be; and despite all of the horrors she had witnessed, this is not the end of her story. No, this is where Mariatu Kamara's story takes flight.
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