Page 14 of Royal Pain
“Go ahead,” she says.
“Okay. So, it didn’t take them long to notice the six boys on the beach. We had actually moved toward them at first.”
“Did they kill any of the children?”
I sit with the question for a moment and she doesn’t press.
“It would have been mercy for some of us.”
“Tell me.”
“We were so scared. My best friend was a Xhosa. We didn’t hate each other like the adults. There was nothing between us but friendship. But Shahir was so afraid that day he let his bowels loose. That was the unforgivable sin they killed him for.”
I watch Belinda’s face. The sadness creeps in her eyes first. The horror of the truth needs no response.
“They kidnapped us. Boko Haram is known for taking children and making soldiers of them, or worse. But for me and my four friends left alive, we were taken to their camp, indoctrinated, and made into nine-year-old murderers. There wasn’t a choice.”
Tears are now streaming in rivulets. They come too fast to wipe away, so she holds a napkin against her face, catching them before they fall. My eyes are dry. I shed my last tear long ago.
“I’m so sorry you lived that…I mean, what kind of human beings…oh God.”
The reaction is heartfelt and genuine. I know there’s really nothing to say that’s the right response. It’s not words that comfort me, it’s the realization she is wounded just by hearing about my painful past.
“Give me your hand and I’ll tell you about who came and saved us.”
She reaches out and we hold on to each other. Behind the napkin I hear the quiet whimpering of her compassion.
“We were part of this twisted brotherhood for almost five months. They kept moving us from one camp to another, across borders. Then they made a crucial mistake. They took us into Mozia, where they had just established a temporary encampment.”
She lowers the napkin and I see the red nose and eyes. They look beautiful to me.
“Why temporary?” she says.
“Because King Mansa was already known for establishing a sophisticated intelligence agency within the country. Other independent African countries used it as a model. Another thing was his ability to recognize real threats to Mozians’ rule of order. Boko Haram was and is still a real threat. But not to our country anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because, he put all his available resources into rooting the evil out. Intelligence, soldiers, mercenaries, called-in favors. Whatever he could use, he did. To try to save the children. When we were within his borders he pounced. It was a dawn attack.”
“My God. It must have been an unbelievable sight.”
“There was one last trauma to live through. Boko Haram isn’t known for going peacefully. There were lookouts of course, and one survived to sound the warning. As soon as they were aware the soldiers were almost on them, they began the killings. There were about thirty boys in all and twenty-five men. They would have rather died then be captured and tried.”
Belinda’s hand covers her mouth.
“I was the sole survivor of the boys. All my friends gone in a flash of automatic gunfire. In the end only seven men were captured. All were put to death.”
She takes it all in for a few moments. The story requires that at least.
“How did you end up as part of the royal family?”
I trace my thumb over hers and let the memory wash over me.
“It was the queen. Her heart went out to me when she learned the story. She and the king came to visit me in the hospital that first week. I was a damaged child. Psychologically, physically, deeply scarred literally and figuratively.”
Her eyes narrow and her lips press shut as if she’s holding back a scream. Can’t blame her.
“At first I was silent. I had learned to survive by trying to become invisible, and I could do it again.”
