“We used to have peace, but now we have only war.”—Halima
I will not speak of dead for that is another matter. I will not speak of those driven out of their homes to find shelter in a camp fenced with strings. I will not speak of those raped at dawn. Or of children shot in head.
I will not speak of them.
I will not speak of woman, round and heavy, like me who will give birth to a child she’ll be ashamed to name. neither will I speak of a dozen other women, like her and a village which will beget bastards. I will not speak of slash—deep in my thigh, made by a knife: a brand of ownership, mark of a slave.