Who started the war?

Who started the war?

It was seven in the morning. The old man sat alone at his dare, his legs almost encircling a fire that was too big for one person. On the fire was a small tin brim-filled with water that was beginning to simmer. The old man took the tin of water and sipped some. He  gargled the water for a few minutes and spat it out to his right, rose up, walked about two paces from where he had been sitting and washed his face.

He placed the tin in its usual place and went back to sit exactly the way he had been sitting before. He took out his pipe from his right shirt pocket, filled it with tobacco, fished a red ember out of the fire and lit the pipe. He puffed at his pipe for a few seconds and then began to smoke.

Though the old man had only left his hut at six-thirty,he had woken up around four. But because of the curfew he was not allowed to leave his hut until six in the morning.

“This damn bloody war,” the Old Man thought. “When is it going to end? Or is it going to end at all?”

No one could answer him, so he began to think about the good old days. Not that he had anything to worry about at all. No. He was now used to it.What with boys on this side and soldiers on the other all demanding his loyalty to them and only them.

He was now living on a day-to-day basis, the way the bible advocated. One day passed was one day gone, the following day would see for itself.

Ah! Sure! He had been a happy family man once, with three sons and one daughter. Not that he had thought of any family planning, but that was what God had given him. He wasn’t a religious man either, but he knew that God was there – whether he was the Bible’s God or any other god, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

His two elder sons had been educated to O-level. The girl, though clever, had rushed to the altar after her Junior Certificate. No doubt, he had raised his family well. But when he was beginning to think that he could relax because he only had to pay fees for his youngest son who had gone to A-level, the war began.

The first blow came when his youngest son, then doing his final year skipped the country to join the “armed struggle” two months before the final examinations.This grieved the Old Man very much at first. His youngest son on the threshold of going to university leaving school like that to go and handle a gun which any fool could? Why had he wasted his money like that?

His two elder sons had consoled him and explained why their younger brother had left.Though reluctant the Old Man had accepted the reasons given by his elder sons and he had almost forgotten about it now. The only time he thought about him was when he met his comrades or the security forces had killed “so many terrorists” as the government agencies put it.

The second blow had been the tragic death of his second son. Ah! This bloody war! His son had bought a brand new Alfa Romeo and in the traditional manner he had decided to go and show his parents where his money was going. About twenty kilometres from home he had hit this landmine- planted by God-knows-who- and all they collected were scraps of metal and bones. And of course they did not know which bones were their son’s because he had come home with three other friends. All killed.

His first-born had married and had three children now, but he was staying in Salisbury with his wife and children. Not that they liked the luxurious town. Far from it. They could not even afford it but they were afraid of the war at home.

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