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Austin Macauley Publishers - Ben Dosso

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45 pages

English

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Samba Diallo grew up in a decent home, with loving parents, and access to education. On the eve of his 12th birthday, a rain of bombardments stormed on his city, Abidjan, Ivory Coast. In a matter of one night, everything he knew was taken from him, and he began what felt like an eternal journey under the rain. Between the ages of 12 and 17, Samba was attacked and left for dead, kidnapped and taken for ransom, forced to watch women and children being raped and murdered, and forced to traffick drugs. Somehow, he survived, but he will never be the same. Now, he invites you to take a look back through his eyes to see what he did ---- to see what thousands of children see on a daily basis around the world. Once you witness what he did, you also will never be the same...

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Lettres et linguistique

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	29 novembre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645365242
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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Eternal Journey
Ben Dosso
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Eternal Journey About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Journey Morocco Dear Protective Umbrella Samba Diallo
About The Author
Ben is a product of the street and an English learner. He grew up in violence, but he prefers tolerance and acts in silence instead. He is a humble young man of a few words. He has no advisor nor instructor. Only his good intuition guides him on the right path before he decides to do something. He is also a machine of positive thoughts that can turn all types of obstacles into opportunities for himself in order to help other people.
He came to the United States in January 2017. He has no writing skills or diploma. Happy of being welcomed as a refugee in this great nation, he is considerate about his adoptive nation, and being aware of the injustice and suffering inflicted on refugees, migrants, and street children, he started learning the new language little by little before taking the risk to write in English in order to make their voices heard.
He would like to be known for the talent of a youngster of the street, but not for all the bad reputation people have in mind about street violence.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the refugee children all over the world.
Copyright Information ©
Ben Dosso (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Dosso, Ben
Eternal Journey
ISBN 9781643788067 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643788050 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645365242 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019914116
The main category of the book — BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / General
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767

On the eve of Samba Diallo’s birthday, a shooting’s rain was watering Abidjan, and the invitation cards he had given to his friends fell into the plowing of combat. The gifts were flying in the wind.
Sky view—a bright city of bullets like the fireflies that were falling on the herbs and this city of Abidjan was devastated by a storm that nobody was expecting. The mortar fires of massive destruction were echoing everywhere like thunder roars in the sky and the earth was trembling at its turn. It seemed as if a plane was crashing around the house.
Before the horrible nights of bombardment of spring 2011, the city of Abidjan was peacefully livable and likable. On the other hand, inside the country, everything was ebullient, safe from an excessive community violence of a bloody Civil war. And in this combination of anarchy and general chaos, Samba Diallo’s family got an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. The time at which the bars are emptied little by little. The gentle wind blows. The dried leaves fall. The silence controls the town. The sleep blinds the eyes and the dogs’ barking penetrates the hollow of ears. A visit during in which Samba Diallo’s family was ignoring the main reason. It was completely different from the many visits Samba Diallo had opportunities to attend or see from afar. Sometimes, Samba Diallo had no idea about these meetings. But during this last nocturnal visit, he was left for dead under the bed in the dark of his bedroom. Analyzing the degree of noises that was in his living room, he knew that the conversation was too stormy. And it was so hard to guess that this visit was a courtesy visit. Few minutes later, the conversation was turning down. But the shouts from outside could damage ears. This night was an unforgettable night for Samba Diallo and his family, likewise the rest of the population.
His genetic umbrella, his mom, who used to buy him all kinds of toys when he was still little, was shaking like a feather in the wind. A woman with a gold heart. Whenever Samba Diallo talked about his genetic umbrella’s kindness, he used to get more smiles on his lips, as if someone was tickling him. A genetic umbrella that he had seen nude for the last time, unclothed entirely by the armed men. The one who was pampering him before they went to bed. The one who would wake him up in his pee and defecations in the early morning without complaining about these two toxic mixtures. The one who used to protect him from the hot and dry wind and the swirls from savannah and torrential rains that resulted in material and human disasters in working-class neighborhoods during the rainy seasons. Despite his exaggerated crying, his genetic umbrella always found sweet words, giving him a good reason to cool down his heart of the old Diesel engine. The one who used to breastfeed him when the employees of his stomach were claiming their rights. According to his genetic umbrella, Samba Diallo was just an aromatic reed, so fragile, that could not grow on dry earth without water, even if this earth was fertile for scientifics. Samba Diallo believed that his genetic umbrella could replace Santa Claus someday, to give some gifts to kids because for a long time, every December 25, celebration day of the birthday of Jesus for Christian Community, we see only the Santa Claus dressed in red and white, smiling in his long white beard like an old goat. However, it’s not only men who are kind on Earth. Women are kinder than men too, according to him.
“I am not doing the eulogy of my genetic umbrella as if she was Virgin Mary, to offend people who did not have a chance to taste the honey of a docile genetic umbrella. That is not my main goal. But I am never going to know the faces of these ghosts with masked voices that were shaking my genetic umbrella’s voice. I would give them a double punch in their faces for breaking my genetic umbrella that was protecting me against this hellish sun,” said Samba Diallo, before joining a mourned populace on the public roads.
On the other hand, his dad, who was working as an officer in the military service, was always gone when Samba Diallo was still forgetting himself in the arms of Morpheus. Sometimes, Samba Diallo used to saturate his father’s eardrums by curiosity with a bunch of questions during his days off about military service. He absolutely wanted to know more about military service. What would happen in the military camps if he would decide to integrate in the national army to defend the national flag color? He really liked this striped uniform like the skin of a zebra because when he would see his dad dressed in his military uniform, he thought his father was one of the heroes that he was watching in cartoon movies. Because his dad always used to tell him, “Being a military is to be a psychologist. Being a psychologist is to be strong mentally and know how to keep secretly everything we see in military camp in a corner of the head. Everything that happens in a military camp stays in the camp.” He also added, “My boy, you are still little. Be patient, when you will be older, you will know a lot about it. You will know what a soldier in mission is.” His dad answered him, nodding his head. That dark face intrigued Samba Diallo. But by fear, the rest of his questions stayed blocked in his throat like Eden’s Apple. He used to believe his parents to be protectors and immortal gods. Under their wings, he felt safety. Unfortunately, during the last visit, his parents were so weak, no more than a chick that was just hatching from the egg. Unable to defend themselves, nor could they defend Samba Diallo. Yet Samba Diallo wanted to be the guardian of national sovereignty and his genetic umbrella used to tell him to be a powerful man like Kiriku, as in his childhood movies, face the power of Karaba, the sorceress, making him play on word games. Tom and Jerry and other movies were fantastically funnies but the power of Kiriku was going to save his whole clan.
Meanwhile, the shells, the cannons of war, and grenades were exploding everything. The bursts of war were flying above their heads and the melody of gunshots sounded over the night. That was a great orchestra in the dark. The shouts of despair were the choristers to this nocturnal orchestra of terror. However, everybody was completely ignoring the key organizers of bloody festivals that were traumatizing millions of people and throwing them on the street. It’s oftentimes absurd to dream of seeing a beautiful hairstyle on the head of a guinea fowl. No one will want to wear the hat of this human butchery, due to which the traumatized innocents were heavily paying for painful consequences in the terrors and blood.
“Sometimes, it’s a docile goat that gives a violent kick in a stomach that we do not expect,” said the madman sitting on the bench in the park. Habitually, everybody was peaceful living together and the city was very quiet in the early morning like a stagnant water in the upper neighborhoods. Apart from these, the roosters that crowed in the early morning, some government employees who were going to work, and the factory workers of this factory that was polluting the air at the exit of the city were the ones who would be awake. But unfortunately, that day, the roosters that used to wake people up early morning did not crow at the same time.
The smoky cloud prevented