The first thing I learned as a child was that thirst could kill faster than hunger, especially for those of us born and raised in the semi-arid parts of the world where water was as precious as Gold. My mother once told me that I was brought to this world during one of the worst famines our community had ever experienced that nearly swept the entire community. Many innocent lives were lost because of the famine while others lost theirs in the common scramble for the little food given by the County Relief and other well-wishers. It was the hardest period the community ever faced but thanks to Akuj (God) eventually things improved a bit. Come to think of it, my Tribal name “Ekolong” as given by Mr. and Mrs. Ekidor, my biological parents; Was a reminder of those harsh periods as it means A Hot Sun.
Every dawn in my childhood marked the beginning of another search—not for food, but for water. We used to walk bare-footed on hot sand radiated in temperatures that often reached thirty-nine degrees Celsius from the sun for about seven kilometers to the nearest water source. At times, the borehole could run dry and so we had no choice but to share stagnant pools of water with our cattle and other animals. It wasn't because we didn't understand the danger—we clearly knew the diseases that came with it. We learned about many diseases the hard way. As at times, we would discover the disease after witnessing the passing on of our fellow community members. But all in all, we kept on living by a painful saying:
"It is better to live with disease than to die of thirst."
For us, survival always came before comfort. As deep down, we believed death from disease was much kinder than death from thirst.
Although most of the temporarily Dugged boreholes of water called Akaree, were clean but as more people drank from it and used it for their daily necessities; it reached a point when it was unsafe for human consumption but as the saying goes “A poor man has no choice”. As it was either to drink from what had been a small pool of water that now was a muddy pit, after people and livestock had walked through it so many times that the water was thick with dirt. It gave a sour, rotten smell that made our stomach turn. Yet, with our lips cracked from thirst, we knelt beside it and drank as if it were the purest water on earth or allowed thirst to slowly steal our lives. That was the heartbreaking reality of the place I called home.
When people hear the word hunger, most imagine going some few hours or a day at most without food. Where I came from, hunger meant something entirely different. Food was a rare luxury, and whatever little we found could never provide a balanced diet. In fact, we didn't even know what a balanced diet was until much later in life. Our parents used to tell us that such meals were for people living in towns and cities but for us from the forgotten world, boiled maize seasoned with nothing more than a little salt was enough to keep us alive till when God will merciful and provide the next meal which was utterly never known if it can be found in a day or two. Some of my earliest memories are of chewing hard boiled maize with no oil to soften it, no beans to make it filling, and no vegetables to add colour or flavour in order to survive. Every bite was dry and tasteless, but hunger gave us no reason to complain. For us, that simple meal was enough to keep us alive till the next sunrise—God willing.
Little did I know that thirst and hunger were only the beginning. Soon, fear would become our daily companion and the home we had always known would no longer be safe.