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STORY OF MY DEADLY JOURNEY! By Nakinti Besumbu Nofuru

I cannot believe I finally made it to my house alive, with part of my family on board. It's been a bloody long journey from Kumba to Bamenda, via Mamfe. As I approached Widikum round about, I saw some people looking at us in a suspicious and sorry look. And then, one man summoned courage to tell me aloud:

"Madam, small small ya, the road is not ok."

I quickly slowed down, and just a few meters ahead of us, we saw a wild crowd rushing and gathering. As we drew near, we heard loud cries coming from there and some women rolling on the ground crying. I knew it was serious than we imagined. As I Initiated the bend to park well, oh my, the road was black. A bunch of military people had covered the road, and over 7 armored cars lined the middle and corners of the road.

God! We parked and rushed to where the cries were coming from -- Oh no! A woman and her little son have been taken by stray bullets. Their corpses lay still in a Carina E that was transporting them. Before I could cry, some one explained:

"Sister, this woman is part of the convoy transporting that corpse to their village, and the corpse is her husband..."

Jesus! Corpses of husband, wife, and son were there, sur place. She was going to bury her husband, now she and her soon too, will be burried. Oh Lord! The convoy passengers cried their lives out. In a twinkle of an eye, a passenger bus heading to Mamfe brought another injured man/passenger whose hand had beed scattered by bullets.

Now, the millitary then asked all the cars going to Bamenda to line up and allow them use armored cars to escort us. That is how we all struggled to match the speed of those war machines. I tried too. Driving 110 to 130 was another dead trap. We just tried.

A few kilometers into Batibo, a human leg, from thigh down, lay idle in the middle of the road. No one around. We passed in great speed. We reached Batibo, they left us to face the rest of the journey on our own. God, we embarked and prayed and God answered.

As we entered Bamenda, just before we could engage in discussions of relieve, a little boy of about 8 years old was hit by a car around Azire new church. He was lying there in his own blood, dying, until one bike rider rushed him to hospital.

To the family that perished, my heart bleeds. I cannot question God. RIP my sister, son and husband. To those of us who are alive, we owe our world a lot of peace. We cannot continue like this. #PeaceIsPossible.

We are home, painfully though. My mum is still shaking. My younger sister cannot eat. My son has remained mute. For our eyes have seen wonders in war!

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