~~~~~ This is a fictional story. ~~~~~
That year, I just graduated from university. With a journalism degree, I thought I could finally be what I’ve always wanted to be —— a war journalist!
Also, my father was the Chief Editor in one of the top newspapers in the country — The Prime. I had no problem securing a job there. The problem was to convince him sending me to the war zone!
As you can imagine, parents are always protective. He was always making excuses, like “You need more training”, “You need a guide”, “Now is not the right time” etc. etc. Well, I guess there will never be the right time! Like when? When the war ends?
Anyway, I continued to beg my father for a year, all while I was working my ass off on every single project, to show him that I was ready!
Eventually, there was a slot came up! An old journalist was retiring, needed someone to fill his post. He was following the government troops, and they wanted a younger male, who could speak French. That would be me!!
I knew many colleagues were jealous, because I didn’t need to break an arm or leg to get a job in The Prime. Also, I’ve only worked for one year, already got to be sent to the war zone… I didn’t care!! I think this is what a journalist needs to do: use whatever tools, take whatever tricks, to get the job done!
So, two weeks later, I arrived the war zone (by military flight, no less, because no commercial flights would fly there!) This country has been at civil war since ten years ago, between the Government (which my country was supporting) and the Anti-government group, also called the Extremists.
I would be eating, touring, sleeping in the same tent as the government troops at all time. They would protect me, and I would learn about their lives, and study everything about this ruined country. I was excited, but at the same time nervous. I didn’t know what I would face.
But I wouldn’t show any sign that I was scared. I must show results. I must show my father that I’m capable, and I do not need his shelter. I must show my colleagues that I didn’t get the job for nothing!
Slowly, day by day, months by months, I started to get used to the life there. Things were tough and basic, but it was bearable. Eventually, I even started to feel as if I was part of the troops, except that they held rifles and machine guns, I held camera and pen.
The trains in that country have long chairs at both sides, and hallway at the middle. One day, when we were taking a train to the countryside, I saw a strange scene.
There were many kids sitting quietly at the other side of the train. They were no older than 6 to 8 years old. The youngest might be even 2 to 3 years old. However, they were all oddly quiet. I could see some of them playing games with their hands, but they didn’t talk. They didn’t make noises or laugh like the kids that I usually see. It was as if they were all mute. Later, an elder woman came and sat among them.
After getting off the train, I asked the troops about these kids. They answered that they were orphans. There were countless orphans in the country, caused by the civil war. They were considered lucky if they were being taken into the orphanages managed by government, because many more were living off the streets. It was so sad to see.
The troops that I stayed with were all very young fellows, many of them were still teenagers, yet you can see in their eyes that they had experienced so much sallow and pain. Most of them had lost their family members, or came from extreme poverty. There were reasons why they joined the troops.
However, sometimes you could see them joke around. When they laughed, you could see that they were no different from the boys in other countries. They might be more mature than usual, but they were still kids. They were not cold-blooded killers. They were just born in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
There was one boy I was particularly close to. He could speak some English and other languages. He was smart, resourceful and good at negotiation. He often served as translator in the troops. Not only that, he was kind and optimistic. Everybody liked him. His name was Tee.
One regular night, when we were taking shelter in an old war-torn building, I sat next to him against the wall, and asked, “ Tee, why did you join the troops?”
He glared at the broken glass window, and whispered, “I guess, I wanted to see the world. My family are farmers, You know? So I tried to learn English myself. I found a dictionary in the used bookstore. I talked with any foreigners I could find, doctors, reporters, volunteers… At last, I’m here. I want to go to university, in your country maybe? Haha…” He laughed so cheerfully, as if it was just a joke, but I know it was not. It was really his wish, but the chance was so slim that it sounded like a joke. I could feel a sadness behind his laughter. That year, he was only 19. Tee was so smart. He would have succeeded in any fields, I thought.
Suddenly, we started to hear a very low frequency sound closing by. I felt a hand on my head, and I heard Tee yelled very loud, “Stay down!!!” I also heard people yelling in other languages. Then, there was a deafening sound. Something blown up, things flying everywhere. I couldn’t see anything. My whole body hurt like hell. Then, I passed out.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a tent, on a makeshift bed, bandages and small wounds all over me. A man in white apron came up to me, checked my eyes, and said. “You are so lucky. You are the only one survived. Someone must have covered you with his body.”
“What??” My head couldn’t register. I thought about Tee. Did he save my life?
Apparently, we were attacked by a drone, from my country. They got some fake tips, and thought that a leader of the Extremists was hiding in that old building, but he was not. They got the same tip from several sources, so they thought it was reliable, but it was not. We were the only ones there.
Later, my country issued a public apology, but it would not bring all these boys back. Tee’s wish will never come true.
After the drone attack, my parents were shell-shocked. My father immediately sent me back. Two years later, I was still grounded for local news only.
But I never forget the troops I lived with and toured with for 5 months. I never forget the orphans that I saw. I never forget Tee.
I swear that, one day I’ll be back. Because only I could deliver their stories. I won’t allow them to be forgotten… I think, I’ll see Tee again, somewhere else.
~~~~~ The End ~~~~~