DAILYPOST DAILY PROMPT
Share the story of a time you felt unsafe.
It was the tensest moment in the political life of the country. Here and there, people were protesting against the government. They wanted the leadership of the country replaced for new leaders to take over. Their grievance was that the leadership in place was not delivering. They were squandering all the nation’s resources while the people perished under the yoke of poverty.
Tension was high. Protesters were uncontrollable. They wanted to go to any extent to achieve their goal. Destruction became the order of the day. Roads and bridges were destroyed; homes and cars were burnt down or destroyed as rioters went on rampage on a daily basis. In the course of it, many people lost their lives.
The Government became helpless and some high-ranking Government officials crossed carpet to the Opposition to save their lives.
Daring journalists stuck out their necks for one of three reasons: to support the rioters; to support the government or to stay neutral and call for calm. Unfortunately, whoever stayed neutral and called for calm was regarded as an opponent of the revolution. Being an advocate of peace, I opted for peace. I made soul-searching convincing calls on radio to stop destruction and take a more rational approach. That earned for me the venom of the protesters.
I was blacklisted and on a Friday night, I was to be burnt alive in my home with the home burnt to ashes with my whole family in it. In the day, I received a letter written in red ink and slipped through my gate. In it I was told to get ready for the worst.
Fear ran down my spine. I knew the worst was not far in coming. Many others had been burned alive. The protesters were no nonsense people. Four hours after I received the letter I got a phone call from my colleagues who had become insiders in the protest movement advising me to quit my house immediately and take cover where I could.
But where was I to go? All around me were people who sympathized with the protesters. There was no place to hide. I stayed put; leaving everything in the hands of God.
My heart beat fast as evening drew near. It was always at night that they carried out their devilish acts. I felt for my wife and children; and for myself. There was no body to help.
At 8 p.m. in their headquarters, protesters began to sing war songs in readiness to go out for the night’s operation. How many houses and people had been scheduled for destruction or to be killed that night, they alone knew. What I was sure of was that my name was on their list; that before morning I and my family would be gone.
When, in their headquarters, the fierce-looking General of the protesters blew his whistle to signal it was time to get going, it was at that very moment that the state radio announced a state of emergency in the region to start that very moment. Soldiers flooded the streets and took no nonsense from any protester.
The planned operation for that day failed. No houses were destroyed. No one was burned to death. I did not perish with my family. It was God’s miracle that I was safe.
This post is written in response to the daily prompt safety-first