It was the summer of 2070, I would usually spend my summer holidays at my Grandparent’s. A thousand miles out of town, far in the woods where the chirping of Crickets is as loud as a human’s voice. Grandpa loved to watch cricket, an odd sport to me, and Grandma would spend most of her evenings singing and moving her frail body to the rhythm of the cricket’s sound. I was young, curious and definitely didn’t like how creepy summer starts, but I loved it, the meal, climbing and jumping from all kinds of trees, fishing and most importantly, the stories they both have to share every time they have the chance to.
One particular story always amazes me every time I hear it. The sense of adventure wrapped around it, the blood, guns and the sole fact that I just graduated from the Nigerian Defence Academy. At my age, Grandpa was still an ordinary citizen. He shared his experience of war from years past but he was particular about 2011, after the general presidential elections. My time at the academy saw me in his light, the late night weapon carrying, the painted face, more eye talk than lip movement and the sounds of bullets that sent him and his own Dad running for their lives.
Years have gone, Grandpa is an old man now, and I’m going to war to protect the lives of my countrymen just like Grandpa, only this time, I’m wearing a uniform and I have nowhere to run to.