The sun burned against my skin as people ran in different directions, confused, pushing, and stumbling over each other. I pulled my son closer to myself as he coughed from the thick smoke rising from the burning tyres on the dead man lying close to us.
Fire burned at every corner. I stood still scanning around for a place to hide. My son’s teeth drummed in terror, his hands shaking in mine as tears flowed down his face, soaking his tattered shirt. I forced myself to stay calm and tried hard to steady my breathing as he held on to me tightly.
Five years ago, my dad and I were running and I hid while they dragged him away. I did not see it but I heard everything. When the screaming ended, I knew he was gone.
I didn’t want the same for my son; I looked at him. He was all I had, born from a past I didn’t choose. I saw a place we could hide; we ran towards that half-collapsed building. As we ran, something slammed into my face. I fell instantly. A stone had hit me hard. My boy fell beside me, disoriented. “Mommy, blood,” he cried shakily.
“No worry, my pikin, make we go,” I answered in pain. I struggled to stand as I picked the stone. I wanted to throw it, but at who? I stopped, realising I was becoming what they were. From afar, I saw a man run towards us with a knife in his hand.
We ran quickly into the building and I found a place to hide my son and walked back to the entrance of the building holding that stone. I didn’t care; I needed to protect my son.
As the man came closer, I threw the stone and it hit his shoulder hard. After throwing the stone, it dawned on me; I had just thrown the only weapon I had.
He came close to me and stabbed me; the pain was intensely hot. I fell to the ground and felt numb. Immediately, he left me and headed to where my son hid.
I saw him. I crawled to stop him but I became dizzy. I could hear my son scream. “Leave me!” he cried.
I struggled to go there as my heartbeat heightened. I heard my son again. “Mommy, don’t worry. I’d be fine, OK?” As he spoke, the man buried the knife into his chest. Tears rolled down my face as I heard his words. Soon, the man ran out back into the community.
Health workers got to me just before I lost consciousness. I got better within weeks but my son... my son, he didn’t make it. In those moments I became something I wasn’t. I almost became a killer. And now… who says I’m not?