The national anthem blasted out from the aging Tanaika radio above my head! For the first time in a long time, it held more meaning to me than just the usual patriotism jingoism. I was a Nigerian. A young one at that. The future definitely held a lot for me and other teenagers who have survived the war. We were ready to pick up the pieces, and march on. Like the Head of State, General Gowon had declared, this was No Victor, No Vanquished. It did actually feel like a loss for us the Eastern Region, given that we had seemingly invested so much in the war. Hope, dream of independence, autonomy...name it! We desired them all, but yet couldn't do any further. But we are all happy it has come to an end. Even myself, despite being just 18+ and a girl, I had felt more than just a kid during the bloody chaos. I had run and dodged shells and mines with my siblings and mum. It was hell on earth and we couldn't survive it all without losing somebody to it - my dad. My his gentle soul rest in peace. Amen.

Now we were back to rebuilding everything again. My family isn't Ibo, we are Efik, but we have always had a place in Enugu and have stayed there all my life. My dad was a shoe cobbler while my mum owned a restaurant. Luckily, her restaurant was one of the fewest things we were left with after the war. Dad's stall was completely destroyed by shelling, as well as what used to be our home. Mum's restaurant which was within the Asata axis of town, was barely affected, and we only had to deal with rubbles and stones that got displaced from other buildings after they were shelled down. Subsequently her business became the rallying point for our family. She was now the breadwinner and was required to feed myself and my two younger brothers. Given she was pretty much a known name - Nwanyi Calabar was what they called her - within the locality even before the war, it wasn't long before the returning residents began to patronize us once again. Foodstuff was still very hard to come by, but since after the fall of Enugu in October of 1967, the Nigerian Army contingents stationed in the former capital of Biafra, had always illegally allowed in a few cargo's through the check-points; all for the right notes. Mum herself was additionally fortunate, because she easily soon struck a chord with most of the soldiers and had a good portion of the smuggled foodstuff delivered to her. Their price, was her pussy. They bleeped her virtually everyday! And while that hurt me so much mostly because of my late dad, I somehow still managed to understand. She obviously had to do what she had to do to keep our shattered family going.

So as soon as the anthem finished playing, the rather sonorous voice of the male presenter took over. As had always been the case since the war was over, he reiterated that he was overjoyed that the bloodshed and bombardments had finally ended. And called upon all citizens to come together to build what was supposedly the great nation Nigeria. He offered condolences to all that had lost a few relatives during the chaos and urged everyone to look forward to an expectedly brilliant future. He was now going to give us some music and wished us pleasant listening. Meanwhile, I returned just from the kitchen where I had gone to drop some used plates and cups. Mum wasn't around as she had left to go secure some pending consignments. Myself and my siblings, who were playing at the backyard, were the only ones home. And even though the patronage that very morning wasn't exactly spectacular, I still had a handful of tasks in my hands. I had tables to clean, some plates to wash and a tray of rice waiting for me to parboil. The radio ultimately looked to be my companion that very morning and as the songs played, it helped soothe a mind that was already trying to crumble under pressure. Anyways, I had just started cleaning one of the filthy table tops, when I noticed a man walk into our eatery. When I looked up, I realized he was a soldier. One I even knew.

Sikuru was his name. They called him Sikaka around here though, for some reasons I still haven't known. And the nickname too, made little sense. But that was what he was called and he was probably proud of it. Secondly, he was one of the men that usually came looking for my mum. They were about 13 in total, and each time any of them visited, mum instantly knew what his coming was for. They would then leave the eatery together - with mum leading the way - and they would subsequently find any suitable corner just behind our restaurant. Right there, the soldier would ferociously Bleep and finger my mum so much, that she would almost always return back sweating all over and in some cases, with a cum-stained dress! In fact, times without number, I had heard them go at it, with mum pleading with the apparently ruthless soldier to Bleep her even harder! She would wail and moan amidst the rumble, and I occasionally hear her sucking off on something which I had endlessly suspected was the soldier's dick as though to thank him for the sex! This was how they always ended, and it sometimes made me so wet even though I still ended up feeling guilty given that this was mum fucking other men, just few months after dad's death. But who was I to change anything? After all, she was only going to just spend another 24 hours or so before another soldier came calling.

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No be small thing o.

na wa, mothers are ready to do anything for their children even if it means giving up their lives