A Woman's Experience of War

Tecla Wanjala

   On 0ctober 7th, around 8.00 p.m., feeling exhausted from too much reading, I decided to get in touch with the world by watching the CNN news. " America strikes back," the big words on the screen greeted me. "Oh, not again, God!" I complained.

   I watched as missiles flew one after the other, with horror. I must have watched for four hours, then went to bed. I could not sleep. So I started reflecting more on the missiles. Soon I redirected them to Kenya. The targets could have been Moi Airforce, Wilson airport or Kenyatta National Airport or even Mt. Elgon, where we have a famous cave named Baghdad. That was where the youths involved in the 1991-92 ethnic clashes used to stage the wars.

   Then I started imaging myself being one of the Afghanistan women and wondered aloud, ''What would I do! Sit there watching the faces of my frightened children, horrified by missiles flying over their heads?'' What words could I say to them to reassure them that all was well? What help would it have been to my dear children?

   Suppose the target was Mt Elgon, which is very close to my village? Where would I migrate to with my children? Which route would have taken? How many miles would I have to force my children to walk - in the hot sun and heat, luggage on their heads, with sore, freshly wounded feet?

   At this point I got frightened because I remembered the sources of trauma of the many displaced and refugee women in Kenya. Some were guilty of murdering their own children. Why? As they were running away from the clashes, they forced their children to walk. Some children got exhausted and dropped dead. Others, as they ran, accidentally fell on their children, killing them. For another one, the attacks happened just when the family members were preparing a funeral service for her dear departed child. Everyone else ran away, but she refused to leave the house and asked that she be locked inside with her dead child. At night she took advantage of the darkness to dig a shallow grave for her dear departed and buried her, single-handedly. Guess what her source of trauma is? The poor lady fears that the body of her child may have been exhumed and eaten by wild animals due to the shallow grave.

   And so, as a peace worker, I have no say about what is going on. The many and big voices in power drowned out the small alternative voices on how to approach the conflict and find the lasting solution. And so, we have to wait and when all is done, move on to cry and be traumatized by the experiences of the poor women.

   I broke down and cried.

Tecla Wanjala is currently a CTP student from Kenya where she was the coordinator of the Peace and Development Network.