THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN: CHAPTER 4:BEFORE THE STORM

CHAPTER FOUR Before the Storm To understand why I died without a shred of fear... you must first know how I lived. My name is Amaka. Long before the war stole everything from me, I was just another young woman with dreams far bigger than the village that raised me. I was born in Ubakala, in the Eastern Region of Nigeria, where I grew up believing that education could change a person's life. That belief led me to the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where I studied Mass Communication. I wanted to become a journalist—not because I loved newspapers, but because I believed words could unite people where bullets never could. After graduating, I accepted a temporary journalism assignment in Northern Nigeria. Many Easterners lived and worked there then, and despite the political tension spreading across the country, life appeared normal. Or so we thought. By the time my assignment ended, whispers of violence had become impossible to ignore. Every newspaper carried another disturbing headline. Every radio bulletin spoke of uncertainty. Markets became quieter. Neighbours who had once greeted one another warmly now looked at each other with suspicion. Fear was slowly replacing trust. It no longer felt like home. Like many other Easterners, I decided it was time to return to the East before things became worse. The journey home was long. The bus was crowded with traders, civil servants, students, mothers carrying babies, and men arguing about the future of Nigeria. Some blamed the politicians. Others blamed tribalism. A few insisted that Nigeria would survive whatever storm lay ahead. The argument grew louder with every mile. I joined in. How could I not? I had spent years believing that Nigeria could still remain one nation. Yet one man remained silent. He sat by the window, listening more than he spoke. His travelling bag bore a name written boldly across it. NDUBUISI. His silence irritated me. I mistook it for indifference. I even convinced myself that he was too afraid to speak his mind. I was wrong. Very wrong. As the bus sped towards the East, I looked away, convinced I would never have a reason to remember the quiet stranger by the window. I could never have imagined that before this journey ended, fate would force our paths to cross... ...and from that moment on, neither of our lives would ever be the same.

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