Writing Task #13 (narrative)

There I was, on the 4th of June 2021, in my west Nigerian clan being captured as prisoners of war. Why was this? I’ll tell you.

When I was born I was a relatively normal Nigerian child. I was a little chubby but some of us are just like that. My parents decided to call me a unique name, Khari, which in my native tongue means as strong as a lion, this unique name would later help me out of my situation. Nigeria although had been turned around recently by surprisingly good presidents, had taken a turn for the worst. Our new president, although he looked like an amazing candidate over his presidential campaign, now had turned to make stupid decisions that would only benefit him and his family over what he should be fighting for, his country and the citizens.

He had made a deal with Russia to sell part of our mines for a large amount invested in the Russian ruble. This was the first straw our president Hussain “Dupree” Amaechi. He later decided to steal an insanely large amount of oil off India's oil rigs on the east Indian Ocean and make it look like a small scale robbery to help the South African Rand get a foot in the door in terms of being a semi liable currency. Well the man himself Hussain the genius decided to use state speed boats, which by their blatant African government branding was soon found out to be the African government. India did not take this lightly and despite Russia having ties to Africa and specifically Nigeria, India was a much more polite party and had supplied a lot of land and resources to the soviets. Russia took its only logical decision which was to disband from the Nigerians and begin the rage of war. The Indians, despite listening to Russias’ war tactics decided to disobey the holy motherland and attack northern east Africa which was not remotely apart of Nigeria and hence they called their allies. In less than 5 days the whole world was split into two parties, opposing and soon one would no longer be with the current day's deadly technology.

Nigeria soon was starting to collapse as the civilisation that we all know in the common era. There were building full of rubble covering the streets everywhere in sight and the knowledge that the foreign forces would soon have half the population in a prison and the other half dying on the streets to the hand of a Russian man with a rifle.

I was relaxing in the local soccer field with my good friend Jerome and Abdul and kicking the ball around carelessly while boisterously having a conversation with my friends which was more like yelling because of the wind, but the wind in Nigeria is almost always rough so I just accepted it at the time as a mere chance little did I know what was about to unfold. I slammed the ball into the goal and started to celebrate until I realised everyone was dead silent, I turned around only to be met with the exact same image and the exact same freezing horror my friends had just ensued, as we lived in central Nigeria I thought it would take ages to get to us but Russia had been advancing straight for us and the next thing I know there are masses of mixed military men, forcing their way through the shrubs, chasing after us as we ran for our lives we held so dear to ourselves. We eventually had it a large distance away from the men, slowed down by their extensive lethal gear as we neared a local village south of the Nigerian border. We seeked refuge there as we slowly progress further south until we made it to South Africa, the furthest south point of Africa. Where to next, I have no idea, but I can only go up from here.