The sub-Saharan boy

The water was cold, very cold. It was the only thing I could see, apart from the flames. It was as black as coal, and it was all around me. Only a few hours had gone by since the boat had wrecked, and my fingers were already starting to get numb. If it hadn’t been for the lifejacket, I wouldn’t have survived.

It had all started because of the war in my village, in Africa. There I went to school every day, and I also helped my father to look after the sheep. But when the war started, my home was burnt down. That was the reason my family and I had left the conflict zone. The boat on which we were travelling had sunk, and I had been lucky to escape.

I woke up in a dimly lighted room, and noticed I was laying on a bed. And suddenly, I heard a voice calling my name. I turned around and there, next to me, stood my mother.

Pseudonym: Rovia