It was a September, a normal September evening like any other, the kids were back from school and parents were back from work, dinner was in process, stories were rolling with loud laughters filling the air. It was a September where life was going well with no sign of impending doom. So when the news of how the plane plunged into the lagoon hit them, they were not ready for it. It came like a hurricane with a tsunami in its wake, it raised up and brought down, it happened so fast that they had little time to catch their breath. You see, mama was barely 14 when she married papa and she started having kids right away, it is said that papa pampered her so much that his brothers kept saying he was spoiling her, all mama knew how to be was a wife and a mother and that was okay for her.
It became a noisy September, with the house full of a thousand gloomy faced relations with anty Numa and grandma begging mama to cry and let out the pain, it was certain that life just went downhill, the wailing from next door reenforced the truth, they had been beaten, all the women on that block in the cantonment; 7 to the left, 9 to the right and 17 down the lane.
It was a bloody September, that Hercules plunged into the lagoon not just with their husbands but also with their hopes and dreams; it was a hopeless September. I heard mama Jane from the 5th house went “loco”, she tore from her house to the bush, soldiers had to run after her to contain her. As mama sat there numb, gazing into space I bet she saw her future with 5 kids to care for and one on the way, it was evident that this was just the beginning of the dark years to come.
It was a dark September.
In memory of the Hercules guys, our unsung heroes.