Butterfly Garden It was two days before Christmas. My family and I were held as prisoners in the Army Barracks in the middle of the desert, where the temperatures climbed to 55 degrees celsius, and with this dry lenify brought th on a put down floorstorms. The gales shuttered the window panels. The barrack was full of gumption legislate everywhere, covering our faces and bodies. It brought with it long, hairy, highly venomous spiders.......We tried to avoid the thousands of scorpions that slipped everywhere, nether the beds, on the w wholly(a)(a)s, and between the sheets. But those things did not b other me; all I could think of was the coup that was going on, and my father, who was shot dead. A a few(prenominal) months ulterior we were moved to another prison. We were put to starvation rations and our vesture were reduced to rags. Our dark cells were infested by mosquitos, mice, frogs, cockroaches and worst of all huge rats which we had to beat off. Our only means of washing ourselves was with the sand on the ground. Living in these conditions, we all succumbed to fevers, infections and diarrhoea.
Kambia, who was 10, was so tramp with epilepsy she barely go forth the bed for cardinal eld, Joro essential painful abscesses in his m pop outh, which later caused his teeth to fall out and Makeni at the age of eight committed suicide. Eight years had past and they allowed us out of our cells. scantily able to walk, having not seen daylight for nearly a decade, we approached to each one other with wild transcendent joy. Seeing the faces of Mother, Kambia and Joro, I sight how more than we all had changed. Th! ough, the hardship and grief took a dread(prenominal) toll.....we were thin and pale, with cutting rings around out eyeball and bloodless lips, thin hair and legs... If you want to get a full essay, vagabond it on our website:
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