‘When Will We Breathe Again’ by James

Every optimistic narrative starts with the main character leading a typical life in an idyllic residence. On the other hand, mine is the complete opposite. Aliha Mendoza is my name, and my family includes my parents and my brother Selique. Unfortunately, we were all plunged into an era of extreme poverty, sometimes with an inadequate nourishment to go around. I am stuck in Sudan. War and disorder encircle our home, determined to discourage those who do not wish to live through this perilous summer. Outside, word of a frigid shadow of death swallowing the country, along with the massacres of citizens in their own streets spread like wildfire.

When I was 13 years old, I was startled to hear our parents yelling at us as they stormed into our room late at night in panic. “They are here.” They were unknown to me. I retrieved our most valuable items as my brother sobbed in the room’s corner. My horrific story became harsher after this. Before achieving success, you had to walk for hours on end and occasionally hide from this shadow of death. The border served as our country’s bulwark to what we imagine to be freedom from the war that tormented it. I had to manoeuvre through the shoving mass with my brother, as we unified as a cohesive unit.

My brother’s finger eventually slipped from mine, and I was suddenly, mercilessly flung into a crowd of people. I dashed, shoving people out the way as I anxiously tried to locate my family. I was pushed into the back of a van with other complete strangers. A few of the children appeared to be sobbing as everyone else sat there in silence. Although there was no time for rehabilitation, I felt extremely worn out. When we finally stopped after a gruelling ride where I failed to catch any sleep, we were hauled out of the van and herded into a crowded building with other refugees.

I made a fleeting glance of the sign outside, which read Abu Simbel Police Station. We were currently in Egypt. The journey here was not as agonising as the cells. They were stifling, hot, and foul. Immediately as I stepped inside the cell, I passed out from exhaustion. Later, I awoke disorientated and confused to witness more wailing, screaming, and people being dragged to prison. The same individuals from the van are thrown in here, comprising of adults, and youngsters like me. Guards eventually barged in, collected up several of us, including me, and hauled us outside into the blistering sunlight. We were about to be deported back to our inhospitable motherland, which was soul destroying. I was about to be transported over the border again…’How could this be happening?’ I found myself howling out in extreme anguish at the top of my voice paralysing anyone near into complete quiet realising the fate that awaited us on the other side of this…