Footprints of a Migrant: Excerpt from the Horn of Africa

Hundreds of miles to the last Haba city south of the border with Mare and Nub, a taxi cab sped along the dusty plains toward Hum. In the backseat, Meb had replaced his red toque with a safari bush hat, taking pleasure from a feeling of liberty as he sat back and thought about his getaway from the man in the patrol hat. All but instantly once inside the taxi cab, Meb had unleashed his knife and held it against the throat of the shivering chauffeur. At Meb’s request, the chauffeur had switched off his cellphone thereby disconnecting all contacts with the outside world. Then Meb had searched the man’s pocketbook, learning by heart his residential address and the name of his child. Obey my orders, Meb had told him, or your child will die. The man’s face had shown panic, and Meb concluded that he had a cooperative chauffeur for the evening. I am safe now from the man in the patrol hat, Meb thought as a couple of vehicles galloped by on the other side of the road. As the taxi raced onwards, Meb made himself comfortable for the journey, enjoying the feeling of his high-sensation experience. I have served the military diligently, he thought. He glanced at the scar of a bayonet wound on the back of his right palm. Being convinced that his frightened chauffeur would obey orders, Meb lowered his knife. As the vehicle sped toward Hum, he gazed at a symbol on the car’s dashboard. It could only have been a political one. A photo of the presidents of Mare and Haba shaking hands. The symbol was everywhere nowadays---people around the northern Tigblack region of Haba showing unanimity with the two presidents, endorsing their peace treaty agreement. Amusingly, Meb’s recognition that his chauffeur was a fan of the peace treaty, which he believed was a failure, had made pulling a knife on the man an almost gratifying feeling. Meb was disheartened at how ignorant people allowed the politicians to play on their intelligence. Footprints of migrants, like himself, could still be seen heading out of the country. Fear of the Mare government, human rights abuses and years of military service still existed. Restrictions at the border crossing remained a daily hustle. Absolutely nothing seemed to have changed in Mare.