A river of blood flooding the edge of my finger. Through the bedroom window, a cold night and a cloudy sky that insists not to rain, look mischievously in my eyes. A feeling of regret in it all. Maybe it’s from the finger, but a feeling of regret piercing my heart races like the tip of a fingernail penetrating a wall rusted with time. The wounds that open us up in the body hurt so much. It doesn’t matter who opens them. Word of honor, during our lifetime, the wounds that open us in the body hurt so much. Out of nowhere the voice of Caetano Veloso, in the midst of a crash of silence, for me
I am sad, so sad. I am very sad…
The body of the black woman, which zigzags along the road like a needle making a hem, continues to receive violent blows from the stick held by one of the men wearing the military uniform. Is it a goat going to the pasture? Terror grips the woman’s intestines and piles of excrement come out of her body as she screams and tries to dodge. Men in military uniforms carry gallons of blood and bullets in large guns which give them the authority and power to embody the demon.
If Heaven doesn’t exist after that, I swear they’ll keep chasing and beating her again, then showering her with thirty-six bullets that will open her body in the last seconds of her life. So much cruelty, my God! So much cruelty and many of us still haven’t woken up to see that Cabo Delgado is no longer just Mozambican cancer; Cabo Delgado has long been the golgotha of all mankind. Barbarism still persecutes people born and raised in handcuffs and embraced by suffering. Tonight, Caetano’s voice is not silent, it unfolds with great discouragement,
I feel empty and always full. I am sad, so sad.
Bloody blood flooding the edge of my finger over and over again. Under the blood a cut that extends from one end of the finger to the other. If you want to know, honestly, I don’t know how it came about, all of a sudden a little pain and a lot of blood gushing through the crack that opened in the finger. But what is the extent of the sea of blood that bathes the lands of Cabo Delgado?
The government since the start of the conflict to minimize all this. And the wound opened up, became infected and now everything was rotten on these sides. And the President of the Republic in the same silence as always; in the same silence that deafened everyone when fifty-two young men were killed who refused to join the ranks of terrorists in Muidumbe; in the same silence that we are used to when the potato is heating.
The desperate naked black woman raped and slaughtered on a road in Cabo Delgado and the same old people trying to make us believe these images are a montage of terrorists, that there is no human rights violation in Cabo Delgado, that we are unpatriots and harass all those who demand an independent investigation into the existence or not of human rights violations by the defense and security forces.
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Much blood in Cabo Delgado and many of us forgetting that the first victory is not against the terrorists, but against the inhumanity that exists in each of us, not only among those soldiers who bury the oath that they did to the flag when they rape their compatriots, but in us, we defend that everything happens in the war and we accept that a person is executed in such a vile way without any previous judgment, simply because we suspects to be on the side of the terrorists. Opening an independent investigation is not about not supporting our military, but about ensuring that the honor of an entire army is not sullied by a group of people; that more women, men and children are neither killed nor raped by those who must defend them.
Tonight, a river of blood flooding the edge of my finger and descending into the waterfall of the nail, a sky that insists not to rain, my eyes diluted in tears and the voice of Caetano Veloso who does not remain silent
and the coldest place in the river is my room. I am sad, so sad, I am very sad.