Once upon a time.

There lived a little girl who was born into a Kpelle family. A Kpelle girl. She was the most beautiful little girl. Slim, tall and straight like a bamboo stick, with thick pitch black hair. Black as the night’s light without the brightness from stars.

She was a beauty.

This little girl was born during the days when—girls were precious jewels to their families and relatives—and yet. Faceless and Voiceless. This little girl was born during the days when—girls were asked to present. Kola nuts.

Do you know the importance of a Kola nut?

A very very long time ago. In a story called. “Watch Your Mouth”, I explained the significance of a Kola nut. Remember? Or did you not read it? If, you did not, you will need to understand that story, to understand—what a Kola nut is.

This little girl and many many girls of her days were exchanged and traded like a—Kola nut and as a Kola nut.

This little girl, began walking the dry and wet lands—the lands of her birth, during the days when officials of—The Republic—the lands of her birth—traveled the roads leading to her village, demanding—what is called. A Head Tax—from her family. And from each and every living and breathing souls—living under—one round thatched hut made of clay and mud.

Refusal to pay The Republic’s—Head tax, was not an option for a parent or for an adult. And. No one dares say no. Because. The punishment that rain down upon those who said—no and those who could not afford to pay the Head-tax demanded by The Republic—rained beyond the pains, the losses, and the grieves that almost everyone around the globe—are facing—in this Covid-19 pandemic. So, the little girl and the girls of her days became precious jewels.  And commodities.

Parents(adults), with nothing, from whom Head taxes were demanded—to be paid—on each head counted members of their households, regardless of age, would traveled the village and beyond, scanning around, until they came across something that catches their eyes. The adult, thinking to themselves of the possibilities of what could happen—makes an eye contact, while inching closer and closer to a whisper hearing distance of the figure that had caught their attention.

Making a throat clearing sound, the adult whispered.quietly “I have some good and fine plantains and kola nuts; would you like some?…Come by my place and see them, and we can discuss more huh?”. 

Turning around, the adult heads back to their hut, preparing the plantains and kola nuts. For the invited guest. While saying to the little girl—“Come my child, take these kola nuts to the person sitting over there” 

The little girl took the kola nuts, kneeling down on both knees, she presented the kola nuts. To the invited guest. After doing so, the little girl got up and went on by. To play. Leaving the invited guest and the adults to lecture away. 

The little girl kept on playing. Not knowing what had just happened. Not knowing that the exchange of that—kola nuts—was an invitation and a visual display of something much bigger for her little brain to imagine. Not knowing that the discussions happening behind her back—is a buy and a sell transaction—and that she is the commodity of the transaction.

A transaction allowing her families to obtain the funds to pay she and her family’s—Head taxes—in exchange for the little girl, growing up, and becoming the—wife of the invited guest, or the wife of the invited guest’s son, uncle, father, and whomever. And so, the Kola nuts, which the little girl presented, were picked up, broken and eaten, sealing the agreement between the little girl’s family and the invited guest.

The little girl, Still out and playing, heard a calling for her name. By the adult. Saying to her “Come my child, and go with this person, pointing to the invited guest. This person and their families and wives will take care of you. They will raise you as their own. Be good, my child” but the little girl, still not knowing what that meant. She obeyed. Devotedly. Leaving her parent’s and family’s hut, and village to live with the people who had just—purchased her.

And the little girl grew, growing tay-tay. Transforming from a little girl to a young girl and to a young woman. With—her roles and responsibilities—changing from a little girl to a young girl and to a young woman; her eyes started opening. she started looking around. Noticing that she is—voiceless. and faceless, and her hands, tied with bundles and bundles of industrialized—societal stigmatized ropes of—the female’s bondage.

And so. She begin to fight. To break free. 

“_{But how?”} She asked herself. _{“Where to go? How can I leave—with a baby? A baby that made my body stretch, twist and turn. A baby that made me sick for days, weeks, and months, craving all food and no food at the same time. My—baby. that—grew within me and came out from within me, bringing out, parts from within me that connects and bond us together. My baby. that kept me up for nights and for days, sucking on my tay-tay for dear life. And yet. Belongs to the father. And not me.”}

So. She became part of—The Runners Created By Society. And saying to her baby from a distance…

“My dearest girl child,

We do not know each other and I am sorry for that. I am sorry that I left you and went away. Far far away.  to escape the bondage of society. So that—I could stand on my own two foot—and make my own decisions and choices. It is not—that I did not love you. Oooo, I did love you. very much—and I still do now as I watch over you. But. I could not stay and care for you. I could not stay to see you flip on your belly—moving like a snail as you attempt to crawl. I could not stay to watch you take your first—featherily steps, while saying a secret prayer that the wind don’t blow too harshly to knock you down onto your butt, as you try to balance on your own. With determination. Over and over again.

Sorry. I was not there to see you mumble out your first words. For, I left before all of this could come—to present. And all this—made our relationship dull and rusty.

Although I was not there to raise you as my own, I did not entirely abandoned you. My hands were tied during the days of my youth but I left you in good hands. Once your neck became a little stronger to support your head; you and I traveled by foot from your father’s village to my mother’s village where I handed you over to your grandmother. 

My dear first baby girl. Your grandmother loved you, the moment she laid her eyes on you. 

It cut my heart. Leaving you behind. And it healed my heart escaping—my arranged marriage. Escaping my predetermined destiny that was determined without my say, many many  years before you came into this world. So I escaped. Traveling far far away from Canfoe, Foequelleh, Panta district. Further and further away. Crossing the boundaries of Bong County towards further territories—until I reached Grand Bassa County. Leaving you far far back.

I had to escape. To find myself. To create my own destiny. To make my own decisions and choices. To travel my own path. So, I ran. Escaping with nothing but towards a breath of fresh air, and towards a discovery of myself by myself. 

My heart ached. When I left you. I could not take you with me because of societal standards—for, you are your father’s child. And. I could not stay to care for you because it meant I had to stay in my agreed upon marriage, with agreements that were not agreed upon by me. 

All I knew and could think of then, was to run. And I ran to Grand Bassa. Becoming a Bassa woman.

Taking on a new name, a Bassa name and leaving my Kpelle name behind, in Bong County. I became a stranger to you and you became a stranger to me. We grew further and further apart just like the physical distance that was between you and me, when. I Escaped. Joining—The others—Runners Created By Society. Running. Faceless and Voiceless. And. Becoming the mother—that you do not know. I.am.sorry. I abandoned you.

Sincerely,

A Runner Created By Society.”

Thank you for reading.

Lawuo, Yemah-Gbokwoh, Zorkleene, Aalafayiah, Dolokolliemah, Cummings, and Naimah