Death Babies

in #cribabies7 years ago

Ndidiamaka touched her face again and looked at the blood on her hand from her face as if to read what was written on the blood. That was the sign of a second defeat.

Tears from her eyes fell on her palm and diluted the blood on it. She had tried to escape again from that hell of a place. Busky, the chief devil of that hell had given her a skin-tearing slap on her face.

The first time she attempted to escape from the hell was two years ago after she had given birth to her first child. In fact, in two years, she had had three children. She was nicknamed 'fertile sweetness' by Busky.

Just yesterday, they had taken her new born baby to the baby market. Maybe he'll be used for rituals or sold to a human trafficker or slave trader, she didn't know. Anyway one thing she knew very well was that Busky had made millions from selling her children and the children of the other girls in their custody.

There were about a hundred other girls in that underground building. They were very well fed. Busky's boys had sex with them according to a roaster drawn by Busky. But if Busky liked you, he would do it himself. When any of the girls got pregnant, they moved her to another section of the building where other pregnant girls were.

Ndidi had seen many terrifying things. If any girl couldn't reproduce on time, she was left to drown in the lake just outside the building. It was a waste of money to keep feeding a girl who couldn't reproduce. That was how her friend, Uche, died.

Every day, she heard on the radio of how the police boasted of catching the leader of the baby making factory. All lies. Busky was still here, free and alive!

Ndidi sat and wept, for herself, for all the sold children, for all the other girls and for the country. Perhaps, she would never be free. She would reproduce till death!

#ZeroBabyMakingFactories
#ZeroChildTrafficking

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I live in a country where this is something that happens regularly, and people are to afraid to take a stand and say anything contrary to what is happening. It is gut wrenching and heart breaking when you are powerless.

Thank you for this honest post.

Happy 2018!

Thank you Riana!

We believe things will get better soon.
Happy 2018 to you too!

Keep up the good work. You touched me.

Oh what a touching ng poem

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