The Darkest Road To Togodo Poem by Koffi B Sossou

It was a Monday evening,
When the small hands of the school
Were led ten miles to Dzogbe.
​We went to harvest the 'straw, '
Tall stalks sold for a pittance,
A labor of hand-to-mouth,
For coins that never reached
The height of a stomach's need.
​I did not know then
That I was already walking toward Togodo.
​We moved in a line,
The heavy steel of machetes
Gleaming in young, innocent hands.
My brother, in the spirit of play,
Reached for the Toklo grass—
Those leaves of iron green,
Knotted into ropes that will not break.
​He tied a loop across the dirt,
A child's trap for a child's game.
The play worked,
But the ending broke the world.
​I fell into the snare,
And the blade I carried
Found my throat.
A flash of fire, a scream of nerves,
And then a silence where the feeling died.
​My playmates became a choir of terror,
Screaming for a rescue that was miles away.
I pulled the cold metal from my flesh;
I tried to swallow,
But felt the moisture fall
Directly on my chest.
​The teacher's hands were shaking,
Binding my neck with a cloth to hold the red tide back.
But the bush is indifferent to urgency.
No motorbikes roared,
No wheels turned for me.
The fifteen miles grew longer with every breath.
​I stayed strong through the slowing hours,
Until the walls of Afagna rose up—
The great hospital of the town.
But there, the healers waited for silver;
They waited for money to value a life.
​Before the sun could find the horizon,
My strength slipped through the cracks of the floor.
The shadows grew tall,
Darkness wrapped around my soul,
And brought me home to Togodo.