Fading in and out, I wait for the bird of sleep to come and take me away with it. I twist my head on the pillow and turn the radio up slightly, a murmur in the dark.
Finally, the bird swoops in and I glide away on its back. Into the fog at first, then we circle over a lush green valley. It’s beautiful. In this valley, the woman found her husband and baby, their bellies carved open. I look around, is that why this place is so empty? Yes, the kidnapped girls were never found…there’s not a trace of them….
Oh, no! I say. What can we do about this? The bird’s eyes are big and sad. We have to understand, it says, that we cannot bomb our way out of this situation. So in that case…? The bird bows its head and weeps as it says, perhaps, economic sanctions….
The clouds are purple and red underneath us. Once again, we swoop in for a landing, this time on a gleaming beach. I find a giant shell and kneel down next to it in the sand. The sapphire waves roll in. What a perfect day! There’s a history of discrimination here, whispers a voice inside the shell. What’s that? I want to look for treasure! Years of oppression cannot be reversed in five minutes, you know. Whoever’s living inside that shell is ruining my dream.
Take me somewhere else, bird of dreams. But it’s too late. The bird’s wings are drooping. It’s tired. I tried to pull my family out of the rubble, but I wasn’t able to. Everything was on fire their bodies were bloodied charred my eyes fly open.
And that is why I stopped listening to the BBC World Service at night.