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    Silent Tears
    Silent Tears
    Silent Tears
    Ebook72 pages50 minutes

    Silent Tears

    By Rita Michaels

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Precy Bee was only five years old when the civil war that devastated her country and claimed the lives of over two hundred and fifty thousand people ended. The Liberians sighed with relief and began to piece their economy together, but not for long. 

    While Precy and her family humbly live their low standard lifestyle, Ebola slowly creeps into her country and deals them a fatal blow, shaking the very foundation of her family. 

    Once again, her people are dying as they fight a different war against a fatal Virus more lethal than AIDS, and Precy doubts the possibility of her precious family surviving this invisible war.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRita Michaels
    Release dateMar 5, 2015
    ISBN9781507074961
    Silent Tears
    Author

    Rita Michaels

    Rita Michaels enjoys writing inspiring stories from real life experiences that touch the heart. While not marrying pen to paper, and running after her overactive kids, she wanders in her thought; creating the next story in abstract.

    Read more from Rita Michaels

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      Book preview

      Silent Tears - Rita Michaels

      DEDICATION

      For all those who died from the deadly disease, and for those who were left behind to mourn the loss of their loved ones.

      EPILOGUE

      This is not an African disease. This is a virus that is a threat to all humanity.

      Gayle Smith

      Chapter 1

      Meliandoua Village

      Guinea

      Diallo sat under a palm tree, feasting on a mango that his mother, Mariama handed him to quell his hunger before the supper of fish stew and fufu, made from a cassava root, were ready.

      He constantly threw his hand, soiled with mango juice dripping, over his head, as if shooing away something.

      At age two, he had no other job than eat, sleep, and enjoy the cool breeze that swept through the village after a sweltering afternoon that imprisoned him in their little mud hut all day.

      He watched as his mother zipped in and out of their cooking shed. Often, she paused, took a good look at her son, making sure he was all right, and then returned to her bubbling pot of fish stew sitting on an open-fire pit on the ground. She must get supper ready before her husband returned from the farm, and before darkness completely enveloped the land.

      Mariama squinted from the heat coming from the fire pit, as she readjusted the burning fire woods. She took the helm of her skirt and began to raise it to wipe off the beads of sweat forming on her forehead when she heard Diallo’s guttural scream. She sprang up, knocking down the old, brown wooden stool that served as her chair, and dashed out of the cooking shed.

      Diallo’s eyes filled up with tears, saliva drooling from his mouth, and his half-eaten mango remained clutched in his hand. He opened his mouth ajar as he wailed; revealing the set of teeth nature gave him as a promotion to eat adult foods.

      Mariama ran to him and scooped him up, but Diallo wouldn’t stop crying. The menacing mosquitoes still danced on his head. Mariama brushed them away and continued soothing him. She gazed at him, wondering what might have set him off to cry aloud incessantly.

      She glanced around her. There was no one in sight near her hut. Although, she spotted a few children playing marbles game on the ground, but she knew they couldn’t have bailed so fast, for the distance between her and her neighbors’ huts was a little too much for the kids to cover within a short period. Besides, she would have seen them through her door less cooking shed.

      She ran her eyes all over his body, perhaps; a snake or maybe a mosquito bit him. An array of possibilities ran through her befuddled mind, of which all of them were a possibility. She raised her head and gazed at the vast green grassland staring back at her, and listened to the sound of rustled dry leaves indicative of a fleeing snake.

      She turned again to her son. He began to quiet  now, but he let the half eaten mango drop onto the sand, raised his soiled right hand to his left arm and held on to it, sniffling and wincing. 

      Mariama gently reached for his tiny hand and pulled it away from his other arm. She retracted upon spotting two bite marks. Her heart pounded, and her eyes darted to her son’s face. He looked at her with tearful eyes. She scooped him up and hurried to her tiny hut. She had no idea what bit her son, but whatever bit him left a visible mark. She regretted leaving him outside her cooking shed. She had thought it wise to keep him out of the heat from the open-fire pit, and placed him under a tree where he could get some cool air after the scalding heat they endured during the day. She had thought her husband would be home early to join Diallo under the tree as usual.

      Mariama rummaged through her stash of assorted herbal tinctures and salves, searching for a particular one. When she found the Wild Dagga salve, also known as Lion’s Tail, she sighed with relief, hastily took the lid off the jar, dipped a finger into it, and smeared the salve on Diallo’s arm where the bite marks turned red and swollen. Then she took him outside and sat him on her laps. She observed and waited for any negative reaction to the salve she just administered on his arm. There was none.

      Thankfully, she pulled him closer, dried the tears in his eyes with her blouse and kissed his forehead, saying sweet words to him in her native language and rocked him. Then, she stopped all movements and sniffed. The smell of burned food invaded her nostrils. Without a word, she sprang up and carried Diallo on her back, hurrying back to her

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