The Day My Son Was Held Captive!

The rain had fallen heavily that special Monday afternoon, but I was fortunate enough to reach home before it started. Shortly after I arrived, I heard the heavy pounding of raindrops on the zinc roof. Although I usually love that sound, it felt different that afternoon because my boys weren’t home yet. To make matters worse, they were not prepared to have any battle with the rain, as they had neither an umbrella nor a raincoat.

Usually, when it rains, one tends to feel hungrier than usual, and such was the case with me that afternoon. However, I wasn’t ready to heat up the yummy food I had prepared on the previous day, Sunday, since it would probably have gotten cold again by the time the boys got home. So, as I awaited the arrival of my babies, my boys, I occupied myself by making four unattractive plots in my hair. If you had seen those plots, you probably would have thought I had gone too far over insanity lane. 

As soon as I finished plotting my hair, my younger son came home. Since it was about time for the older one to arrive, I started preparing dinner. However, when the food was ready, my older baby was still not home. At that moment, worry took over, and it filled me so completely that I no longer felt hungry. The worst part was that I couldn’t even call him, as he had left his phone behind in the morning rush.

Despite my worry, I still had another child who needed attention, so I dished out his dinner and covered the rest. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable eating while my son, who should have been home, was still out there. A few minutes later, I changed into something road‑appropriate and headed to the bus stop to meet my baby. The evening was dark, and I had no idea what was happening to him.

On my way to the bus stop, an inner voice commented on how my hairstyle made me look popped-down, but honestly, I didn’t care how it looked; fixing my hair was not a priority. To show how distracted I was, I passed many people, yet to this day I cannot recall a single face. When I reached the bus stop, I noticed a couple staring at me before bursting into laughter. Even then, I said nothing. I must admit, the plots looked like two horns at the front of my head, so undoubtedly it was my hairstyle that dragged the laughter from their belly bottom. But they could have laughed until the next day or until their jaw bones grew weary, I just didn’t care. Nothing mattered more than seeing my baby, my firstborn.

I waited at the bus stop for more than an hour, yet there was still no sign of my son. I even felt a sharp pain in my neck from keeping my eyes fixed on the buses and taxis, hoping to see him step off one of them. After waiting so long without seeing him, negative thoughts began to creep in. I imagined having to go to the police station to report him missing, his picture being shown on television like other missing children, and that if kidnappers involved in human trafficking had taken him, he would surely become a victim.

Earlier that week, my babies and I had discussed death and who should die first. I told them I would want to go before them. So that afternoon, my mind went as far as imagining that if kidnappers had harmed him, he would leave this world before me. So many thoughts ran through my mind, and though I tried to erase them, it was to no avail. It seemed the positive thoughts had gone to rest.

Time slipped away quickly, yet my son was still nowhere in sight. I decided that if he didn’t get off the next bus, I would go back home for my phone and head to the police station to report him missing. After all those troubling thoughts, a bus finally arrived and behold, my son was alive and well! My son was on that bus! 

Joy rushed through me from my hair follicles down to my toe cuticles. I couldn’t help but thank God for his life. As soon as he reached me, I hugged him and asked what had happened. After hearing his story, I couldn’t help but … He said he had been “held captive” but managed to escape. According to him, he ran and put the culprits to shame when he found shelter shortly after. He further stated that they were so angry they “beat hard on the roof,” which hurt him a little.

After listening to how he was held up, instead of crying, I had to laugh. The boy told me it was the raindrops that held him captive; they fell so heavily that even under the shelter, he still got wet. He even said he wasn’t the only one who had such an experience, and I knew he was telling the truth because some of his books were wet. And I also saw some of his schoolmates getting off the bus with him, including a neighbor’s daughter, in a soaked uniform.

The thought of my son being kidnapped that day gave me a glimpse into how others feel when they experience a loved one being kidnapped or harmed. It taught me that we should learn to empathize with one another, because we never know if or when such a situation may touch our own lives. At the same time, we need to keep thinking positively and avoid embracing negative thoughts.