The son I became: A rebel's touching letter to his mother

Asalam Alaykum Ayo...

I know the last 7 weeks have been nothing short of torture for you. You have blamed every single soul you've come across for my disappearance. You've cried to sleep only to wake up shouting my name.

I am deeply sorry for the hurt I have caused you. Sometimes I imagine what you are going through and am tempted to come back home. But I made a blood oath, and I have to remain steadfast in my course.

Now dry those tears mum am fine and well. Your prayers have reached me deep inside the jungle. south the city of Sana'a.

I have survived three landmines with a scratch or two. Keep praying for me mum. For the uterus of a mum carries both the evil and the righteous, but your love doesn't distinguish between the two.

Before you hate yourself for my decision to take Kalashnikov. Don't be tempted to think your upbringing of your children is questionable. Don't buy into the narrative of your co-wives that you failed as a mother. No!

In all my childhood no single time have the neighbours launched a complaint against me. You taught me well, my manners were admirable in madrassa and school alike. No one in their weirdest dreams could have imagined what I would have turned to. It was my call my decision as a grown-up man to choose this path. My own decision Ayo. Don't feel guilty. I have made my bed and I will lie on it.

I choose to follow this path because I believe in this course. I know my path is decorated with landmines, shootings, and grenades. But I will die in course that I have a strong belief in

I know me and dad never shared a meal on the same plate. He used to compare me with his other sons from my stepmothers constantly blamed me for being born in the middle of 6 women. According to him, your affection and that of my sisters had made me become weak. He kept referring to an incident when I was a mere 4-year-old boy. I came home crying and my sisters teamed up and went to beat up the boy who made me cry. Dad was never impressed by whatever I do. Even though I recited and memorized the Quran better than my brothers he still preferred them over me.

One day while leading us in prayer, I corrected him when he erred in his recitation. After the prayer, he gave me a beating that I had embarrassed him. That was my breaking point. I stopped accompanying dad to the mosque. I never became the son he wanted, but what really did he want me to become? I felt I was being punished for the mistakes of another. Say hi to him, if he ever asks about my whereabouts, tell him I became the son I wanted to be.

How are my sisters doing? I miss them a lot. I left when the last two were about to get married. I know they will make good wives to their husbands. Just like the other 4. You trained them well. I miss playing and babysitting my nieces and nephews. How they listened and loved stories of the prophet that I narrated to them. Kiss them for me. Pass my regards to their mothers, ask them not to cry, a silent prayer will go along the way for me. In sha Allah