One stormy night in June, I lay in my bed comfy cozy with merry thoughts in my heart contented with the events of the day; suddenly, there came a flash of lightning which was followed almost immediately by a deafening thunder—my whole body trembled. I had never been afraid of thunder and lightening, not even as a child; my body trembled in shock because at the flash of the lightning, another thought stole into my heart replacing the merry thoughts I had earlier. The though of a nation at war where bombs fall from the skies like torrential rain unto a city full of innocent children and pregnant women; at this thought, my body trembled—still does.

 All my experience of war is not more than what I read in news papers, magazines, watch on television and in movies and verbal narratives; my father who was a soldier in the Nigerian army and a veteran of the Nigerian civil war, and his eye witness account of the Yugoslavian civil war where he served as a peace keeper in NIBAT 1 under the United Nations Organization Peace Keeping Force between May 1992 – June 1993. I have never experienced war before—I cannot imagine what those poor little children of Liberia felt, I have never experienced war before—I cannot imagine what the children of the Middle –east are going through or those of Libya or any other path of this troubled world—a world at the mercy of natures most perfect peace killing marching: man. But if my whole life could tremble at the voice a friendly thunder that leaves no houses and towns buried deep underneath the earth, and no gruesome sites of bodies' thorn to pieces—hearts of the bereaved all in flakes; if my whole body could tremble at the voice of that harmless thunder, I cannot imagine how tremble and shambled the spirit, soul and body the children, innocent men and women on whose  homes bombs and missiles showered  upon like the torrential rain—can't imagine what they're going through. http://socyberty.com › People

The civil war that broke out in East Timor in 1975 ruled that tormented that nation foe 24 years during which an estimated 200,000 (about one third of that countries population) died in the fighting. Moreover, 85 percent of that country's infrastructure and homes were consumed by the wrath of war—displaced were hundreds of thousands—they fled to the mountains for refuge.

That country lost lives—lost precious productive time—she lost great minds that would have made fruitful the precious time of that nation. Alas, today her economy lies prostrate as she is among the 10 poorest nations in the world

We are familiar with the lurid tales of Rwanda—the sad ones of Sudan—the Middle-east's age long vendetta that fills our mouths with songs bitter. We are familiar with these tales of woes—engraved on the walls of our minds are the causes of this these that bring a network of retrogression and deformities to our nations. Such are the irrecoverable losses of warring nations.

During the period of civil in my country Nigeria (1968-1970), I wasn't born then; though  I have experienced quite a number of ethnic clashes  were houses and lives were consumed by the  fierce furry of prejudice—I saw corpses on the streets of Lagos; the living like zombies walked with hands raised above our heads before the watchful eyes of heavily armed law enforcement agents. Little children terror-stricken cling to their mothers for safety. But as quickly as the carnage erupted, (through divine intervention) it quickly dies down and things retunes to normal—people go about their business as usual—doing business with all irrespective of  the language they speak—and lovers of peace would ones again exhale. But the abduction of peace during this period could not be compared to those of a nation trapped in the bowels of warfare—where bombs shower from the skies like heavy drops of rain—I cannot imagine how those trapped in such a worlds would feel. I cannot imagine how it feels for the skies to rain bullets—cannot imagine how it feels to flee one's home afraid of marauding bands; cannot imagine how it feels to see a ravine of  grave being dug and how it greedily swallows trucks load of bodies, yet, for more he opens wide his mouth. And knowing that a loved one could be amongst those who share the discomfort and suffocation of a mass grave…I cannot imagine the pain…I cannot what those whose eyes have seen and whose spirit and soul have experienced the poisonous extremism of war…cannot imagine!

Many children in Africa have been forced into a trip to hell —war took many by the hand, some by their unwilling ankles and forced them aboard the ship of the dammed; where all are scorched into becoming brute beast who would murder families without flinching, not before they ravish mothers and daughters before the pleading eyes of fathers and sons. Moreover, war would snatch more boys and breastless girls from the remains of fathers and mothers; arm their inexperienced hands with heavy artillery and drug them to bleeding their nation—deform their already bleak future.

Nations laid wastes and plundered by war—she is shriveled and withers like a leaf in autumn—all, even babes languishes and shrivel; under a curse our bones dries up and becomes fuel for the greedy flames of war. Our little ones groan—bereaved, our women moan. A once snow white robe of our nation now bemired—hometown howling—cadavers vultures consuming. Violence staggers and reels drunk with the blood of nations yet, for more blood his mouth he wide opens to swallow and cause countless more in sorrow to wallow. 

The storm stole lives-- they rot away peacefully-- but the living gains no peace for the memories of the lost scotch our hearts. Cities in shambles are rebuilt; war plane and ships resurrects more sophisticated; the ruins of war can be recycled, however, the dead are not recyclable--life is not recyclable--to die is to vanish! Such is one of the irrecoverable losses of a warring nation

What do we gain after a bloody war of great pain? Death and decay everywhere--stench hangs heavily in the air. Endless chains of broken dreams-- bleeding hearts like fast flowing streams; crime rate skyrockets--starving children cry countless buckets...!Tension escalate, each day, a painful mediate. Country and minds in shambles yet, ever ready are bloodthirsty vessels to brew more troubles What, I ask again do we gain after a bloody war of acute pain?

Is war an instrument of gaining peace, making hatred cease, earn respect, win love and attention or gain freedom and justice; he cannot give any of these, this fiend called war, rather, he will  brings about the extinction of what man can never regain, for there are no two humans of same kind on earth: everyman is unique—a  specie. Like each day is different from the other so is every man different from his fellowman—when one dies, there is no other like his kind, therefore, the world is deprived of the gifts of each unique mind—such is the irrecoverable loss of a warring nation.

A chick snatched by the kite from mother hen shall never retune to roost in the farmers pen. Time lost—valuable time stolen by war can never be recovered. Valuable time to make individual and national progress consumed by war can never be regained—a chick snatched by the kite from mother hen shall never retune to roost in the farmers pen—a time lost is a time extinct. Such is one of  the irrecoverable losses of a warring nation.

Countless war veterans deformed by war have long ceased to contribute positively to national progress—some have lost their mind—broken by the sledge of war. Preys of RUF's poisonous extremism—even blood of our little children was food for greedy machete that relentlessly cut long sleeves and short sleeves out of us. Human body parts do not regenerate when severed— such is one of the irrecoverable losses of a warring nation.

Little boys and girls brain washed, drugged and armed to the teeth with heavy artillery are harangued to bleed their homeland—murder, rape and looting are robes they wear with pride—they know no other life, so when war finally leaves town, these little ones are social misfits –outlaws they become—murders, rapist, armed robbers and prostitutes to say the list. Like oranges sucked dry, they are abandoned to fate—their lives ebbs away—they impact nothing positive on their generation—their heavenly given talents (stolen by war) perish with them. Such is one of the irrecoverable losses of a warring nation.