My existence is itself a contradiction. Built by men who waged war for a living.  Built to shield children from death by that same war. I am a bomb shelter.

I am a space dug deep below the campus of St Bakhita Girls Primary School in South Sudan.  Like a grave, but much larger; big enough to hold a dozen young girls who’ve dashed out from their classrooms upon hearing the fearful thrum of an approaching Antinov warplane. 

Everyone here knows that sound, which reaches us long before the plane comes into view. Everyone here has seen the cascade of bombs that follow, cluttering the sky, crashing into earth, slicing trees in half, severing limbs from lives, flattening homes and seeming to engulf our whole world in fire. 

Everyone here knows that I offer the only possible refuge. Truthfully, I would rather stay empty. I wish there would never be any need for me.

Such bombs fell on this campus twice during the civil war.  My concrete walls did protect the girls from death, but only because no bomb fell directly on top of me. Concrete is no match for those huge explosives. My depth, however, can shield from shrapnel. One young girl, her steps too paralyzed by panic to reach my hollowed safety, lost her leg to the hot flying metal.

Several bombs fell on this campus. One landed barely a stone’s throw from me, but failed to explode. The impact slammed it about 10 feet into the ground. There it rests, even today. The school administrators have repeatedly begged the government: “Please, come to remove this bomb, or at least defuse it.”  Despite the entreaties, the bomb remains. A past menace. A present danger to the 853 girls who scamper ‘round the campus.

Years have now passed since the war officially ended.  The Antinovs no longer fly over South Sudan. But I am still here on the campus, along with half a dozen others like me, just in case we are needed again.  Conflicts continue in South Sudan, fueled by enmity, fraud, floods and famine but fought mostly with guns, not bombs.

My emptiness, for now, is disturbed only by scurrying rats and occasional snakes.  I am happiest when I am empty.