Through My Eyes

this was supposed to come up yesterday but etisalat just decided to punish me. My Twitter hasn’t even refreshed for like 24 hours now.
Anyways, I know I promised you guys a story but I seem to be stuck. Today, I have a story here written buy someone I know. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome the very talented @tinymaDAMIE

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I am hungry. I am very hungry but I don’t think I’ll get any food tonight except somebody comes to visit. I can’t even tell mummy that I’m hungry, she has been silent since earlier in the evening… since uncle Mufu and some strange people brought daddy’s body back home.

Daddy is a bus driver. He drives one of those yellow buses. My daddy is a very hardworking man and he tells me every time that hard work is the only way to be successful. He tells me to study hard in school so I can drive big cars and live in big houses and work in tall buildings on the island. He says he is where he is today because he didn’t go to school and he doesn’t want me to be like that. He says he hates that we live in a one-room apartment but that’s all he can afford.

This morning, my daddy dressed up and said he was going to fight for my future. He said he was going to protest against the president and his people. He said they think they can play with the poor man’s rights and get away with it but we wouldn’t let them. Daddy didn’t look happy when he said all these. He was sad. Mummy was sad too, she kept saying “e ma lo se” and he didn’t pay attention. When he opened the door, mummy said “e sha rora” and shook her head. I didn’t know what to do, I just prayed that my daddy would come back happy.

This afternoon, I had garri and groundnut. Mummy said that was all she had in the house. I didn’t complain; I never do. Mummy went to sleep and I went to play with Bolu and Tinu next door. It was while we were playing that we heard people making noise inside the compound. As usual, we thought it was a fight in the compound and we went out to see who was fighting.

Nobody was fighting. People were wailing and shouting. We struggled to get through the crowd because our ten year old bodies weren’t tall enough. When I got to the middle and I finally saw what people were looking at, I screamed. It was my daddy’s body. I knew because it was his shirt on the body and his watch on his hand but I couldn’t look at the face more than once. There was blood everywhere. I saw mummy on the floor. She was shouting and crying. Saying she warned him. Women were trying to hold her. I just ran inside the house and I cried.

I knew there was no way out of this one room apartment now. Mummy couldn’t afford to send me to school; even daddy barely struggled to make it happen. I would stop going to school.

There would be nobody to fight for my future. I would never be able to work in those tall buildings or drive beautiful cars. I’m stuck in this place….. Living this life that daddy hated.

The president and his people had killed my daddy…. and my dreams and future along with him.

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By the way, I titled the story. I’m not sure it’s a good title (is it?) I couldn’t think of any other suitable title.

Have a lovely day 🙂
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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9 thoughts on “Through My Eyes

  1. Lade you’re a beautiful beautiful writer and you’ll be the Soyinka of our time. Don’t ever stop writing please. This is a really touching post…..I hope all these things will end really soon.

    Like

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