I woke up this morning wanting to tell a story. To no one in particular, just anyone willing to listen.
Once, there lived this woman, no wait, I feel like the story will make more impact if it was about a man instead. A 25 year old man with a son and no wife (she died in labour).* I’m smiling already beacuase I know you’d love this*
He had no form of education whatsoever, well, except for the fact that his mother used to sell roasted ripe plantain in an elementary school when he was young and so the only thing he had that came close enough to education was when he helped mother sell her plantain to those brilliant English boys and girls. He was able to learn to say *good morning, please and a few other useful basic English words.*
Growing up, the only occupation that didn’t demand a two year work experience and the ability to speak, write and understand English was hawking. It was the only thing he was well qualified to do and he so glady embraced a profession that could barely feed himself and his family too. Every morning, he’ll hawk his face towels on one of the busiest streets–putting his own life at risk every minute of his life. This young man goes to work and automatically, he places his fragile life in the hands of reckless drivers who think they know better, insolent motorists who speed from virtually every angle not to add, those drunk drivers who more often than not get away with murdering people of his kind. And everyday, he will walk miles that only God knows how far, treading the very path that he’d trod in previous days to compete with other hawkers who also struggled to maintain a market share.
Carrying his load, wiping sweat off his face with the edge of his already soaked up shirt–imagine the irony. Yet, he had dreams, big ones, not for himself anyway, for his little boy. One day, he too must ride in one of the big cars and build huge mansions too. Yes! One day the son of the hawker should also wear nice cloth.
Least I forget (like I can even afford to forget), I appologise for the long pause and delays in posting on mypurpleyellow lately. God can bear me witness when I say my schedule is getting so tight that I wake up at dawn and all I can type is classroom assignments. I’d resume to posting more frequently when I get some more time and most importantly, I’d complete * Diary of a broken Eve* once I get a little time to squeeze.