I was once a victim !
It really affected me.
›››››Down the memory lane›››››
I was born in a slum. I came from a very poor family. We wallowed deep in poverty. We hardly had 0-1-0.
Mother was the breadwinner of the family. Father was just a Reverend Father(a full-time). Mother sells snacks in a public school back then. She sells Pap and Akara in the evening.
We lived on those two things!
Mother died when I was just 3 and my younger brother was just 10months old. She gave birth just to the two of us before her demise.
Father was an asthmatic patient,so he couldn’t cater for us since he couldn’t work. He dropped us with a family member,Uncle Kingsley. Uncle Kingsley promised to take good care of us but his wife didn’t allow him. She maltreated us like a slave. At a tender age,I saw life at the terrifying end. That was when I knew human beings are unp redictable.
Uncle Kingsley tried his best before he dropped us in an orphanage home,telling Father we were with him.
He never checked on us for once. The orphanage we stayed took care of us in their own little way. They couldn’t afford a private school but we were enrolled in a public school.
The agreed plan between my Uncle and the Matron was to cater for me till age 12 and my brother,age 9.
When I was in JSS 3. The popular sanitary pad company,Always, came to my school then.
They came to inform us about the ongoing essay competition that was organised for student in Secondary Schools on the topic “Myself in 10 years time”.
The winner stand a chance to win N100,000 in educational grant+free mentorship by one of Nigeria’s leading women.
As the Head Girl of the Junior School,the principal called me alongside the Head Girl for the Senior School.
“Disseminate this information to the girls that,they are only privilege to submit the written essay in less than two days” He said.
I wrote mine as well. I checked and scrutinized what I wrote very well.
The head teacher gave me a basket to pass around various classes for student to drop what they’ve written.
The inferiority spirit still dwells in me. I just didn’t like what I wrote. I felt the english were not properly used.
I lied that I’ve dropped mine but I didn’t.
I lost the intrinsic value of myself.
My English teacher called me the next day. She asked for my Dictionary.
Poor me! I forgot the essay I wrote inside it. I just gave it to her without checking.
“You’re called in the staff room” a classmate delivered.
“Mrs John sent for you” another came to deliver.
Fear gripped me!
I knew what the calls were all about.
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