BOARDING SCHOOL

Going Away to Boarding School  My entrance examination into secondary school was successful. Aunty Agatha was very happy. While waiting to go into boarding school, she made sure I would go with her to see how she managed her business. Sometimes we went to market together and other times we waited to receive her goods that were supplied to her.

 On the day before I left for boarding school, Aunty Agatha called me to her room. She placed her hand under her pillow and brought out a lovely wristwatch and gave it to me. She said she prayed that her mother and my mother would be there for me to guide me as always and that I must hold on to my faith in God. I hugged her in gratitude.

 I asked her if I could address her as mother. She laughed and said I could, if it made me hap­py. I told her it was what I had always wanted and I dreamt of the day I could have the cour­age to ask her if she would allow me address her as mother. She laughed with tears pouring down her cheeks and gave me a hug. I then made another request, which was if I could share her bed that night since I

would be going away to boarding for the next three months. She asked me to join her with open arms. I slept with my head placed on her shoulder while thanking God, and whispering to my mother in heaven a ‘thank you’ for bringing someone to me who was so kind and who treated me like her child. I slept with me arms around Aunty Agatha’s neck, my new mother.

 Early next morning, my things were packed already for my jour­ney to school. The driver was instructed to be ready at 8.00am. Aunty Agatha made sure I did not forget anything.  Betty, to whom I became like a little sister was a bit sad but happy for me that I was going to prepare well in school for my future.  I was grateful that Aunty Agatha and the driv­er accompanied me to school. My new mother wanted to ensure that I settled in well. Before re­turning home, she arranged with the matron and one of the teachers to be my guardian. We were all happy I was in good hands.

A BETER HOME

A Better and Real Home: Aunty Agatha’s home was in Apapa, a beautiful house with a small staff quar­ters. She lived all by herself. She had a maid called Beatrice and a driver named John. They were very welcoming and friendly. She presented me to them and told them that they were to treat me like her own child. Betty then took me to the room she had prepared for me.

My room was very beautiful.  Painted in pink with a lovely bed, shelves and a wardrobe. I could not imagine how she could have prepared that room in such a short time. She must have spent the whole of the previous day trying to make things comfortable for me. I remembered my mother telling me she would be with me.

My eyes clouded with tears, I could not ex­press my gratitude to Aunty Agatha in words ex­cept through the tears flowing down my cheeks. She too could not help but weep with me while she drew me closer to her and embraced me. She used her bare hands to wipe away my tears. She told me to go to the bathroom and take a proper bath. She showed me the bathroom and gave me a lovely pink towel. She said, ‘Nkem pink is for girls even when you grow up to be a beautiful young lady, pink still suits you until you are eighteen.’

She told me that within the week she would enrol me into a good school to enable me continue with my education. To her, she saw me as a brilliant young child that would grow up to be a beautiful and intelligent lady. I gave her another hug, she ushered me into the bathroom and left to give instruction to Be­atrice.

In the bathroom I took my bath in sweet running clean water from the tap with a beautiful fragrant soap. Once again I thanked God for his merciful love. ‘Dear Lord thank you for Aunty Agatha and for the new home. Please help me to be good and obedient, and  to live up to her expectations. Bless her for her kindness and generosity to me.’ I then said aloud, ‘Is it that you have given me another mother? You said you would not abandon me. True to your word I have found a mother in Aunty Agatha.’

I opened the wardrobe. I picked up an An­kara (Nigerian wrapper) three-quarter length and a simple T-Shirt. I combed my hair and I went to the sitting room. Aunty Agatha was there and with a broad smile she invited me to join her. She asked Beatrice to bring me a cup of chocolate drink and another sandwich.  Her sit­ting room was very beautiful and clean. while Beatrice was preparing lunch, she spent some time chatting with me. She asked questions about my family and what I remembered about them. I felt so safe and at home with her. She told me she had made up her mind to  contact the proprietress of a school the next day so as to see if I could be enrolled to start the following week. We would use the days before starting school to get to know each other better.

After a long conversation with Aunty Agatha, we came to a conclusion that for my education, I was to repeat primary four. Yes, at the age of twelve when I should have been in secondary school, I would be in primary four. Thank God I wasn’t too tall for my age. Though I was small in stature, it was not too bad to be with children of ages 7 and 10 in primary school. Aunty Agatha assured me that I would be fine. With love and understanding she prepared me for school.

Aunty Agatha had a restaurant and a saloon. She employed some good and hardworking young ladies and men to assist in running her business. This according to her was to help create jobs for the youth. She would often say that, ‘Our government cannot provide jobs for everyone. Therefore, those of us who own private business can contribute in creating employment in our own little way.’  Sometimes Aunty Agatha was in­vited to give talks to young people, and she was a mentor to many of them. At about two o’clock that afternoon, Beatrice announced that lunch was ready. We sat at the dining room to eat semovita and egusi soup. The food was very delicious.

My first night in my new home was very peaceful. For the first time I slept without the nightmare of my uncle trying to rape me. Be­fore then I had often seen myself running in my dreams, trying to escape from my uncle. I prayed that someday this nightmare would be over.

The next day, I woke up at 6.00am and said my prayers before getting out of bed. I made the bed, took my bath and got dressed. I was about leav­ing the room when Aunty Agatha came in to say hello. She was glad to see me looking refreshed and to know I had slept well. She gave me a hug and told me how happy she was that I accepted to leave the streets to come live with her.  Like a good mother, she had checked on me while I was sleeping at night, to find out if I was alright. She noticed I did not cry or talk in my sleep. It was a good sign feeling safe in her home.

She saw my little bible and asked me to read from it. I opened it and read a portion of the story of David and Goliath. She smiled and was glad that I could read confidently. She assured me that in going back to primary school, if I did well in my exams I could be granted a double promotion to a higher class. Starting in primary four was to as­certain my level of intelligence and comprehen­sion.

 

True to her words, I did exceedingly well in school and got promoted to primary six. I equal­ly sat for an exam into secondary school and I passed with flying colours. Aunty Agatha was very proud of me. Four years with her was like being in another world. Sometimes I asked my­self if I was dreaming. The driver was available to take me to school and bring me back. She ar­ranged for a private lesson teacher for me and equally encouraged me to learn how to play the piano. She made sure I joined the children’s choir and take part in church activities which involved children.

 

At the age of fourteen, I was enrolled into sec­ondary school. This was a bit later than usual, be­cause normally children in this part of the world would start secondary school between ten and twelve years of age. Nevertheless, I was happy to have the opportunity of going to secondary school. I never thought it possible. Due to God’s intervention through Aunty Agatha, I would be able to further my education. How many children in my situation had the good fortune to meet an angel like this one sent to them? I saw myself as a blessed child.

 I thought of my adopted brother David and I prayed he too would have the same luck that I had. My own blood brothers and sisters? I had no news from them and was beginning to forget their faces. I was not too sure if I would still rec­ognise them after quite some years of being apart.

 Maybe someday God would reunite us. I sin­cerely prayed and wished to be with them again. I was hopefully that the gene that bound us as children from the same parents would surely bring us together again some day.

Song of Trust

A DREAM COME TRUE

Aunty Agatha waited for me dressed up on the streets. She brought out a sandwich and a drink from the second bag she was carrying and gave them to me. I ate and drank the bottle of coke she gave me. Then she gave me an apple. This deli­cacy I still remembered in my later years. A child deprived of a decent meal for close to three years was now having a sumptuous breakfast. In my mind I thanked God for this blessing. While I was eating, my mind went back to my dream. Was this an assurance of my mother’s watchful eyes?

Aunty Agatha was very patient with me. I finished my meal. She then asked me to follow her. This I did without hesitation. She opened the door of her car and asked me to sit at the back seat. I did, and then she drove away. She was an angel sent to me to save me from the terrible life under the bridge of Lagos, having lost my adopt­ed brother David whom I still have no news of.

 I sincerely pray he is okay. I pray that some day we will meet and God willing we will survive and be alive to tell our stories. I did not forget my wrapper. I pleaded with Aunty Agatha to let me keep the wrapper my Mother gave me. She smiled and said that when we get to the house she would give me soap to wash and iron it. I hugged her and thanked her for her kindness. Apart from my mother I could not remember when I received or hugged some­one in appreciation for their kindness. For the two years I spent under the bridge I knew no kindness except that of my adopted big brother David

THE ANGEL FROM GOD

An Angel from God: She said, she came to see me, and had been there for about thirty minutes. She heard me talk­ing, she thought someone was with me. She got nearer and saw that I was sleeping and dreaming. The conversation between me and my mother was interesting. She felt it would be bad to break it. Then when I started crying in my dream and pleading with my mother, she could not help but woke me up. Looking into her eyes I saw tears, saw she must have been weeping silently with me.

 She opened the shopping bag she was carry­ing and brought out a beautiful dress and a nice pair of shoes. She asked me to get dressed. She said that I was going with her and she would take care of me since I had no one. She told me she was moved to tears the morning she saw me and that my story reminded her of her childhood experience. She was grateful to God for being able to come out of that situation.

Yes, initially I did not know her name. Tim­idly, I asked her name and she said I should call her Aunt Agatha. She was very beautiful. Aunt Agatha lost her mother at the age of eight too. Her relative that promised to look after her had subjected her to different forms of abuses - child labour, child slavery, etc. She could not escape her cruel aunt at her tender age. Her situation was more like that of a prisoner. Now she would not forgive herself if she left me behind for an­other day in the open and in the midst of so much danger. To her I was very lucky not to have fall­en into the hands of ritualists.

 Aunt Agatha wondered how many children were being subjected to the same conditions as myself daily. Only God knows how many might have died in a mysterious manner and how many were still being maltreated by their uncles, aunts and relatives, after assuring their parents that the children were in good hands and had a promising future. My adopted aunt was obvious­ly talking aloud to herself. I was watching every expression on her face. I could see some anger burning in her. She seemed a wealthy lady. The car she drove was very beautiful. She was equally a pretty lady. She seemed nice. 

Children have their guardian angels. I do pray to my guardian angel. Aunty Agatha looked nice to me but I still felt a little uncomfortable with her. I could not really describe how I felt. I did not feel any sign of danger or feel threatened yet my past experience with my mother’s relative, Aunt Nene, was still fresh on my mind and I wanted to be sure this Aunt Agatha was not going to be like her. 

A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

David was arrested on Saturday night. On Sunday evening around 8p.m, a beautiful lady was passing by when she saw me sit­ting all by myself. I did not know that she had been watching me for a while. She came to me and greeted me. She asked why I was alone and enquired about my family. I told her I had none. She asked where I was staying. I told her that I have lived under the bridge for the past two years, and I have nowhere to go. She felt sorry for me. She asked if I have eaten. I told her I had not, and I equally told her about my adopted brother’s arrest. I could see that she felt sorry for me and she meant it. She brought out some money and asked me to look for something to eat. She said she would come back to see me the next day. She asked what my name was. I told her my name was Nkem, which means ‘mine’.

I heartily thanked her. Then I remembered my dream. I felt my mother was watching over me. The meal for the next day was assured by the benevolence of this beautiful stranger. I did not remember to ask her who she was, what her name was. I got carried away because of the as­surance she gave me to come looking for me the next day. I bought some bread and the normal bean cake. I felt I needed to save some money for other needs. I knelt down and thanked God for his providence, I thanked my spiritual Mother the Blessed Virgin Mary.

 

When I spoke out loudly to my biological moth­er whose presence I always feel, saying “Mother, I know you are nearby and always with me. You assured me of your guidance for a mother nev­er abandons her child. Ma, I feel your presence, your smile and your guiding spirit. Please, moth­er, do not leave me. Be with me in every journey I make.”  Before laying down to sleep, I prayed Psalm 23 ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’, and I asked our Blessed Mother, the Virgin Mary to watch over me. I learnt to befriend my guardian Angel. I prayed to my Angel for protection and guid­ance. I used my mother’s wrapper to cover my­self, and I slept with the assurance that tomorrow would be a better day.  

That night, I had a long conversation with my mother in my dream. ‘’Mother you said you would not abandon me when my aunty came for me. Why have you not kept your promise, moth­er? Presently I have no home. The bridge is my home. I am an outcast, insects are my companions and insecurity stares at me each day. Mother, now that you are here, will we be together again? Mother, you said yes that we are together. Will I wake up to realize that I am all alone in this strange universe though created in all its beauty, yet full of danger? I do hope I am not dreaming mother that you will not leave me all alone.”

Suddenly, someone was calling my name, shaking me to wake up. I did not know I was cry­ing in my sleep, pleading that my mother should stay with me. “Nkem, Nkem”, I heard my name. I opened my eyes, the lady who gave me money yesterday kept her word, she came visiting as she promised. It was day break, about 9a.m. It was very unusual. I normally wake up early. This very day, I was woken up by this ‘aunty’.

LIFE ON THE STREETS IN LAGOS

 Life on the Streets   I had no idea of where to go, neither did I have any idea on how to travel back to my home town and be with my mother. I wandered the whole day, hungry and I had no idea in what direction I was going but somehow I found myself in Lagos Island. I saw some children playing under the bridge. I joined them and one of them asked me where I was going to and where I was coming from. I told him my story. He was eating bread and akara (bean cake). He offered me some and I was very pleased to have something in my stom­ach. He was about twelve years old.

He said he too ran away from his cruel aunt that promised his mother on her death bed that she would look after him. The aunt gave his dy­ing mother the assurance that she would take care of him but the opposite was the case. The aunt subjected him to inhuman treatments. He would go out selling things for her. If certain amount of money were missing she would beat him and lock him outside without food. She equally denied him education. He showed me his back revealing marks of a cane. I felt sorry for him. Both of us had similar stories.

His parents too were very rich but they died leaving him with his cruel relatives who took away his father’s properties. What was left for him was his life. He was a very bright, and intelligent boy. He learnt to survive under the bridge as did other children of the same age group. There were older boys and girls too. David became like an elder brother to me. He made sure I was okay.

David could read and write because he at­tended one of the best primary schools in his hometown. He lost his father at the age of ten. Life had been so cruel to him. His ambition was to be an engineer, to take up his father’s line of work and build the family’s company, but all that was gone. All their properties were grabbed by his greedy relatives.

According to him, some street children got into stealing because of the situations in which they found themselves. Some girls slept around in order to get money to feed. He did some me­nial jobs to survive. He was often lucky because people saw him as a brilliant young chap. I guess his parent’s guiding spirits were with him.

Sometimes we went begging to get money to enable us buy our usual akara, akamu or rice. Sometimes we went washing plates for food ven­dors in exchange for food. David was the brother I was deprived of. He protected me from the oth­er street children. My street life, though uncom­fortable, was more secure than the home life I left in Victoria Island.

Sleeping under Lagos Island bridge was a big risk. Children were often harassed there. They were in danger of being kidnapped by ritualists or of being initiated into armed robbery, drugs and child prostitution. Some were in danger of being sold into slavery and were vulnerable to child trafficking syndicates. David, my adopted elder brother, was always around to protect me. He was an angel sent to me. I do not know how I could have survived in such an environment without him.

 The same adults that were the cause of most children living in such conditions, were the same people who chased them away, when they saw them begging for money and food. Some people were sympathetic though, while others were in­different. Some called them names, forgetting that the conditions in which the children found themselves were created by the same adults. Who could save these innocent souls from the corrupt and wicked ways of some evil men and women?

 As long as the actions of these men and wom­en are not checked, our world would be unsafe. The future of the younger generation is in danger, even of those who may be in their comfort zones. It is a vicious circle. The youths are getting old­er and most are yet to realise their dreams, both those on the streets and those who think they are in their comfort zones, whose greedy parents re­fuse to leave the scene of their governance, or­ganisations and parastatals for the younger ones. How do I know about this? We have some youths among us who are used by politicians to win elec­tions while their children are studying abroad. They told us how they are engaged to look for children and human beings that they need for their human sacrifices in order to win elections. What can a child or teenager do in such a situ­ation where he/she must fight to survive? Can one survive when in need of the basic necessities of life, to add to all the problems created by the loss of one’s parents at a tender age?  Psalm 27

MY NEW HOME

True aunty Nene and her husband were very rich and highly respected in the society. Their house was in Victoria Island  an area in Lagos largely occupied by the elite and middle class- and it had a servants’ quarters. They had two drivers and a cook, because my aunt and her husband were very busy people. Most of the time they were not at home. One would have imagined that with such opulence, I would have had my own room in the main house. Surprisingly, I was asked to share a room in the boys’ quarters with the cook who was a young lady called Betty. I was scheduled to work as one of the housemaids and as such the left over food was the meal I was entitled to. The cloths bought for me were taken away, and I was made to wear fitted adult cloths that my aunty did not need. 

I thought I would have access to children’s books based on the picture presented to my mother. From the day I stepped into my aunt’s house till the day I ran away, I never laid my eyes on any book. Not to mention going to school. Betty, besides being the cook, was in charge of cleaning the main house and she would often bring to our room old journals, newspaper and magazines for me to read. She understood my longing to go to school and since I could read at eight years of age, I took the opportunity to go through them after the daily chores. Most times I did not understand what I read, but I kept reading. This I discovered helped in my later years of studies, because some of the difficult words that I came across were not strange me.

Running Away from My New Home

At the age of ten, I had physical signs of puberty. I was growing breasts and looking beautiful. I never liked aunt Nene’s husband and I often tried to avoid him. He verbally abused me, calling me all sorts of names whenever he saw me around. I was afraid to tell my aunt for fear she would be angry with me. Whenever she travelled, I made sure I stayed out of sight. Psychologically I became ill which kept me away from the main house.

Betty being a good lady, was like the big sister I lost. She made sure I was fine. She prayed with me. We played together and I looked forward to assisting her. She bought me a little Bible as a gift. We often went to the market to shop for the items needed for the house. She was never tired of me. The sadness in my heart was the psychological abuse of which she was aware and being a servant, she dared not side with me or protect me or she would lose her job. Being an orphan her life in the house couldn’t be better. She was always happy and positive about life.

One day I was summoned by aunt Nene’s husband to help in the house because Betty took ill. My aunt was away on her usual long trips. She was sometimes away for a week or more. Betty and I made sure things were alright before we retired to our quarters. I followed him to the main house. To my surprise he invited me to the bedroom. I tried to decline for I felt I had no right to be there. Moreover, the bedroom was strictly under Betty’s care. She was responsible for the cleaning and making sure everything there was in place. So I really did not have any business being in this restricted area and I believed it was wrong of him to have invited into the bedroom at that hour, and in the absence of any adult, especially my aunt.

I stood by the door. He ordered me to come in. I tried to obey while silently praying because I was afraid and I felt insecure. He told me not to be afraid, that he would not harm me. He tried to be friendly and apologized for abusing me and all the maltreatment that he subjected me to in order to make me feel at ease. In my heart I was looking for an escape route because he was touching me in a manner that I did not like.  The fright in me was so intense I could almost imagine what his next move would be. Paralyzed by fright I was unable to move because I could not imagine that behind this so called respected man, was a devil, having no respect for a child’s innocence. He pulled me closer to him, I was rigid with fright. He kept touching me in an uncomfortable way and he wanted to undress me. I could not stand the  humiliation, and I remembered mother’s instruction that I should never allow anyone touch me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. 

When I was a child she told me that it was important to live a holy life. The pride of every girl ought to be to preserve her purity and virginity till the right time in marriage. I saw my mother’s face and could hear her moral teaching. I could not imagine what my evil uncle was up to. In my own little way I struggled to be free from his uncomfortable embraces. He forced me onto the bed and covered my mouth to prevent me from screaming for help. What a horror for a child of ten! How do I get out of this ugly situation?  I remembered my rosary and I prayed to the Virgin Mary and asked for her assistance. Miraculously, I did not know where I got the strength from to fight him off me. In the course of my struggle with him, my dress was partly torn. Thank God I had my mother’s wrapper with me, because before going to bed I always used it to cover myself, to feel my mother’s presence.  

The next thing I did was to run out of the room, and luckily the door was open. I made my way to the main entrance, opened the door to the sitting room and ran out into the dark. I hid in the garden close to the security house. He was fast asleep and unaware of what was happening. Betsy too was ignorant of what was happening, as well as others, because they believed the master to be a perfect gentleman.  The security guard usually opens the gate at six in the morning. He preferred using outside for his convenience, to urinate. I could not sleep for fright. I was awake all night and I heard the boss muttering some angry words. He did not have the courage to chase me or go round the compound in search of me for fear of attracting attention.  At six a.m. in the morning the security opened the gate to go out. Somehow luck was on my side. He went  went back into his room, and the gate was open. I quietly sneaked out and ran out. This was how I became one of the little ones that slept under the bridge.