Diary Of A Slum Kid:
I woke up dreary and swollen-eyed.
Last night was pure hell, the old man keeping me awake all night to raise his
member as soon as it gets flaccid, hitting me hard when I spit out his semen. I
nearly choke as I recall the event, cursing softly as I swung my feet down the
mattress, sputtering curses around my legs hit rodents who scuttled away from
their hiding places around my dingy apartment.
Blasted rats got no respect for who
pays the bills no more, I thought bitterly as I drew my scruffy worn-out coat
around my body in a useless attempt to drive out the cold coming from my little
window. Perhaps, working the streets today would give me enough dough to be
able to afford a nice sweater for the vicious harmattan. Bleary-eyed, i walked to the window to watched the busy street and the Abuja-keffi expressway
despondently. People bustled about, going to make a living. Little kids hawked
wares, traders swept their stores, newspaper vendors advertised headlines….i
always wondered why people wasted so much time and money buying papers that
didn't give any attention to studs that mattered-like me, like those kids out
there who are hawking for their parents to feed, like the rest of us lost souls
at city rock.
City rock is a world on its own, the
inhabitants are enigmas eluding the real world. Neon light, dark alleys,
cigarette smoke-though there are time when I could swear there is something
more than cigarette in the hands and pockets of both patrons and occupants,
scantily clad bodies and raw cash exchanging gnarled hands. It is the nightmare
of every parent for their child to see the interior of City Rock. Located on a
federal expressway with flashing lights like a mall, not a whorehouse, the
dingy building stands between honest-God buildings, transacting its business of
whoring and what-not.
It is 9:00am in the morning. The
building is still quiet, its inhabitants ranging from young girls to matured
women are still asleep, probably recuperating from their sexcapedes of the
previous night. But at night, with its flashing exterior lights and smoky
interior, City Rock then lives to its full demand partying, whoring and
drugging.
I
would not say I was forced here neither of us were. We are all just victims of
circumstances-orphans or just poverty-stricken. I hear what they say about us,
but I pray neither of them talkers ever fall into my position.
At
age 18, I should be in school, but I am here, selling sex and licking penises,
worshipping every man’s naira notes just so my family can go to school. So they
wouldn’t die of starvation. I don’t mind abandoning school, I have accepted my
fate and in between paying our ‘madam’ and shipping money home, it doesn’t look
like there’s a light at the end of my tunnel. Nobody minds. Nobody cares.
Government?
Oh, please. Like Michael Jackson said. They don’t really care about us. If we
loiter their streets, they ship us off it………. But what happens to helping us out of
our misery? What happens to saving our world?!!!
http://www.wattpad.com/81998443-save-our-world-tis-hard-out-here
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