In the shadowy realm between life and death, where whispers of the past linger and the line between reality and nightmare blurs, a town grapples with the eerie presence of the living dead. As the moon casts an ominous glow, secrets buried six feet under claw their way to the surface, setting the stage for a tale that defies the boundaries of mortality.
I encountered him in tears, unsettling me as witnessing such distress is what I detest the most. Despite being a fourteen-year-old manager of a small pools betting house, entitled to spend the commission from the bets at his discretion, something seemed amiss. Our interactions hadn't met expectations, likely due to the age gap, leaving me unable to ease the situation. Deciding to approach him, I moved closer, an unnoticed presence witnessing his turmoil.
"Hei! Who is that?" he questioned, turning to look at me, attempting to conceal tears. Curious about his sorrow, I inquired. Initially denying any issue, after persistent prodding, he confessed. "I wasn't mature enough to experience joy on my naming day. I questioned God for placing me in such a family. If I hadn't been born at all, I wouldn't be in this mess at fourteen. My peers are already in secondary school, excelling academically."
Mr. Akinpelu, my primary six teacher, revealed the stark contrast in opportunities. While classmates pursued multiple secondary school applications, my family lacked plans for my education. Despite the teacher's suggestion to involve my parents, they dismissed him, claiming he couldn't dictate their family decisions. They insisted on me learning a trade, citing financial constraints. In those times, sending children to secondary school was a formidable challenge for families like mine, with boarding expenses being a fraction of today's costs.
Acquiring even a mere N20 was a struggle. The modest earnings from our mother's trade were hardly sufficient, and our father, a farmer, contributed little from his harvest sales. He often gave the impression of having nothing, despite possibly having some money.
My education in primary school hung by a thread, reliant solely on my mother's efforts. The risk of dropping out was real. We passed down textbooks within the family, often damaged or missing pages.
One day in class, Mrs. Adekojo asked me to read from the NOEC English Book 3. My reading caused her to question its source, and upon inspecting my book, she discovered it was patched up with pages from a primary 5 textbook. Her reaction was harsh, sending me out to kneel in punishment. But was it truly my fault? Unlike today, where government textbook policies fluctuate, making it hard for parents to keep up, back then, reusing textbooks was a vital practice for many families.
In those times, rice, now a staple, was a luxury eaten only twice a year: at Christmas and Easter. Every child eagerly anticipated these occasions, often overeating and spending the following hours frequently visiting the restroom.
Femi's mishap during a festive feast led to an amusing yet vivid scene. His mother, quick to act, provided potties that were soon overflowing. These were days of unrestricted joy and celebration. Our mother, generous and caring, ensured everyone, near and far, was well-fed, her own children indulging freely. The aftermath was often messy, with oil-stained clothes and occasional pepper soup accidents. One memorable incident involved ten-year-old Mayowa, who ate so much he couldn't stand, requiring assistance to get up—a true testament to the feast's extravagance.
Our mother was the pillar of our domestic life, managing our needs with little assistance from our father. Her contributions felt like a drop in the ocean compared to the family's needs. She ensured we always had proper school uniforms and meals, though our understanding of a balanced diet was naïve. Our regular meals, unaware to us, were far from nutritionally complete, unknowingly inviting the risk of malnutrition.
Our living conditions were humble, with our entire family—parents, three children, and two relatives—residing in a single room within a large house. This room served as our bedroom, store, wardrobe, and dining area. The house, comprising twelve rooms, each sheltering a family, was bustling with life. With no separate kitchen and shared facilities, privacy was a luxury. We used wrappers to shield ourselves in the makeshift bathroom, a common solution in our tightly-knit community. It was under these circumstances that I learned the value of resilience and adaptability. Our entertainment was simple yet deeply cherished. The joy we found in the little things—a communal television show, the relief of rainwater—was a testament to our ability to find happiness in the face of hardship.
Our schooling, despite the lack of resources, was a journey of self-motivation and determination. We valued our education, seeing it as a doorway to a better future, even when the present seemed grim. My siblings and I, each in our own way, battled the daily challenges, finding solace in our academic successes.
Life in Ibadan, with its peculiar struggles, taught us the importance of community. We shared not just our joys and sorrows, but also the very resources we needed to survive. The sense of togetherness was not just out of necessity, but also a deep-seated sense of belonging to each other, of being part of a larger family beyond our immediate kin.
Despite the difficulties, there were moments of pure joy and celebration. Festivals and community gatherings were times when everyone forgot their sorrows. The entire street would come alive with music, dancing, and the aroma of special dishes. During these festivals, our hardships were momentarily forgotten, replaced by laughter and the warmth of communal unity.
As I reflect on those days, I realize how those experiences shaped me into the person I am today. The challenges taught me empathy, resilience, and the value of hard work. They instilled in me a deep appreciation for the opportunities I have now, opportunities that once seemed like distant dreams.
In the midst of adversity, there was a peculiar beauty, a testament to the human spirit's ability to thrive under any circumstances. This was our life in Ibadan, a life of struggle, but also of immense strength and joy.
As I stood there, tears streaming down my face, a gentle hand rested on my shoulder. I turned to see an old man, his face etched with lines of wisdom and experience. He asked me why I was crying. Hesitantly, I shared my story, the missed opportunities for school applications, my fears about the future, and the crossroads I found myself at.
The old man listened intently, nodding with understanding. After I finished, he smiled and told me something I would never forget. "Young man," he said, "life is filled with unexpected turns. Sometimes, the path we dread becomes our greatest journey. Don't lose hope. There's always a way."
His words sparked a glimmer of hope in me. I wiped my tears and thanked him. As I walked back, his words echoed in my mind. I realized that even though my current situation was not ideal, it was a stepping stone, a part of my journey.
The following days, I threw myself into my work with a new sense of purpose. My calculations and forecasts in the pool betting shop became more accurate, earning me a good reputation. People started seeking my advice, and I began saving the extra money I earned.
One day, a regular customer, impressed by my skills, asked about my future plans. I shared my dream of continuing my education. To my surprise, he offered to sponsor my school fees for a vocational training program. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I accepted.
The vocational program opened new doors for me. I discovered a passion for electronics and mechanics, a field that blended practical skills with academic knowledge. It was challenging, but I thrived in the environment, my past experiences fueling my determination to succeed.
Years passed, and with hard work and dedication, I became a skilled technician. My success in the vocational field led me to reconsider my earlier disdain for trades like motor mechanics. I realized the value of practical skills, and how they could transform lives, including my own.
Looking back, I understood that every step of my journey, every hardship, and every decision, had led me to where I was. The tears at the school gate, the work at the pool betting shop, and even the fearful stories about motor mechanics, all played a part in shaping my path.
Life in Ibadan, with its challenges and lessons, had prepared me for a world full of possibilities. I learned that sometimes, the paths we least expect to take can lead us to our greatest achievements. And most importantly, I learned that with determination, resilience, and a bit of kindness from strangers, no dream is too far out of reach.
As the sun set on another day, I stood outside the small workshop that now bore my name. The hustle of Ibadan continued around me, a city ever bustling with life and challenges. In this moment of quiet reflection, I realized how far I had come from the boy who once watched the world through the holes in Chief Lanbe's shutters.
My journey, with its twists and turns, had taught me invaluable lessons. I had learned that the strength to overcome adversity lies within us, that guidance can come from the most unexpected places, and that every experience, good or bad, is a step towards realizing our dreams.
As I locked the workshop doors, I thought about the future. There was much more to achieve, many more challenges to face, and countless opportunities to explore. The next chapter of my life was waiting to be written, a chapter where I could use my skills and experiences to give back to the community that raised me.
With a heart full of hope and a mind brimming with ideas, I was ready to embark on the next phase of my journey, knowing well that the roads we travel are not just about reaching a destination, but about the lessons we learn and the people we become along the way.