Sunday, 28 May 2017


"At the point when the cassava-flour vender lost all her cassava-flour to the twist, out of sharpness she heaved curses at the wind. She never realized that the wind had utilized that cassava-flour to fill and fix the gap underneath the kayak her lone child is going over. In the event that she knew, she would have favored the twist for not giving her a chance to lose her lone child to the ocean. Each failure is a gift."  These are the expressions of my mom and I never comprehended the significance.

One night, the town-messenger passed a message from the king that each being ought to remain in before its darken. It was said that the traditional priest's will walk thorough the night taking penances and sacrifice   to each intersection where three ways meet in order to appease the spirit of the land. As the day approaches it dim, everybody rushed home. On my way home, two travellers approach me and requesting that I help them safe for the night in my house. Out of good heart and no profound idea, I gave them a space to pass the night. The obscurity ruled for quite a while and it resembled the night will never give the earth a chance to free from its hold. The morning came as regular and I ascended with the brilliant sun to check on the travellers however shockingly, they were gone. Not only that, they Run with my resources and all the cash I had put together for my adventure to the city; in an excursion with my friends, in a quest to change our lives for good. These traveling criminals stole that open chance from me. My associates headed out to the city and left me to appreciate this sharp taste of disappointment and each drop of palm-wine that stream down my throat. The calabash turned into the nearest thing to my mouth; nearer than the words I talk.


Early today, I woke up with the sun all over and my entire body overpowered with hurt. At the point when the uncoordinated but excellent chirps of the morning birds are gone, then I realize that the sun has far woken up before me. Where do I begin from? I was wounded far from the warmth of the sun just for the unappealing odor of palm-wine to hit my face. I hacked and moaned. Despondency is mine to drink, and I should drink myself into a daze. Presently I know the sky is as vacant as a crate of water. There are no gods and if there truly are, they are as inert as their dolls on earth. I got off the bed, "god kor god ni" I murmured.

I looked through my window and saw a vehicle drive in and stop some separation away. At that point, individuals rushed to it with shouts and tears. I hurried out to the scene and the ghastliness before me stopped my breath. I saw my very own friend of and other traveling villagers. They said they ran into a trailer on their way to the city four days prior. "I should've been one of them" I thought – a suspected that left me puzzled and frosty for a considerable worth of time.

Presently I comprehend the expressions of my mom. "At the point when the travellers he helped stole all his cash, he was not able go to the city with his friend. He reviled the divine beings and subjected himself to lose hope. He never realized that explorers stole from him a trip that could prompt his death. On the off chance that he knew, he would've favored the travellers and even give them more than they've stolen. My children, everything happens for a reason." These are my words to my kids now.

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