Sunday, May 13, 2012

Do I blame myself? Of Course not

"As I walk through the valley.. I see you, feel you."
The rest of that song is history, I was never a fully devoted Christian, although I was literally born in Church. Yes, I mean it, I was given birth to in church. My mum went into labor during a Sunday service, before she could be rushed to the hospital, my small head was already popping out.
I find the story fascinating and never fail to use it as an ice breaker in social gatherings, always concluding with "I was born in Church, so I don't need to be born again".

My dad died when I was three, leaving my mum, my brother and I at the mercy of his family. I blame my dad for his death, because he died in the bed of a prostitute. My father's family weren't the nicest of people; they took all of my father's belongings, and left us to beg on the streets. my mum was a housewife, she had just a degree which she hadn't used in years to fall back on. In my father's words "No, I want you to stay at home and take care of my kids" Where did that statement leave her now? Oh yes! Jumping from one friend's home to another with her kids; her 10 year old son and three year old daughter. At first, her friends were eager to lend a helping hand, soon they all turned their backs on us. That was when I learnt you're your only true friend, no one has got your back forever.

Fifteen years later, and I am in a hospital bed, dying of aids and other sexually transmitted diseases. My brother died from been at the right place at the wrong time, caught between a gun fight between the police and a gang of robbers; if he was actually among the robbers, no one knows, but we sure do know he wasn't a member of teh police force.

My mother looking at least thirty years older than her age, gazed sadly upon me. She called me to caution before it was too late, but I obviously turned deaf ears. Peer pressure pushed me into it. My mother started hawking akara and puff puff on the streets of Lagos few months after my father's death. I was still very young then, and enjoyed every bit of it, what more does a three year old girl want than running around the streets in pants, playing with kids her own age, building sand castles and feasting on half eaten gala found on the road? It wasn't till I was ten that I envied girls my own age in beautiful dresses and well packed hair.
That was when the complaints started, for three years I worried my mum, made her cry, harassed her. Wondered why she brought me up the way she did, why I couldn't have the beautiful toys the other girls had, why I had to play with tyres with other dirty kids. Soon I made friends with other "sad" girls like I called them.

Two years later, here I am, slowly waiting for my death, escaping it if only a miracle occurs.

What could I have done differently if I had the opportunity to go back in time? Nothing! absolutely nothing! Why? Because I believe everything happened because of a greater force, a force greater than man. A god with a small g or a God with a big G. what ever it or he or she is, I don't know.
Now you see why I said I was never a devoted Christian and would never be a devoted Christian?

A really short SHORT story... Purely Fiction.... by princess Debbie ^_^


  1. short but SAD but il really love to know if she died. and if there was a beta life afterwards

    1. Hey Trubee, thanks for leaving a comment... hmm you just gave me an idea for the sequel.. I'll trying working on it... your comment is much appreciated :)

  2. Debbie i found myself on ur site again o!! lol, probably cos of my love 4 writin. this is a nice piece but trust me if i was a critic, dere r sm loops dt shouldnt be dere, d calculation of d years look at it again. No hard feelings, just want u 2 go ova ur stories so it wud b hard 2 b criticised. much luv!

  3. Yeah, just saw teh error.. thanks for the criticism hunnay, it is really appreciated, and do come on my blog more often :*