Endless : The Diary Of A Nigerian Orphan - Episode 7

still on merciless injustice

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Days have past now. So many things, my apollo - dimmed eyes have cried about. But who would care to listen to the words of my mouth. My few friends in class, do not discuss about their life at home. Would I be the one to start up an unneccesary talk. Since none of my friend never brushed the topic of their home life, but would rather prefer to talk about the latest cousin(s) that visited and the said cousin(s) school in comparison to ours. My headmaster gave me a listening ear, and encouraged me . At first, he doubted that I am an orphan and living with a foster mother who is treating me badly. In my headmaster’s words, “if you need anything, Deesay, don’t hesitate to call on me. Do you hear that?”. I nodded and thanked him , before leaving his office.
“would I ask him for money or what?”, I thought as I climbed down a make shift stairs , very slowly. What would satisfy my want than the earnest desire to live out my true life. Far from that, what I needed as important as the air that I breath is the ‘voice’ in me, given a ‘spacious field’ to express itself.
And for the third time in four years, I broke down in class again. It was the period of Maths lesson and I lost my usual enthusiasm. “why would my parents die so sudden?”, I muttered in sheer frustration.
“master Kanmi, Deesay is crying”, Durotoye called from his seat.
“Deesay, what is it?”, master Kanmi had quickly walked to my seat

All episodes of this story can be found here >> https://www.ebonystory.com/story/endless-the-diary-of-a-nigerian-orphan

. I felt his presence even before he tapped me gently. He is one of my amiable and understanding teacher after Ms. Afe; my social studies teacher.
“my parents. Master Kanmi, I don’t know where they are”, I stuttered in a tear stained voice. Through this,I never raised my head up, I didn’t want my classmates to see my face. Except Durotoye, who knew that tear streaks lined my hands, when I had lowered my head on the desk.
“Samson, come here”, master Kanmi called, “write down this exercise 15 on the board. Do try to make your handwriting, most legible”.
“yes master”,Samson replied. He left his seat and hastened to master Kanmi’s side. When he delayed few minutes after, I knew that it was to have a glimpse of my sore-red eyes.
He pulled me up and carried me away from the class. To the staff room, I guessed.
“my pen has dropped, master”, I managed to say, before tasting my tears. He bent to pick it without saying a word.
“what is the matter, Deesay?”, master Kanmi asked, as soon as he settled me on a bench beside his chair. He gestured at a male teacher to face his business, when the teacher had attempted prying into our ‘circle’. I looked around, to be sure that my soggy- dampened eyes had cleared off. To be sure that, I wasn’t seeing things in its double form. To confirm this, I cleared my eyes with my wet left palm.
“talk to me, Deesay”, master Kanmi said again. “something seems to be eating you up. You have to open up, we could be of help, no matter how little”.
“help”, I imagined. I twisted my fingers as the raw fear of never seeing my parents anymore gripped me.
“my parents disappeared for the past four years and there is no trace of them”, I finally let out. If using the word ‘disappeared’, would make the emotional pain quite mild, then I preferred that to the word, ‘died’.
“how did it happen? Who told you so”, master Kanmi asked in one breath as a puzzle look lined his face.
“my aunt Sally and my grand mother told me”, I returned, head bowed.
“tell me everything, I will listen”.
I did tell him everything, because he is no native of my village, he doesn’t know what we termed as ‘spiritual’ in my village, he would never understand the extent at which the story of my strangeness had spread round in the village. And I told him everything, saving no details, because, this is LAGOS ; a place where no man cares about how primitive your background might be. All that would matter, is how you would re-package the life ahead.