When things became difficult, we could barely feed. So together with my immediate big sis, we joined our mum at the market.
I trade any and every thing I could buy and sell, walk up and down from one sport to another shouting to seek customers attention and selling. This was so hard for me, and YES some days I cryed but discovered crying wasn't helping so I had to keep doing what I was doing.
In all this, I never for once, loss hope my dad would come or for see him coming already about to die. Life, struggle and hardship kept slapping me at the face.The whole of that year, i watch my mates go to school while I was with a tray and goods on my head trading for survival (how painful it was ).
The most hurting thing was, some days I will sell and the money will be stolen, i return home with zero profit and zero capital . This didn't happen once, not twice nor three time. It happened over and over and they stole my money. And if only those thieves knew my condition, I think they won't have dared to steal from an abandon and suffering child.
Times without number I cut my hand with the Eru knife and each time that happens, "i will tell my mum my dad will come and see this mark on my hand and I will ask him why??" But dead took my father before I could voice my struggles and feelings.
My mum, cries often as she felt guilty of our stress, as she cries and thinks she grew pale and pale.
The money I work, part I save for my next school fees and some taken straight to the hospital to help my younger brother who came out a sickle cell patient