My story shapes my history

It was dark.

It was cold.

I was lonely.

I was the last child. I was living with our mother in Rainbow Area in Owo. We were living in my uncle's house, because our mother was an abused widow,  thrown out and had to seek succour from  her own family members. 

To digress a bit, our mother was an open minded woman, so always at a loggerhead with patriarchal views in those days. It was the eight house I had lived with her, as the last child,  I was her hand bag.

This fateful,  I was too young to understand why there was another ruse between our mother and one of her brothers again, it was normal, I had witnessed  her beaten black and  blue, hospitalised by her Brother.

It was not new to me.

So when  she instructed me to pick my most important luggage, I knew that that was another wahala brewing again.

I had very few personal  property.  I could  count them with my fingers only. So, I picked my school uniform,  my rubber sandals, few under wears and two changing dresses.

Mother dashed into the night.  I silently followed her, I didn't know the destination,  but I knew that with our Mama, you aren't getting lost.

The buildings in those areas in the 80s were scanty, we had more bushes than houses, electricity was a luxury, as it was in the beginning,  so it is today,  we pray for electricity as one prays for an eclipse. Electricity is a luxury in Nigeria. 

It was dark, the walk was slow, I  couldn't ask questions,  because Mother taught us about facial expressions,  with her face, I knew when to speak and when to remain silent. 

Our mother suffered several violent abuse from males in her life, its not new, its the culture that continues to silence  and oppress women  to the detriment of the development of the nation. 

The walk was not far, but because she may be thinking of the best destination,  she was slow, she must have been in deep thoughts.  After a few minutes,  she stopped and I followed, she crossed to the other side of the road,  it was in the night,  there were no vehicles. 

It was as if the ground should open and I was ready to enter without any arguments,  I would loved to be buried, but death cannot be conjure, I waited in tears as she began to knock the gate of one of our classmates.  Chaiiiiii, my thoughts were running wild, by morning,  the whole school would have heard about our homelessness. 

My tears were hot.

I am one hundred percent sure that my mother's tears would drench her buba at that moment, she hated to disturb anyone with her personal problems.  The response as expected were dogs barking so loudly as if they were in a competition to wake the whole world to our predicament.

A few minutes later,  the occupant,  a kind woman who was living with her children,  opened her gate, she didn't ask any questions.  She ushered us into an uncompleted building beside her house. No windows,  no doors, nothing. 

She must have suspected that our uncle had sent us packing again. 

That uncompleted building became our house. The unforgettable part is that our mother would not sleep all through the night.  Every night.  She would spread her wrapper and I would sleep and she would use her gele head gear to chase away mosquitoes as I tried to sleep. 

How did we survive? 

I can't recollect anymore,  I had to push away many ugly stories out of my mind as I grew up. The uncompleted building that saved us is less than four minutes drive from my house today. 

And, you will not believe that nobody mocked me in school. 

The only sad part of this story is that, our mother died in the struggle,  she is lying peacefully where nobody can chase her out of her grave now, but I survive and my survival will help other sisters to survive too.

No child,  no sister and nobody should be sent out at night,  no matter the situation. Homelessness does not just stripped us of our beautiful sleep and peace of mind in those days , it also stripped us of our human dignity too.

The story of my life has only helped me to write my life  history, it has also helped me to shape my thoughts and to build a legacy that can be replicated globally. 

In Sisters City, Owo, a beautiful  paradise built for homeless  women, we will do our best to protect as many vulnerable women from Owo and its environment.

We will never chase away our sisters  in the dead of the night.