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Once I was young; can’t believe I have grown. Yet the memories from my childhood remain ever with me, fresh as the apple I’m eating as I write this. I recall nursery school, the many tears I cried as I was forced to that place down our street every morning. It was difficult for me, and to be frank I never really understood why I had to go to school at all. Moreover, I was constantly terrorized by Eze, a bully who would interestingly become a lifelong friend. I remember the day I finally stood up to him by putting a handful of sand in his eyes before he could say one unkind word to me. He cried so much and then I consoled him and had even joined in the crying. Didn’t I just love the tears!


Childhood! It was quite the time. Going to nursery school was the only task I had to perform at some point. But as I grew older, my siblings made me realize they were not created to serve me. My first ever task was to wash plate; and trust me, I washed it to the best of my ability! It was fun, arguing with them, learning to have a voice and making it heard and of course fighting with my older brother. At some point he was practically my worst enemy as I competed with him for the parents’ love. But then abi think my major problem with him was the fact that he was finer than me. I wanted to be the centre of all the attraction, but he was just too fine. Much later on in line I had to write an entire short story on HOW MY BROTHER IS…

Anyway many years passed and I continued to grow. I soon found myself in secondary school; the same school where my older brother attended and where he was my “senior”. I shall leave out the many punishments he subjected me to, and of course what I did at home to warrant such punishment. But what I recall most about my first few months in secondary school was my encounter with Nancy. She had just moved to my neighborhood and enrolled in the same school. She was fine…at least to my boyish mind. So I always tried to play with her, to attract her attention. But then she disliked me and made that very known to me. However as I consistently failed to get the message, Nancy devised a brilliant means to get me to the ‪#‎trash‬ for good. She went home one Friday and told a pretty whitey lie to her mother about how I touched her panties while she eased herself. Of course her very Christian mother believed the story, and that very night had come to our house with Nancy to teach my parents “some morality for the kids”. After Nancy’s uninvited visit with her mother, I received the worst kind of beating (till date) from my father…

This is an excerpt from a manuscript written by Emmanuel Benson. The authour is in search of a good publisher to put the work in prints. Contact him on eabarabenson@gmail.com


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