Full Moon – I

We lived in the deepest part of the western regions of Africa where the oil spilled generously, ‘The slums of Maduli’ to be precise.

Where we laid our heads could not really be termed as an apartment, more of a grotto with 10 (ten) occupants, surrounded by free ‘Mosquito WIFI’ and a bed of stranded sewer which we crossover whilst going out through a 2-inches termite-infested plank which has been there long before I was born. Summarily we lived in squalor.

• • • • • •

I was the last of nine (9) children, with my mother as the head of the house after our dad passed away five (5) years before I was born, in that same room. There was no burial or any family occasion, so he was quietly dumped into the lagoon adjacent to us whilst the stars were shining, up in the sky.

I grew up without a friend, school or

whatever it is any child should know or do.

Couldn’t give a name to what my mom or siblings do for a living, all i know is they all visit a scrapyard not far from us; the most beautiful site in the slum, where I get to play and enjoy every single day with the sun smiling at us, plus the hope for a dinner was our sincere prayers to the unknown God.

Well, there’s no “Until one day I met, we

met this or that in my story”.

• • • • • •

Life continued just as it had always been till I clocked eleven (11) and joined the family business at the scrapyard of course.

Living, breathing, packing scraps and hoping for dinner every passing day remained a luxury for me which I never took for granted.

• • • • • •

My first three brothers did not return home one day and mother never spoke a word about it. we didn’t eat dinner that night.

It was a night I could never forget, the silence was louder than our usual conversation of how the streets were cold and harsh always with riots, gunshots, prostitutions and any other

scary factor you could think of, which every single child left in the room knew momma’s first 3 sons had been a victim of.

Now, I was the only son left, as my 5 sisters

crawled into their corners and slept as

usual.

Then the gunshots began, we were used to it but this was different! There was fire!, momma grabbed me immediately, hastened my sisters too.

Rather than running into the bush as others did, momma headed towards the lagoon. I could sense she was terrified as my chest was

locked to hers, running fast as we could and the only thought laced on my mind as I looked back and saw our hut on fire was,

“Daddy we are staying with you tonight”.

The River was so cold as momma placed me on her heads, I could feel her shivering so much, it was only my legs that was in the waters but I could tell how cold it was for

momma and my 3 siblings, wait! 2 were already missing.

I’ve been speaking to you from my head because I was born dumb but I was favoured enough to hear, see and feel.

We were in the lagoon, I couldn’t tell for how long but when I woke up, still on momma’s shoulders walking out of the lagoon, it was already morning and there were many corpse at bay and our home was gone too.

Then some people in a blue van came and took us all out of the slum. I was glad!

This was my first time in a van and we were about 30 including my momma and sister. I kept staring at every

single thing I saw; people, places, object

and the ones who carried us kept speaking

a language that was alien to me. It was really a long journey from where home

used to be, passed through the big cities,

many rivers, tracks and more.

Then we arrived at this place which I had so

much hope it was going to be better for us

but was it?

• • • • • •

We were more than 150 (one-fifty) in a room, if I counted well at my age though. Altogether, I couldn’t bring myself to count

without an unavoidable distraction for a child like me.

This place looked deserted and also far from the big cities I saw whilst coming.

The ones who brought us kept using the word ‘IDP’ whilst interacting with the ones I believe were in charge in their alien language (which I believe is called English now). After a while, they left us there and a new life began for us, got fresh clothes to wear.

Same routine day after day, the only

difference was that I had children like me to play with all day long. Strangers turned friends, friends turned siblings and in turn became family.

We had one screen that showed amusing pictures in black and white forms colors, just like the big cities i saw while we were coming to this place, they called it television and I enjoyed staring at it as much

as I loved playing with my new friends.

• • • • • •

Everything was fine for the past 5 (five)

years we moved here until one day I

collapsed. At least, that I remember only to wake up on a hospital bed with many pains and pins all over me. I couldn’t tell momma

how I felt at that moment but from her looks I could tell she felt my pain as tears kept flowing from her eyes as she stared at me with a woman in white jacket standing

by.

I don’t know how long have been here but I was already bald, pale and no flesh left on me, I lost appetite for everything.

 Nothing interested me and I felt the pain more and more. I’ve never had a better life or happy moments as the ones I spent at the IDP

(Internally Displaced Persons) camp.

All the hair on my head was gone, I missed my friends back at the camp. I wanted to go back but the pain never stopped.

Momma’s friend also from the camp came around to check on me and wrote in a paper at my bedside, what she had been teaching me before i ended up here, JESUS LOVES YOU SON, AND I’M PRAYING FOR

YOU.

I have heard about this handsome man called JESUS as I never stopped staring at his picture hunged in our dining wall back at the

camp.

We were taught about his house up

in the sky, his adventures here on earth, how good and great he is, his death and resurrection and mostly how he loves me endlessly.

There were only three things that made me happy, moments I will ever

cherish; the ones I spent with my friends,

staring at the small screen in the big hall and most of all, the ones i spent with momma’s friend who keeps talking about this handsome man, Jesus.

I will never forget her smiles when she talks about this man, even after my ninth month on the same bed.

Everyday, the pains kept increasing but her smile, expressions, stories, friendliness, aura, how she would always make time for me made me more comfortable in my pains.

I never got better as months went by, my solace remained in the one who died for me who now makes me share this same love with others in my ward.

Then something got wrong.

• • • • • •

had just woken up as usual, would always

find my mom at my bedside but she wasn’t

there, my bed was different and I was not in the ward either.

No longer on my hospital clothes rather a colorful pyjamas I had

never beheld nor wore before.

Everything was different, colorful, I

screamed and that’s when my shock

increased. “I could talk?”,Where am I? 

What’s happening to me? Then the door

opened and many strangers ran in.

She was neatly dressed than momma, sh ewas having mixed feelings looking at me but I wasn’t sure where to start from but all I could say was, “I want to go home”.

And they both smiled at me saying, ‘you’re

home son’, we are glad you alive and well,

we thought we lost you, thank God you’re

alive, the doctor said it will take awhile to restore your memory but we trust Jesus to

help you through this.

I didn’t understand one single thing they

were saying, but they spoke of the

handsome man, momma’s friend used to

tell me about, they said they were my

parents, there are pictures on the wall of

me standing and smiling with them but

what about my momma, siblings and

friends I’ve known all my life? Or am I dead? 

Is this a test? Or another world? I was

speechless as they laid me back to rest

more.

• • • • • •