Each time I get distressed about my ordeals as a product of separated parents, the title of James Thiongo Ngungi’s book; ‘weep not child’ becomes of a great solace to me. Growing up for me was a very awful experience. Waking up and getting ready for school, I ate my breakfast of beans and garri (grated & fried cassava) which was the most regular meal in our home – thank God I had something to eat most times. At school, it was embarrassing to hear my schoolmates talk about how lovely their parents were and I couldn’t talk because mine was only about my mother, my mother – thank God at least I had a parent. At the sound of the school bell for the day’s dismissal, my heart began to beat fast because it was time to retire to the benches which we joined together as our bed – thank God I had where to lay my head on. My mother was and is still a primary school teacher, so there was nothing to brag about before my schoolmates and playmates – thank God it’s a blessing to grow up under the auspices of a teacher. Our house was the school kitchen; there was no television, radio and such like – thank God we had a shelter. My mother, as a teacher catering for the needs of her only two sons without the support of their father or a husband, usually plucked mango and guava leaves and boiled it together with lemon grass for us to drink whenever we fell ill, since her small salary couldn’t be spent on hospital bills alone – thank God for herbal remedies. On the two different occasions that I went to my father’s house to spend my holidays, all I enjoyed was series of mal-treatment from my stepmother – thank God that unknowingly to her then, she succeeded in helping to make me who I am today. The only place I could constantly go to, to be a holidaymaker was the village where my maternal grandmother won’t cease from chastisement of me. At the village, there were no toys, biscuits, ice cream, etc – thank God for the opportunity to learn the ways of my tradition and for the wisdom that I gained from my grandma. I stayed with some of my relatives and I had some awful experiences as well – thank God for the knowledge of the fact that there is nothing as sweet as home. Though I wasn’t getting the things I wished for as a growing child; envy, self-pity and low self-esteem were never a part of me. I know I would be a great man – thank God for exposing me to the secret that I was the egg of an eagle that got hatched by a hen. A lot of people are very insensitive to the ordeals of people like me who are victims of a broken home; close family members and close friends who are supposed to serve as a source of solace are insensitive to my feelings – thank God for opening my eyes to the challenging truth that, my destiny is in my hands! Your case may be worse than mine; but, always know that ‘life is not what it makes of you but what you make of it’!
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