RAYS OF HOPE PART 1

Rays Of Hope.

Rays of Hope, a very emotional story for teens and teenagers by Olayiwola Oromidayo

Acknowledgement.

Special thanks to the Almighty God who made this work possible, without Him, I am nothing. Also, I sincerely thank the following people for their moral, intellectual and financial supports for me at all times: Mr. Ayobami Bayonle, Mr. Olayiwola Gbenga (big uncle), Mrs. Cecilia Oyedele (Big Aunt), Mr. Olayiwola Kehinde (Small Uncle), My cousins: Samuel, Samson, blessing, Mary, Itunu and Korede, I love you guys. To my friends: Hibeekay, Habbass, Olamide, Olubamiro Michael, and to people whose names my short memory cannot recall now, I appreciate all of you.

Dedication.

This book is dedicated to my big sis; Miss Olaosun Paula Ayodeji. Thanks for always being there. Your kindness is my inspiration.

RAYS OF HOPE.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by means either electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording means and or otherwise without the express written permission of the author.

1^st edition Published By:

 VICTORY EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHERS

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Acknowledgement…………………………………………………………….i

Dedication…………………………………………………………………………

Me……………………………………………………………………………………..

My parents…………………………………………………………………………..

Kate……………………………………………………………………………………

The trial…………………………………………………………………………………

The Unexpected………………………………………………………………………

New Hope……………………………………………………………………………..

The Suit………………………………………………………………………………….

New Life………………………………………………………………………………..

Rich dad………………………………………………………………………………..

The Meeting…………………………………………………………………………..

Over The Seas………………………………………………………………………..

The Miracle………………………………………………………………………………….

Gone With The Wind……………………………………………………………………

My Real Dad………………………………………………………………………………..

Ray Of Hope Dictionary………………………………………………………………

ME.

My name is Rose; I decided to name myself after my favourite flower (rose) because I don’t like any of the traditional names that my parents gave me.

I am eleven years old but I’m too small in stature for my age and this often make other children in the neighbourhood (especially the fat and the tall ones) to bully me. Fatty for instance was as huge and tall as a fifteen year old though we are just age mates. The story I’m about to tell you happened about three years or thereabout but it changed my life forever.

Our house has no definite shape. It was made from different structures that were once wooden shops but new parts were added to these so that it eventually became one huge wooden structure and it now contains over twenty rooms that are occupied by almost two hundred people.

My mum and dad rented a room out this those ‘rooms’ and that’s where we were living when things began to change in my life, and theirs too. In fact, our street was not a street in the real sense at all because there was no road among the rudely constructed wooden houses; they were all built in total violation of Lagos Town Planning code. The road that once existed between the two rows of houses on the street are now occupied by wooden and badly constructed house; therefore, all gutters are full to the brim; debris and human wastes  overflowing the planks placed on them when it rains just a little.

On the street, our worst enemy was rain because there was not drainage to channel the water through. The floods all over Mushin usually end up on our area, chasing residents out of their shabby little rooms like rats forced out of their holes. There were times that the flood would kill one or two people and the Ministry of Environment officials would come and seal off the whole area and declared it ‘danger zone’ but we the residents were stubborn, we would break down the seal and continue living there despite all warnings. Maybe it was because we have no place to go or something but I cannot stop myself from wondering why were so adamant to risk our lives and wellbeing.

The street was always noisy and rowdy every time of the day because most of the people living there have no jobs except selling Indian hemps to thugs from other areas and at least in day, there would be a serious fight but we were all used to it. The truth is, those fights were part of the ways by which we stayed happy.

We the young ones usually fight one another and give ourselves scary names like our adults parents, street uncles and aunts do. Names like Scorpion, cutlass, devil, demon etc. just to show how dangerous we were. Girls and Boys on my street have just a game and that is fighting, if you can call that a game. Fighting to us is a game and it can take any dimension.

MY PARENTS.

I don’t know how they are but I guess that my mum and dad must not be less than forty years each. Their faces were covered by lines which make them look as if they were angry even when they were happy. (I’ve never seen them happy or smile before).

Like all the people that I know, mum and dad were Indian hemp dealers. They buy the hemp in bulk from one of the farmers from Ondo state who always smuggle it into Lagos and distribute it at exorbitant prices to the consumers. Mum and dad were very popular among the dealers but mum used to complain that dad smokes more than he sells. My parents made so much money from this illegal trade, yet our condition never improved.

Our room was so small that it was barely big enough to accommodate our old stinking mat and old Ghana-must-go bags that contain our earthly possession.  The room had neither window nor ceiling; instead, it was covered at the top by a tarpaulin which had holes in several places and rain always penetrated through these holes to soak us as flood rushes in from the doorway.

I don’t know my parents’ names. They never told me and I never asked as well because I didn’t need their names anyway. I could only need their names if I was going to school but I wasn’t. I wasn’t the only child in the ghetto who doesn’t know her parents’ names, most of the kids in the neighbourhood don’t know their parents’ names either, yet it meant nothing to us.

As far as I can remember, my parents have never directly given me anything that I want, including food till I take it by force or steal it when they were not around. So I’m a stealer. I don’t steal from my parents alone; I steal from neighbours and anyone as well. I steal food and money mostly to satisfy my hunger or greed whenever I see a biscuit I’d love to taste or an ice cream that is irresistible.           
      

One day, I sneaked inside our neighbor’s room. It was dark and like our own room, there was no window and there floor was bare and cold. I went inside the room, thinking that nobody saw me. I stayed in the darkness for almost 2 minutes till my eyes became adjusted to it and then I saw their pot. I opened the pot and dipped my dirty left hand into the soup. It was hot but I didn’t mind, so I brought out a big fish and I quickly ate it as fast as I could. I took a piece of meat and I ate it greedily. I took two more but ate them slowly. As I was about to take the next one, somebody pulled me up by my cloth and then and then I knew that I’ve been caught!

I’ve heard stories of how thieves have been brutally killed before and that fear filled my heart now and I started sobbing and begging man who caught me to release me and not let people know, but he didn’t answer me. “Please I won’t steal again” I begged but he continued dragging me out.

When we reached an open space, he kicked my legs and I fell heavily to the floor, crying. The man shouted “Thief” Three times and quickly, people came running with clubs and cutlass and when they saw me, they were disappointed that the thief was just an emaciated child. Some of them left dejectedly nevertheless many others waited and beat me till I felt as if I would die. My mum watched all this among the crowd without even pleading or saying a word to save me. 

Throughout the afternoon, I was beaten and disgraced until about six P.M when a fight broke out between two rival gangs in the neighbourhood. The people lost interest in me and went there to watch the fight.

That night, mum and dad beat me mercilessly and I wanted to ask them that if stealing was bad, why anyone didn’t tell me before. I knew the answer to that question after my dad pushed me out of the room and said ‘it is a good thing to steal but a crime to be caught; so you just committed a crime and you alone must face the consequences”.

That night, I wondered through the dark neighbourhoods for a place to sleep in, but there was none because every dry and empty place had been occupied by other homeless people. At last, I found a place beside a drunken man who was fast asleep. I lay down beside him and because I was so weak and wounded, I fell into a long deep troubled sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a start. Something very strong and stinking was lying on top of me and I couldn’t even utter a sound because I felt something very strong blocking my mouth and nostrils. I couldn’t shout nor breathe properly. I fought with all my strength but nothing till I felt something between my thighs; I felt pains all over my body. The pain was too much for me so, I passed out.

When I woke up the next day, I saw people staring down at me. At first, I thought I was in our room but the sharp rotten smell of gutter and the unmusical buzzing of flies and mosquitoes reminded me of the previous night. I tried to stand up but all parts of my body were on fire, especially my stomach downward. I felt as if all parts of me had died and that it’s only my eyes and brain that were still functioning.

My stepped forward out of the watching crowd and bent down over me, whispering so that only I could hear her.

“I thought you have died when I first came here and saw you” she said between clenched teeth “I wish you are dead stupid girl. Now you have been raped…..if you get pregnant, I will kill you” she said and stood up, then she walked away from the watching crowd.

I passed out again after my mum left. And I didn’t know what happened later because the next time I opened my peepholes, I was lying on the old mat in our room and it was pitch dark.

I couldn’t sleep through the night, my mum slapped me to shut me up but I couldn’t just stop crying. My dad said in his deep bass voice that he’d kill me if I didn’t shut up and let him sleep then I fell silent. Throughout the next three days, my parents gave me nothing to eat in spite of my injuries and pains so I took to the streets. I was begging for food and money within our neighbourhood but everyone had heard what happened to and instead of helping me, they all chased me away as if I was a plague. So, I took to the other streets where no one knew me.

While begging, I saw other kids too doing the same and I began going out begging with them. At nights, I would keep my money in my pockets but before I woke up the next day, the money would be gone. At first, I thought I was losing the money on the way home but when it continued to disappear, then that either mum or dad or both of them were stealing my money.

KATE.

Five days after the unfortunate incidence, I met an eleven year old girl. Her name was Kate. That morning, I was begging people for money from street to street but nobody gave me anything.

When I got to a supermarket, I discovered that there were goods displayed outside while the attendants were busy inside as they attended to customers. At first, I was scared when I thought of being caught stealing again but my greed conquered my conscience and fear. Quickly, I took some biscuits and galas then I turned around to go but the eleven year old girl was right there; blocking my way and ready to give a very loud scream to attract people to catch me. I was caught again!

I went down slowly on my knees in front of her and tears began to stream down my face. I didn’t bother to say anything because I was too scared, thinking of the punishments that would soon come. I thought of making a run for it but decided against it because some moths back, a thief had been caught on our street. He had been running when he was caught. He had been captured, beaten black and blue and right there on the street, he was soaked with PMS and set on fire. I’ll never forget that scene till I die. As he was set on fire, he stood up and began running but he couldn’t go far before he fell and his screams as he passed away forever engraved in my memory. As the girl stood in front of me that ready, ready to scream, all these thoughts plagued me and I couldn’t help shuddering. I hung my head in shame and defeat. This seemed to placate the kid because she closed her mouth slowly and peered at me with huge eyes but o couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

“Why did you do that?” she finally asked.

“Please I beg you in the name of God, please let me go” I pleaded, stuttering and stammering through it all.

“No, because you just stole something and I caught so I can’t just let you go like that!” she said indignant.

“They will kill me if they know that I have stolen something. Please, don’t let me die. I swear that I won’t come here again” I said and began to sob “I sorry, I am hungry and need something to eat…” I said through tears.

“It’s okay” she finally said and packed the galas, the biscuits, some cakes and sweets inside my cloth pockets. I rose up and began to g away, too grateful to talk and I was still shaking from the fears of what would have happened to me if I had been caught. “You can take them all but don’t let mum see you, she may hand you over to the police.”

I nodded my head in understanding began walking away.

“Wait!” she shouted after me and I stood rooted to the same spot as she walked up the short distance between us. She extended her hand for me to shake “My name is Kate, what is your name?”

“I am Rose” I replied calmly. I was no longer afraid since she had assured me that she wouldn’t tell anyone my secret.

She led me to the nearest shop and bought two ice cream cups for us. We began to talk and I learnt that she followed her mum to the supermarket and that the supermarket was one of her mother’s many super markets.

“Wow!” I exclaimed “Your parents are cashy o” I said when I heard that and looked at the supermarket again. It was so big and beautiful that it looked endless to me. “I wish my parents are like yours” I said wistfully.

“What are your mom and dad doing for a living?” Kate asked after I got over my wonderment and exclamations.

“Nothing” I said with a heavy heart. Suddenly, I felt ashamed of my life and more importantly, I was ashamed of my parents and the sort of life that we were living. I hated the neighbourhood where we live and all the people in it for being- accepting who they were with content when they could chose to be better. Above all, I hated myself because as Kate and I continued to speak, I discovered that it was wrong to steal and that all stealers will be condemned to eternal death- a kind of death that lasts forever. I was hearing all these for the first time in my life and it made me greatly sad that I would die forever.

We were still licking the ice cream when her mum came to us. She looked at my tattered clothes uneasily.

“Katie, who is this?” she asked sternly.

Her name’s Rose, mum- she is my friend”

“Get inside now!” she said and Kate left me on the porch. Her mum looked disgustedly at me at me. “Look, I don’t want near my daughter, if I see you here again, I’ll call the police” she threatened.

“I’m sorry ma but I like her!” I pleaded. Talking to Kate for that short time had touched my heart in ways that no one else I knew had ever taught me that much. “Please, she taught me things! I’ll never do bad things to her…..”

“Shut up and leave!” she shouted angrily “Leave now before I tell John to beat you black and blue” she said seriously and I left. I didn’t want to do anything that would put Kate into trouble.

Even as I was walking away, I could hear her scolding Kate and calling me names. I heard everything she said as I was going from there and it all filled my heart with sorrows at how bad I am and how she must never relate with me again. 

When I got home, mum and dad were fighting. I’ve seen them fought many times before so that I was used to it. When I was still four years old or thereabout, I used to cry whenever they fight but as time goes on the fights become frequent and I became used to it. Before I met Kate, I would have been laughing and shouting at the top of my voice, urging them on and shouting “winner!” when either of them was able to fall the other in their struggles. But that day when I saw them fighting, I felt bad about my whole life and my parents. I realized that normal parents aren’t even supposed to physically fighting even in their home, let alone outside where everyone watches and normal kids are not supposed to be elated when his her parents fight.