JOY COMES IN THE MORNING.

(Where does she go at night?)

I grew up in North bank; a neighborhood that haboured the good, the bad, and the ugly.

No day went by without one witnessing at least two dramas by some neighbors. If one landlord had not locked his tenants outside the house for non payment of rent fees, then,  one small boy of 8/9 years had stolen a goat from one neighbor and sold to the neighbor next door.

On some of these occasions, you’d find every inhabitant outsider their houses; some bare chested, others almost naked. Most rushed out in order  not to miss the dramas. These dramas always created or aroused excitement.

At night, you’d find the little ones telling the happenings of the day to those who had left the area for work or school. They’d add a little sugar to the stories to make them sweeter and watch with elation as their victims devoured the escapades with so much belief, satisfaction and contentment.

These and many other experiences made my day, a very local boy, having sleepless nights thinking of how to make the world a better place.

Late one evening, my kid sister, lazy and forgetful had failed in her responsibility to go buy sugar for my younger brother's  pap and tea at night. I was compelled to take her place and go to the nearest shop. I’d have gladly gone and returned with a grin on my fat face, but God had other plans for me.

I am exhausted to say the least. Notwithstanding, I’m walking and playing with an empty plastic bottle. I am so engulfed in my play that I do not notice the fight right in front of me.

Two boys had attacked one younger boy. The victim, James, was unarmed unlike his predators who preyed on him and attacked with an axe and a small life.

I watched  with dismay as life gradually left James. I looked at the hard earth and wished I could dissolve into it. If wishes were horses …

Being the only witness, I related the caper to my parents amidst tears and trembling. The next morning, when I had eaten and revived a bit, I reported the incident to my friends who went about spreading the tale and bringing people to me to confirm the story. I soon grew tired of repeating the story every 2 minutes.

As I vexed and grinned, a thought came to mind; write this story down so you don’t have to tell it to people by mouth and waste your time. I started to write!!!

Since James’ death, I’ve written and published more than a hundred stories. Perhaps, James’ death inspired me.

I’ve written and published on so many blogs and social media platforms. I’ve never been rewarded for my writing even though people proclaim me a great writer. Perhaps, my reward is in heaven.

Despite not been rewarded, I continue to write. I hope that one day, I’ll surely get what’s actually mine. I see the whole situation as night, joy would come when it’s morning.