YOU.... ASKED.... ME... WHO... I ...AM

I Am A Ghetto  Child

It wasn't the first time you asked me who I am. You assumed it’s my sense of duty to tell you who I am.Well, it’s certainly my great pleasure to tell you who I am. Look at me. Look at me right in the yolks of my eyes. Look at me without sympathy. Your understanding is all I want, not sympathy.  For the day I was born, was the day sympathy died and was buried.    I believe after I tell you who I am, You wouldn’t ask me again.  For all the good I did: Singing and laughing, it didn’t inspire much food in my stomach. But I can’t blame you for not seeing. My smile blurred your vision. But I will tell you what you have been missing. I will tell you now, for am no longer ashamed to tell you. My soul is sealed with discarded putrefied food my mum got from the can. It is the can in the garbage dump outside that rich neighbor’s corner —through which the left overs were kept for dogs to feed from? Food only covered with fly specks and cockroaches and rats’ waste. And if you don’t see me outside playing, know that the can is empty  that day , and my mum could not find another can, and I was resting  in my  old, dry,  infectious mattress, pampering  my growling, rumbling stomach and begging God to put me to sleep. But I never slept.  My sister would not stop crying. She cried and cried, till she could not cry any more, for my mother’s breast was also dry.  How come I never got sick? Well, the day I was born, was the day sickness was death and buried. Surely, you cannot know who I am. I am a curse. It was understandable that you couldn’t notice.

Because a curse is spiritual, and only spirits see spirits. Yes, I am a curse. It is the inherited gift

that was given to me by my mum through her mum –out of resentment –for stripping her of her pride with the greatest abomination of getting pregnant with me, by my dad, without fulfilling the traditional duties of holy matrimony. It is the curse that made my grand mum deny my mum. The curse that made my mother be in the delivery room at a stranger’s hours for three days. The curse that made my dad takes me away from my mum for 17 years. It is the curse that denied me those privileges of a mother’s warm cuddle. It is the curse that only has a beginning, but has no end. The curse I was left to carry throughout these years without compassion. For the day I was burn was the day compassion was dead and buried

I am pain. It was obvious that dad couldn’t notice because he was on a horny moon with his new wife. And perhaps he could not feel the loneliness in my  eyes when I cried. Or, conceivably, the sun had dried my tears, and their  flakes were devoured by flies in the heavenly skies. If only his wife knew she also is a mother.  And on the subject of fair, was it fair that people misjudged her smile when they gather around? Was it fair everyone thought my life and the life of my step-siblings were the same because we displayed the same clothes on Christmas? No, my life was far from fair. But it’s hard to tell, because I still manage to smile. Yes, that’s all that  I was left with. Just a smile.  Sometimes in order to heal, you  have to  carry the cross and  ignore the pain. Pain was what I felt till the lashes on my flesh and scars on my body were dead and buried. 

Am glad you asked me who I am. I will tell you who I am, for it’s the only way to prevent you from judging what I am and why I am what I am. Come, come let’s take a stroll at my palace. It’s not like yours, but it’s full of life and you will like it.  I must warn you, though, we have a guest. She is like us. She came to live with us uninvited on top of the ceiling. The only difference is that while we work at day time, she works at night sharing the food my mum kept for us for breakfast.  I know it is a she. Because, in her race, only mothers stay with babies and I hear her babies squeaking, scratching and scrabbling around in cavity walls and under floorboards every night. I also know there is a he, too.  Sometimes they chase each other coming from the ceiling and falling violently, petrifying me to death and worrying me to sleep again.  My mother never asked her to leave. She felt they share the same fate of motherhood. They seem to be friends, but they never met. Deep in her heart, I know she wanted to shake her hand for being a good mother, but trust kept them apart forever.

No, you need not take off your shoes. Be careful, do not lean on the walls. There are cracks on the walls and it can   fall anytime. Also, be careful of that thin hollow-eye dog. It has not eaten for days and can turn anything to meat in one single bite.  Wait her, and take a moment to enjoy those sparkling lights coming from the roof. Once upon a time, I love and adore them, now penetrated by rain. When it splashes, the beds sunk. If only   the plastic bags on top of those rusty, corroded corrugates could stand the wind.

 I know you are not acquainted to dark rooms. That is because your eyes are accustomed to a world where darkness is swept aside at the snap of a switch. Thus that is the modern signs awareness; the feeble glow of this kerosene handmade lamp will bargain the balance of power.  Forgive the fact that there are no chairs to seat on, no tv to watch and no refrigerator for refreshment. No need to take off your shoes at the door. There is no difference between outside and inside. And excuse the smell. Am sure it is coming from that big vessel I urinate from.  I forget to take it out this morning. I admire your patience. It is a virtue that can greatly be rewarded. Yes, my mother is patient.

I am the one you think I am. I am that little boy whose parents could not send to school. I am that young man who out of frustration has given up all hopes in life and became a drug addict and arm rubber. I am that little teenage girl standing at the red light . I am that young promising girl who is a victim of rape. I am that little girl with no knowledge of how to take care of her baby, and   I am that hungry child that is laying there at the basing. The one you passed on the street and never took the time to say a greeting. The one you pretended not to noticed. The one you looked with anger and disgust and sadness. The one you thought has no dreams, no family and no friends.  Maybe if you took the time to ask them who they are, you will be safe from being call judgmental.