It is not an hidden fact that I am still their pride.
The hen that destroyed the charms must be ready to part way with her eggs.
My choice was not to return home after my jamb exams, I can cater for myself.
They also must feel the pain of losing something since they stole my Right of be a free person.
I moved to Ibadan, staying with a friend brother. I was introduced to the street, I took the offer so as to save up for my school fees, so to convince myself.
Oh! the freedom was overwhelming, the joy of being free like a caged bird who was sent free. indescribable!
Mum was able to locate where I was staying, mothers are really secret agents, but I must not be seen at least for now.
I avoided contact with anybody from home, I moved away from the place I was staying before, I refused to be seen.
My anger was bubbling each day I enjoy my freedom.
I learnt the trade of the street fast than I had imagined.
The lifestyle of the street became my own too, pickpocketing, minor robberies, street fighting, molesting innocent and unfortunate ladies at dark hours, land grabbing. I became a pro!
Like a candle my passion melted away but I care less, I needed to show my parents that I can live without them. In fact I can try again the following year.
Time flies and five years later I was still convincing myself that I will try again next year.
I became a very popular thug in the street, every household code of warning to their kids.
But this wasn’t part of my journey’s plan. I was supposed to embark on, to find my rights and show them to my parents.
Somehow, I was contacted that mum was dead.
That was it. I packed my bag and went home. I alighted at the bus stop in Gbongan.
The feeling of home dawn on me, I can’t do this, I don’t belong here, I wander around the park, stop many bikes, only to tell them to go.
Without reaching home, I returned back to Ibadan.
I was crying, down for days, you could have thought I am going to change. But a fight was all I needed to breathe in the truancy back again.
People marvelled at how my accent was different from others, I was called “tush omo ita” or English thug”. I dressed more neat than the rest, I can’t totally forget all mum’s effect.
Everyday at night, I always have a sound reasoning of how lost I am, how desperate I wanted to return back home.
But the day break is a welcome back to the street and it’s glories.
I really wanted to go back home.
I know the way to Gbongan but I don’t know the way home! It’s been long since I heard of dad and my siblings.
The bridge I broke on my way out had not been constructed and there was no boat to convey me across.
People saw me as a lost man, only if they knew how longing I am for home, they might help me. But who will come to help a very dangerous tout?
I left on my own, but now I need someone to bring me back home.
I should never have embarked on this journey.
So, that is who I was and who I am.
A journey not properly dissect, brings quagmire.
Aunty reporter, maybe your boss at your television station can help me back home.