Ridiculos Life in Ghetto

  

Date Posted: 1/19/2019 2:44:28 AM

Posted By: 0726347746  Membership Level: Bronze  Total Points: -23


Yesterday I was twenty one,so Marion is younger naturally.I guess she is eighteen and forever eighteen.Honestly,am not sure how I seemed to know things I shouldn't know about her.

Inside me,there was a sense of admiration growing,a secret admirer to be precise.It was then,that I begun having weird thoughts -wishes- they say.How I wish I was her dress so as to feel the warmth of her tender skin,how I wish I was her shies to have a clear view of the interior affairs,behind the scene matters.But all my dreams died immediately on arrival.This made me feel I had lost a battle better won by the opposite side.Maybe,that's why I kept hating the skeleton and flesh beneath my skin.

Jesca is my mum by virtue of being my father's wife.Together we harbour a single room in the ghetto,on the outskirts of Marion's residential home where my mother works as a nanny.What separates my parents bedroom us a fossilised sheet which can easily tear apart while washing.I believe this helps our family from wasting soap and minimising on water usage.

Our sitting room is limited to furniture.We only have essentials,a table,three stools and one seat which my papa calls it a coach but going with definition the thing is far away from what is alleged to be.On this seat is where I lay my body.With no cushions,nights are obviously long,for the cartons I sleep on cant resist the harshness of the wood on my body. Honestly I really hate nights,if not bedbugs,pain imposed by the seat then it is the irritating smell from the beddings of my siblings.

A three meal a day is a luxury that my family can't afford.Openly,I don't remember the last time we had a meal as a family,maybe,its during the birth ceremony of Barbra -our current and perhaps acting last

born.The only serious meal in our house are the remnants mama brings with her from her workplace,then my siblings work on it leaving nothing for both papa and I.For real I wonder what is meant by being born with a silver spoon in the mouth,that to me is as irrelevant as demanding honesty from a corrupted African politician.

The situations in our family have led to struggles in everything,ranging from survival of relationships to lack of respect for the young and no honour for the old.Everyone is struggling,fighting for a better tomorrow.At times,I look in the sky,pray to my God or even go to an extend of counting the stars,then thing peevish thoughts come in,"you are not Abraham?What are you doing?"Then I stare in the space,tears form in my eyes,which I eventually wipe saying to myself ,"ALL IS WELL."


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