This night I sat on my small balcony, trying to shake off the feeling, these thoughts that kept creeping in like a thief in the night. Watching the stars twinkle in the sky didn't bring any respite, my mind kept wandering to that little boy on the street.
"The world is wicked, filled with greed and cruelty" I had chanted it for so long that it had become my personal mantra.
It was at this point that it dawned on me how it would take a whole lot of convincing to have my faith in humanity restored once again. We all have our flaws, agreed, but do we have to destroy each other to accomplish our goals?
I could understand why I feel the way I do! I had lost my dad over family inheritance when I was just eight years old. I was young but old enough to understand the rift that had developed between my dad and his only brother, Shadrach.
"It is my inheritance from my father and I would not be cajoled into giving it up for any reason". Dad had stormed into the house one evening, with Mom following closely behind his heels.
"You know your brother, he would do anything to take that land from you, there are others, just let him have this one, for peace to reign, please". My mom pleaded profusely.
But Dad remained adamant.
"I have been having nightmares, strange diabolical things being done on that land, you have been blessed, since your brother wants to build some shops there because of the strategic positioning, let him have it". I saw her wrap her arms around my dad's bulky frame, as she continued pleading, to soften his heart.
"Nothing you say or do will make me give away my inheritance, I have many other pieces of land that I bought with my own money, he can have anyone of them if he so desires, but this one...... His voice trailed off as he shook his head vehemently.
"Remember it's only the living that can drag a piece of land, I don't like the feeling I'm getting over this confrontations with your brother". She was broken and in tears.
"I would say this case is closed." My dad answered obstinately.
I had wondered why my Uncle Shadrach would harm my dad over his own inheritance, it just didn't make any sense, surely he had his own too. I loved Uncle Shadrach because he always came around with lots of sweet for us, he made me laugh so hard with his ambiguous jokes. I had never seen him in any other light other than a good brother to dad. So I dismissed mom's fears as unfounded.
A week later, dad was dead!
It’s so painful to witness people change in ways you never expected.
He had gone to the land with his surveyor to cut out a piece for his brother after mom's incessant pleas. But it was too late! Uncle Shadrach had already planted death for him, using African magic (he later confessed to the heinous crime when the youths decided to "find out" why my dad collapsed immediately he stepped his feet on that land. They confronted him with their findings and he confessed that he killed my dad to get him out of the way, because he refused to let him have the land)
You wouldn't believe how devastated I was! A brother killing his brother over a mere inheritance! So that land was worth much more to him than my father's life, his brother's life! It didn't make any sense to me.
So I watched my family paddle through the many storms of life with so much difficulty because their breadwinner had been plucked from them so prematurely.
Dad was just 42!
I didn't forgive my uncle, even in his death, I cursed him, I cursed his children and generations to come for making me fatherless at a very tender age.
This great betrayal coloured the way I saw humanity as a whole, my perception of humans and the lengths they could go, to feed their greed and their cruelty. I had concluded that carefulness was demanded as a watchword in dealing with them.
As I crossed the road that morning, a young boy, no older than eight tugged at my sleeve. His clothes were tattered, and his bare feet were covered in dust. He was obviously a beggar, one of those who littered the whole city.
"Brother, please, I haven't eaten today," he whispered.
I sighed because I had come across many like him, sometimes I just hardened my heart as I didn't have enough resources to go round... But something in his eyes made me pause. Without a word, I reached into my wallet and handed him some notes for which he was very grateful. His face lit up, and he clutched the notes like a treasure.
"Where's your father and mother? I asked
"My father is dead and my mother got sick as a result. My uncle drove us out of my father's house, my mother, my sister and I now live in an uncompleted building as we do not have anywhere to go nor anyone to help us. Thank you, brother, God bless you!" he concluded, running off quickly into the street.
I stood there shocked to my bone marrow;
"That boy speaks impeccable English, he was no ordinary beggar. I am sure he must have been attending a very good school before his father's demise.
And then his uncle threw them out of his father's house. Another wicked uncle, I muttered as I traveled down memory lane.
As I waited for the bus that evening, I couldn't help thinking about man's inhumanity to man, and how the little "beggar" would have a tough time wading through the storms of life, living in the unnoticed corners of the world.
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