I balanced the rusty tray of unripe plantains as though it were a crown over my head. My eyes swept over the crowd beneath the dimming light of the setting sun, while my legs trembled slightly from the long trek. To the ordinary passerby, I was just a young girl hawking to eke out a living, but no one could truly understand the pain and sacrifice behind each step I took to and fro the market place. I wanted to help my Mama in any little way I could —This was my own way of easing her burden.
My Mama had raised my siblings and me singlehandedly, piecing together survival, from the few scraps life handed her. My Papa? A man who gave me nothing but his last name.
I was only five, when a dark shadow fell over our household, and before I could even understand it, he was gone. He never resurfaced to assume any of his responsibilities.
"Buy your plantain! Buy your unripe plantain!" The weight in my tired voice was powerful enough to rise even above the noise of the marketplace .
A tall gentleman in a rumpled suit stopped by. "How much for a bunch?" He asked as he pointed at the plantains.
"Only #500 sir," I replied eagerly, struggling to bring down the tray so he could see how fresh and big they were.
“You make hawking look so easy,” he said softly, smiling.
I gave him a thin smile. “Sir, nothing is ever as easy as it looks.”
He raised a brow, intrigued. “You speak like an adult. How old are you?”
Adjusting the tray, I balanced it perfectly on the pad atop my head. “I'm fourteen."
Coming this far—with Mama as my only parent, and a deadbeat father who only left scars behind, there was no place for laziness or softness. I worked hard. But the hardest part was always pretending I didn't miss what I never truly had.
His eyes followed me as I moved away, chanting my usual song;
“Buy your plantain! Buy your unripe plantain!”
I smiled wryly. Life doesn’t wait for anyone to come of age, it forces you to grow up and live it anyway.
At home, our apartment smelled of smoke from the charcoal stove and the beans Mama had left simmering on it. I set the empty tray in a corner, relieved that I had sold everything. Mama was happy. Her happiness made me happy and her smile lit up my whole world.
Pulling my books from my bag, I braced myself. It was going to be a long, long night.
“Why don't you take your bath and rest a little before studying?” Mama asked, walking in with her wrapper tied loosely.
“My test starts tomorrow, I can't afford to rest now.”
She watched me in silence for a while, her eyes heavy with both pride and sorrow. “Read, my dear. Read until the world is too small to contain your dreams.”
I grinned, hugging the book. “Mama, you told me that these books are wings that will take me where my feet cannot.”
The next day again, at the marketplace, the man in the rumpled suit returned. He bought another bunch of plantains but lingered longer.
“Do you go to school?” he asked casually.
I nodded. “I do. I love it… I love going to school.”
He tilted his head. “You have time to read?”
“Every chance I get,” I said, my eyes lighting up. "At night, until when the kerosene lamp burns out.”
For the first time, the man smiled genuinely. “Not as easy as it looks, is it?”
“No,” I whispered, smiling at his words. “Not as easy as it looks, but it’s the only emancipation in sight.”
Reading became my refuge. Whenever Papa's absence echoed too loudly in my heart, I drowned it in stories Mama told me — of heroes who conquered kingdoms, of girls who rose above their estate, of a future where hunger would not gnaw like a stubborn rat. Every page became an escape route, whispering to me;
"You can't be trapped here forever."
I listened to the rain as it hammered against the zinc roof,
“Mama, why did Papa leave?”
She sighed, looking up from the tray of beans she was destoning.
“Because not every man is a father. Some men are only shadows, and shadows cannot raise children.”
I swallowed hard. “It was just so easy for him to leave.... so easy not to look back."
She reached across and cupped my face. “I am more than enough. I'll make sure you fly. You are my reason, my proof that light can spring forth even in the depths of darkness .”
As the years passed, the tray of plantain grew lighter, not because life had gotten easier, but because the more I studied, the clearer I envisioned a brighter future. I was a hungry hound for education.
Then came the day I stood tall on the podium, my eyes swollen with unshed tears, delivering my speech as the valedictorian of my class. My Mama was seated proudly in the front row, her smile wide enough to erase the shadow of yesterday.
Everyone present listened with rapt attention.
I spoke of how I was raised by one strong and loving woman who gave me twice the love and twice the strength. How she told me that through books, I could fight for the future. If there is one thing I have ever learned, it is this: pain does not have the final say. Perseverance does.
As the crowd erupted in thunderous applause, my eyes searched for the only face that mattered — the face of my Mama. She was smiling through her tears;
And in that moment, her words re-echoed in my spirit once again;
"Read, my child. Read until the world is too small to contain your dreams."
All images are AI generated.
🌸My Motto is: Work at making myself proud of myself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
