LOST IN THE WOMB

CHAPTER THREE (SEARCH FOR FREEDOM)

Three blocks down on the right side of our house, I stopped. As though I had been given a spasmodic jerk, a strong, irresistible and headstrong internal influence struck me. I looked sideways and found out that the street lane was empty, no trace of someone passing. I couldn't control the influence and I knew it wasn't me any longer. The influence had taken over. It wasn't a strange one; it was exactly the same influence that had intermittently visited my mind and compelled me to do things out of oblivion.

It was exactly at the front of Prosper's dad's house, a tall, swarthy man who lived with his wife and two children. I knew they weren't in. The door was padlocked. I moved closer to the door, and as if I knew where they had kept the key, I made a search of the key by grating my right leg on the foot-mat. I felt a metal, and hurriedly, I bent to pick the key under the mat, still looking sideways to ensure that no one was approaching. I turned the bolt of the lock and the door made a gentle crack as I turned the doorknob. What I was looking for in the house? I didn't know myself. I traversed the sitting room in search of what could be stolen until the fruitless search transited me to their room. Behind the bed, I saw a beautiful pouch, picked it up and opened it. I saw a strong-scented mint beside a small knapsack with a lurid inscription "Condom".

"Wow", in short audible breaths, I emitted words beneath. After a five-minute search, I found nothing worth stealing. As I was heading back to the front door, I hit my right foot on a half-closed bottle of red oil which got the room's cotton stained. The oil spill did irreparable stain to the floor and the cotton, and like a rhythm on the conga, my heart started pounding. Staying to clean the oil would take an hour, and unavoidably, I would leave traceable evidences. If I left, they probably would think the bottle fell on its own. I slowly went back to the door, peeped through the doorjamb to see if anyone was outside. Convinced of a clear path, I got outside and made the door as I met it. As I got out, my body developed involuntary twitching, and as though I pushed a weight off my shoulder to the position overhead, I felt an influence ooze out of me. I remembered what I had just done and I began to feel spineless until I wetted my pants. Pangs of regret engulfed me. I felt like killing myself at the spot. I despondently thought about my life; how I had lived being despised, the depression that jumped over rejection, the shame I was compelled to ingest and the skepticism my iniquitous acts engrained in the hearts of people.

My past began to play on my mind – the moment I was almost burned alive for stealing a phone at a petrol station; the moment I was disgraced while my friends watched for stealing in a neighbor's house; the horsewhipping I got from dad almost every week; my self-esteem that was trampled upon; the respect I lost and the ignominies that suggested suicide to me. The discredit, disesteem, dishonor, disgrace and infamy. I wasn't going to take it anymore. I would find a solution. Hence, I decided to run away from home. I would go to wherever life led me. The decision was inflexible. I knew I would need money, and for the first time, I decided to steal out of self-will.

I went straight into the house, picked up a sheet from my room and scrabbled around in my school bag for a pen. I wrote,

Dear Dad,

I am deeply sorry for the sadness I've had to cause you all these years. It has never been my intention to hurt you or anyone in the family. I know you have always thought that I deliberately did the things I did. You have always thought that I'm a thorn in your flesh. I needn't be told that there is a jinx on me. I am cursed.

This is to inform you that I am fed up of the way I live, and I am fed up of being the black sheep of the family. Since everyone believes that the antidote to my bad behaviors is ceaseless beatings, I am leaving this house to find freedom, to find solution to my problem. Thank you, sir.

Yours,

Tunji

Sweat transuded from the pores of my face and mixed with tears that seeped from my eyes. Using the absorbent cloth hung on the door, I wiped my face. I picked up my half-torn school bag, tucked in clothes in preparation for my journey. As though I wanted to drink water in the kitchen, I observed the house in order to make my escape plans. While observing, I noticed some money held down with a cup on the dining table. Hurriedly, I counted and concluded it would take me, at least, to a faraway place. I dashed into my room, picked up my bag and the letter. I placed the letter beneath the table at the centre point of the sitting room. I was trying to pocket the money on the dining table when my stepmom called my name from inside,