Naya and Vince

1

GROWING UP

Life is like a rollercoaster ride —full of turpsy turvies. At some point or rather sometimes, you may be filled with excitement but the other times, well you just want to get the hell out of it not caring about the consequences.

Growing up wasn't easy. Talk more of living through teenagehood. Seriously, every teenager and young adult out there in the world deserve some accolades. Cheers to all the teenagers who fought past teenage hood. Especially those who fought through neglect, depression and all on that line.

I call myself Nairobi. I know it's weird but I do have my reasons for calling myself that. I just love the way the name sounds —the way it rolls of people's tongues. I find it quite unique.

My real name is Naomi Chielo and I'm a beautiful African girl child born out of wedlock.

Let's start with some back story. My mother—I don't think she deserves that title by the way— gave birth to me at the age of seventeen. Crazy I know. During that period, she and her elder sister, who was about twenty three, stayed in the roughest parts of Lagos State, Nigeria.

And guess what?

They were prostitutes —low class ones at that. From the little I know and observed, they slept with everything in trousers for chikin change.

What says low class prostitutes than that?

They —or rather we— weren't poverty stricken though but we weren't up to middle-class still. We managed a room self contain, popularly known as face me I slap you, somewhere in Lagos.

My mother though may have been good enough not to send me to the orphanage or worse abort me when I was still making my home in her STD infested body –I'm just being brutally honest —but sometimes I wished she aborted me.

My mother's name was also Naomi that's one of the reason I changed my name. In fact it was the only reason that made me change my name. You can call me childish for all I care.

I hated her.

She never even gave me a name. I can vaguely remember her calling me 'this girl'. She never acted like a mother to me. She never talked to me or embraced me. She never tried cautioning me or cooed sweet nonsense into my ears. I can remember vividly that whenever I was harassed and I reported to her, what she only told me was: if they agree to pay you do it. Appalling right?

She hated me too. The feeling was painfully mutual.

Well one day, she just disappeared. I didn't know what happened to her and I didn't even bother to ask my aunt where she was. I was about three or four then. We were never close so I didn't care. I never even called her mother. I called her by her name, that is when I had the chance to.

I later figured out that she had eloped with one of her numerous boyfriends. So technically, she dumped me with the most irresponsible guardian in the universe, her sister. You see why I had wished then, to have been aborted.

Her sister and my aunt, Dinma decided to name me Naomi like my mother. I think she missed her sister then. Dinma was no different from my mother. She would smoke and do gross things in my presence. It's a miracle that I didn't end up like her or my mother. I wouldn't say I was a very moral churchy girl but at least I wasn't a whore.

One beautiful thing that Dinma did for me was educating me. It wasn't the best education though but it was better than nothing. The school she put me in then was manageable. I'm still surprised that she had the heart to send me to the school. It wasn't the best. It wasn't even anything close to the best but I appreciated and still appreciate it.