The Illegal

Growing up

My name is Glory Jarlath Chika , I the fourth child of the house always in the middle of everything, I had 4 sisters (Blessing, Faith , Princess and Praise) but I was older than just one of them (Praise), I had a mum(Mrs Evelyn Jarlath)and a dad (Mr Chika Jarlath) that I loved so much, we were also name mates, my mum and Dad worked tooth and nail just to get a roof over our heads I could remember the time that she went round begging for a cup of garri to feed seven mouths which we saoked with much water and salt or when she dislocated her waist bone in the process of lifting 75l of water for us to take our bath which she suffered the pains for months before we could treat her   properly or the way   she begged our neighbours for just transport for her husband to go to surulere to hustle out his life with the beetles he borrowed from a friend, in other words my dad was a driver with a Bsce certificate,  hardship was an understatement, Lagos was a very hard place to live in , what did my parents not do to give us what we have or a good education, they always say don't beg but in the real sense they begged for our behalf just to live for the next day, we ate from hand to mouth every day, without complain we did our best to operate with them without complaint sometimes we go hungry for days and still we smile which gives them reason to move on.
Playing and mingling with children from the neighbourhood made us realise that we need to go to school, gradually reality kicked in, we were so uneducated we became a cause for gossip and rumors we were the laughing stock in the midst of our play mates then we withdrew , on a faithful day my eldest sister had the boldness to request a chance of schooling from.my parents, with fear on the faces of both my parents and sister , my mum was virtually terrified like she knew that this day would come and she dreaded it , the fact that her children would realise how poor and begin to feel uncomfortable was her worse nightmare, that night was a quiet one we finally had dinner and everyone put their wrappers on the floor in their so called space and laid quietly , I could tell the tension in the room was terrifying, I could not even sleep , awake with worries and the untold future, it was a sight unseen.
Mama is weeping I thought to my self as I heard little moan of pain choking down her throat from her corner, and then I heard my father encouraging her   and trying to dry her tears away and then I could sense that I was not the only lad awake on this night, the pain of anguishing no in poverty killed me, it killed us, as I promised to make wealth in anyway possible this I decided when I was just 5, so innocent and unaware of what the future held for me.
The next day came, and the next and the next yet , till we had opportunity to start school on credit, my mum had to double her hustle she had to make hair, teach kids work as a maid just to make sure she meets up to her responsibility as a parent and there goes my father in the midst of all this sorrow he lean to alcohol and drafting as a means to get problems off his mind and then he squandered the little we had to feed my mum gave in her best even when she knew it was not enough. She went ahead selling things on her head (Hawking) from one place to another just to get us a meal to pass a day, while most of the money my dad makes either go for gambling, repairs of his vehicle or to the friend that's the owner of the vehicle, plus hospital bills, I can remember when I fell I'll so bad I almost did not survive it, poverty was our master. We could not even eat proper meal we were so thin due to malnutrition, we could not live normal lives we were worse than beggars on the street of Lagos, my mum even turned into a conductors just to earn money,life was tough.

Guys this is just the beginning be of my personal life tales so please hook on I really want to be heard am tired of silence.....
I want the world to see what we blacks pass through and why we always come to the top at it and sometimes why we may remain the way we are.