Hey beautiful people, we are here again. Today is my birthday, yes! Because of the love I have for you my readers and the passion I have for telling stories to inspire us all (us all not you all, I’m in the picture too), I decided to write this interesting piece about my growing up.
The street I grew in, was adorned with hibiscus flowers and yellow bush lupines along its paths from entrance to the end. It was roughly tarred and you could see the fine sands with smooth stones between each fissures on the surface of the street, it made crackles as cars rode on it. (Beauty in imperfection)
The street I grew in, saw my beautiful mother being married and became the Madonna in one of the houses close to the whispering tree down the street; to when she had me in her womb and they watched her tummy grow as the prior ones, to when she brought me forth into this world.
The street I grew in saw me walk on four limbs with a white towel Mother tied fiercely round my little fanny.
The street I grew in watched me trek back from school; on sunny days as I slung my school bag over my shoulder to the side while I hopped down street as I greeted its beautiful occupants.
On rainy days I pulled the socks and brown curtina MaMa bought for me and walked through the flood on ten toes; while the street felt every single crevice into the muscles in my feet, it knew my foot stamps so it never cut me.
During evenings, young men sat around the whispering tree and talked about government, politics, news, trends and business; and most times when the street was on blackout, their voices echoed at the other end of the street. This made it filled with life while MaMa and I got informed in the bedroom as their voices came in through the window.
I could go on, and on, and on……………………….
The street I grew in, was filled with more love, generosity and empathy and robbed off any contradicting ambience. Every parent took every child as their own, and all families shared their happiness and sadness with everyone; one could go in and out of her neighbours’ house freely. I remember MaMa Anosike (May her gentle soul rest in peace) who always allowed me and other children take biscuits (pepper snacks and speedy) and sweets (Esclairs used to be my addiction) from her shop without paying, whenever we walked back from school (I still wonder how she made her gain, she was more than a living saint) or is it MaMa Ghana (a Ghanaian woman who married a Nigerian),that was good at giving “jara” (extras); did I tell about the pharmacist that lived at the end of the street, opposite the estate primary school and how she gave medications on credit; how about the young erudite doctor (now a professor in FUTO) ,MaMa always hailed “my esteem” from across the street and his alluring wife, and how I always disturbed him for “crush and biscuits” while he humorously called me his “small wife”.
I could go on, and on, and on …………………………
And tell you about a family whose missing daughter returned after fifteen years;
I could go on and tell you about a family that had four breeds of German shepherd;
and I could on and tell you about the 504 Peugeot and Mercedes-Benz on my streets;
and I could go on and tell you about the gatemen that impregnated the aunty in the next compound.
And I could go on and on and on………………………..
The street I grew in heard and tasted my tears whenever MaMa scolded for my wrong doings or flogged me with the tiny cane that was flexible enough to form its circumference round me.
How can I ever forget my friends that made my childhood extraordinary Rejoice, Chizzy, Chiamaka, and Chioma my girl her house was adjacent to our house? We played several games, ten-ten, Lido, hide-and-seek and so many others; and we were always talking about our favourite cartoons and TV programs (KKB show, Johnny bravo etc.). Life filled with its journey and dimensions, we’ve all relocated to different states and countries. It’s only Chioma I still talk with frequently.
Oh! That street saw me mould from a toddler that drank MaMa’s milk to a child that drank crush with biscuits to a girl who wrote common entrance exam into a boarding high school.
I got back home from my first holiday as a JSS one student and saw we had relocated to another location. As I write this I’m going through series of emotional resonance because, that street made me see beauty in diversity and that strangers could become families, settle their disputes amicably and watch each other’s back.
I want to use this post to also thank every one of you who has supported me so far on this my journey of writing by reading my posts, commenting, liking and following my poetry on IG and Facebook @thediariesofseeker. Thank you so much for your LOVE, my God will bless you all and by HIS grace on my side I’ll make you all proud; honestly my father in heaven knows best, left for me I don’t know.
Long live Umuahia Street!
Long live Aladinma estate!
Long live Owerri!
Long live Imo state!
Long live Nigeria!
Happy birthday to me once more!
Tell me about the street you grew up in, by sharing your thoughts with me on the comment section below, thanks.