I locked myself in my room for days without making contacts with either the living or dead. In about 3 days later, I discovered I was sick and I needed help. I was eventually certified pregnant and tested positive to HIV. My world was beginning to crash down momentarily. No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me. I raced home and picked the last sachet of hypo, I emptied it content in a cup mixed with sniper. The stench that came out from the mixture was weakening. I looked up towards the ceiling, the leaking roof stared at me, it reminds me of the promise I had made to mama that things will be better when I’m done with school. The old rickety fan also stared at me. It had become obsolete from rust and it served more as an antique than it primary purpose. Once again, I took a flashback of the events that led to my present predicament. It was over isn’t it? I grabbed the mixture and I wrote a note of my ordeal in paper for those who never cared to read. I said my last prayers. I had not even had a taste of the mixture before I passed out.







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For the umpteenth time, I took a closer gaze at the mirror. I saw myself very differently from what I used to be. Life has really dealt with me I soliloquized. A week ago, I had never thought I’d be standing in front of the mirror contemplating suicide. Oh oh I groaned, so this is how it will end up. They say look up to the hills for salvation. I’ve looked and my eyes are wearing off, yet no help was in sight. Its so funny how people keep telling you all is well and fold their arms doing nothing to help salvage something.

My name is Moremie, I wrote jamb 6 times before I was eventually offered environmental science and toxicology. What my school gave me in place of the chemical engineering I had aspired to read. Being the only girl from a family of six children with a devilish poor black African background. My village people must have been busy navigating and anchoring my life for a pair of years. I graduated best in my secondary school after seeing myself through school with sales I made with my mum from her petty trade business. My father was a skunk, he came home drunk on daily basis in his own vomit, sometimes complemented by the various shades of color he had bathe himself with by falling into gutter. Since, the Nigerian Railway Corporation became defunct. His days are spent playing draft and pool. He has won several thousands of hundreds but he his still optimistic that he’d hit the jackpot of several thousands of millions in no distant time. He never believed in the girl child education though. He is of the notion that women have their place in the kitchen. My siblings had long given up on schooling since there was no one to pay up their fees. They have accepted it as fate and moved on doing all manner of odd jobs in order to make ends meet.

I was soon set to resume school, I needed hundreds of thousands to see myself through clearance and registration. I had only 15k as my savings and mum had only ¼ of that. That amount isn’t even enough for my acceptance fee. I wanted to go to school. I sought help from every place possible, but nothing seems to come forth. No one was willing to invest in me. At a point, it dawned on me that I’ve been in the rat race and nothing good was ever going to come out of my actions and in actions. Mum could barely read except for the little arithmetic she knows about counting her money. Dad was also not learned. I’ve always wanted to break the jinx, and prove to the world that it was too early to write my family off. I will go to school and become somebody I kept assuring myself.

Iya monsura, the bean cake seller at the opposite end of the church had advised me to leave my academical ambition and join her in her akara business and probably marry her son, a local bus park tout. God forbid! I went to religious institutions, they were only bent on collecting. My last resort is Ogiale, we used to be classmates back in secondary school but he now rides a Mercedes Benz 4matic, and as well live the extravagant life. He had always eulogized my beauty and always joked of marrying me and that our wedding will be the talk of town. I finally went to him and he promised to help me. He offered me a glass of chilled juice which I didn’t hesitate to take since he was ready to help me. The next time my nervous system could picture something was me lying stark unclad on his bed. Oh no, he just drugged and raped me. With aggregated aggressive exasperation, I clothe myself and ran as fast as possible.