Beautiful stranger
Blue skies, birds chirping, branches swaying in the gentle wind. It's the perfect day for someone that's not already broken. Someone that's not me. Waking up behind the trash is ordinary to me. Almost normal now. My stomach growls with hunger so I rummage through the trash. A half-eaten, mouldy sandwich greets me. Ecstatic, I shove it into my mouth. It's surprisingly appetising.
The streets are flooded with rich folk and children.
Most of whom are like me. Unswervingly, I begin to loiter in the streets. At this point, the snickering, shunting, and glares don't bother me. On the other hand, I have always been the phlegmatic one. The streets will never change that about me. I seem absurd as I beg every stranger for any loose change for food.
All I get are cruel faces of disgust. Out here, we're seen as grotesque and 'unclean'. Is it my fault my parents died in a car crash and left me in the hands of a rapist?
My uncle, Jacob was the sweetest man south of the Sahara. He would shower me with gifts and smiles. I loved him. Almost as much as my own parents. Well that was until my parents passed away and left me with him.
The overwhelming strain of child care went to his head. Everything was great when I moved in but soon enough he revealed his grotesque personality. Small mistakes would tick him off and I would get severely punished.
The worst part was how I was punished: rape. I could not take it anymore so I ran away. I would rather live in the dumps than succumb to all the torture and abuse.
Traumatised, I carry on with my life. Now thirteen and still on the streets, I accept my purpose of existence. It's noon now and the sun is blazing hot. I find a cool shade to relax beneath. I hadn't even realised I was asleep. The atmosphere is tranquil. Creepy footsteps break the silence. The faint footsteps become louder and suddenly everything stops. Struggling to open my eyes, I can feel the figure overshadowing me.
I'm conflicted about whether or not to open my eyes. As I slowly open my eyelids, I see a figure of a man, about the same height and weight as my uncle. He has red, unkempt, very conspicuous hair. With a smile on his austere face he reaches his hands out towards me. It has been precisely five years since my escape from my abusive uncle but I'm still reeling from the trauma. Trust is hard to regain when you have been mauled like a dog by someone you loved. So without second thought, I run away in haste. I refrain from looking back as tears creep down my cheeks.
The following day, I get up and get on with my usual routine. Not long enough, I notice my stalker from afar. His red hair makes him very conspicuous. I hide behind a dilapidated cardboard box until he is out of sight. His relentless attitude doesn't take him long to find me.
He reassures me of my safety and whispers that it's okay. For one reason or the other, I succumb to his reassurance and pass out from exhaustion in his arms.
Beneath warm blankets and in clean clothes, I feel fresher than I have been in years. Mr Jones, my supposed stalker, had known about my parents' death and wondered where I was. It was so abstruse how he tracked me down, but thank God he did. I spoke up about all the dirty things my uncle had done to me and soon enough he was arrested sentenced to life in prison.I have certainly been through a lot of gruesome ordeals and so have many other children.
When I grow up I want to change somebody's life the same way Mr Jones changed my life forever.
* Ndeshipanda Shilongo is a grade 11 learner at St. Boniface College in Rundu. She believes in using her writing talent to make a difference in her community.
NDESHIPANDA SHILONGO
The streets are flooded with rich folk and children.
Most of whom are like me. Unswervingly, I begin to loiter in the streets. At this point, the snickering, shunting, and glares don't bother me. On the other hand, I have always been the phlegmatic one. The streets will never change that about me. I seem absurd as I beg every stranger for any loose change for food.
All I get are cruel faces of disgust. Out here, we're seen as grotesque and 'unclean'. Is it my fault my parents died in a car crash and left me in the hands of a rapist?
My uncle, Jacob was the sweetest man south of the Sahara. He would shower me with gifts and smiles. I loved him. Almost as much as my own parents. Well that was until my parents passed away and left me with him.
The overwhelming strain of child care went to his head. Everything was great when I moved in but soon enough he revealed his grotesque personality. Small mistakes would tick him off and I would get severely punished.
The worst part was how I was punished: rape. I could not take it anymore so I ran away. I would rather live in the dumps than succumb to all the torture and abuse.
Traumatised, I carry on with my life. Now thirteen and still on the streets, I accept my purpose of existence. It's noon now and the sun is blazing hot. I find a cool shade to relax beneath. I hadn't even realised I was asleep. The atmosphere is tranquil. Creepy footsteps break the silence. The faint footsteps become louder and suddenly everything stops. Struggling to open my eyes, I can feel the figure overshadowing me.
I'm conflicted about whether or not to open my eyes. As I slowly open my eyelids, I see a figure of a man, about the same height and weight as my uncle. He has red, unkempt, very conspicuous hair. With a smile on his austere face he reaches his hands out towards me. It has been precisely five years since my escape from my abusive uncle but I'm still reeling from the trauma. Trust is hard to regain when you have been mauled like a dog by someone you loved. So without second thought, I run away in haste. I refrain from looking back as tears creep down my cheeks.
The following day, I get up and get on with my usual routine. Not long enough, I notice my stalker from afar. His red hair makes him very conspicuous. I hide behind a dilapidated cardboard box until he is out of sight. His relentless attitude doesn't take him long to find me.
He reassures me of my safety and whispers that it's okay. For one reason or the other, I succumb to his reassurance and pass out from exhaustion in his arms.
Beneath warm blankets and in clean clothes, I feel fresher than I have been in years. Mr Jones, my supposed stalker, had known about my parents' death and wondered where I was. It was so abstruse how he tracked me down, but thank God he did. I spoke up about all the dirty things my uncle had done to me and soon enough he was arrested sentenced to life in prison.I have certainly been through a lot of gruesome ordeals and so have many other children.
When I grow up I want to change somebody's life the same way Mr Jones changed my life forever.
* Ndeshipanda Shilongo is a grade 11 learner at St. Boniface College in Rundu. She believes in using her writing talent to make a difference in her community.
NDESHIPANDA SHILONGO
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