🦋 IMANI'S POV – Chapter One
After a hectic day at work, I was ready to go home. Not like there's anything exciting waiting for me there… oh, wait,my brother and my mum.
Sigh.
Let me introduce myself properly.
My name is Imani Ezonfade. I'm from Delta State, Nigeria. Yes, I'm Nigerian… nice, right?
Nope.
Welcome to Nigeria, where the rich keep getting richer and the poor… well, we survive. Survival of the fittest or the thickest.
Wait… am I still on track? I'm supposed to introduce myself, not the whole country. Tch.
I'm the second of four children. My older brother Abraham, then me, Imani. My younger brother Favour, and lastly, my mini-me Gift. Funny thing? Same father… different mothers.
Yeah. My dad is a typical African man. I'll tell that story another time.
I was already packing up, waiting for Olivia to come take over my shift. She's my neighbor,the one who helped me get this job.
I just finished writing my WAEC. Seventeen, almost eighteen.
Mum and Dad separated when I was eight. My younger brother was four. Dad cheated… got another woman pregnant. That was the beginning of everything falling apart.
Mum left with us. No money. No job. No plan. Just pain, anger, and pride. She thought leaving would make him come begging. He didn't.
We stayed with my aunt.God bless her soul. She was struggling already: two kids, no husband. Yet she still took us in. Eventually, Mum started plaiting hair, saved small money, and rented a one-room apartment. That's where survival truly began.
We ate whatever we saw, wore whatever we found, and went to public school like ghosts just passing through life.
Fast forward to my WAEC. No money. Everything we had went to food and rent.
So I worked. Two houses. Cleaning, scrubbing, running around. I dropped regular school, switched to evening lessons, paid for myself. Survival didn't wait for pride.
One day, Mum called Dad. She thought I wasn't around. I was.
"Albert, I'm begging you… send money for your daughter's WAEC," she said.
"I've never asked you for anything… please do this for her."
Pause.
Then she snapped.
"If you really cared, you would have fought for them, you selfish bastard!"
Mum didn't know I was already working. When I told her I wanted to help, she beat me. Said I was shaming her.
But how do you explain survival to someone who refuses to see it?
The next morning…
"Mani, wake up!"
I opened my eyes slowly.
"Your papa send twenty thousand naira for your exam oo."
I swallowed hard.
"But mummy… e no go reach…"
She glared at me.
"That's what he send. I no get anything to add. And don't think say I no notice wetin you dey do. I see the new clothes, shoes, perfumes. You think say I dey blind?"
Her voice cut sharper than broken glass.
"You don dey sleep with men for money. I no go give you anything. Figure am yourself."
And just like that, she left with the money.
That morning, I felt my chest tight like Lagos traffic jam. My heart beat like drumbeat at a wedding, heavy and fast. My stomach churned, my head spun… everything seemed to spin with it.
I had small savings, but it wasn't enough.
Then there was Kelly.
Rich boy. Persistent. Too confident.
I had avoided him for months. But that day… I went.
He smiled like life had never touched him. "I like you, Imani. Be my girlfriend. I go take care of you."
Take care of me? I almost laughed.
But when he dropped that bundle of money in my hand… my fingers trembled. The bills smelled like new paper, crisp, rich, a taste of life I didn't have.
I didn't take it for him. I took it for survival.
I used it to write my WAEC. And I passed.
I'm dark-skinned, round face, puffy cheeks, big tummy… insecurities, I have plenty. But I focus on what matters. I want to bake. Create. Build something of my own. I work to save, survive, and support my brother.
That's my life. Not perfect. Not glamorous. But mine.
End of Chapter One.
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