My Life at 42
Its been 41 years and a 364 days now since I was born. Some where in Africa, a country know for its diamonds and black gold, rich soil where any seed that drops to the ground germinates. Fertile, one would call this land. For years, before I was born, this country was known for the many battles between tribal leaders. They slaughtered and raped, all in the name of power. After all, the land was a rich and one needed to be in control of all that power.
My father was there, with his family inside the heart of this country, amongst elephants and bison, crocodiles and antilopes. A wife, three kids and another just about to be delivered. It would be the 10 of Jan 1974 a Thursday, my mother was already in hospital ready to deliver. After many long hours, I was to be born the next day, Friday the 11th day of the year 1974.
The morning heat of the sanzala, the light breeze that accompanied and smell of dust would dictate my destiny. Fragile as any new born, I was fed and cherished by my kin. Amongst tensions between tribal forces, fighting to come to power, the peoples suffered, hunger thrived but my family was always taken care of. Always clothed and fed, but with little sense of security. The tension between tribal forces escalated and nowhere was safe for anyone. The time to depart had arrived, like any animal, we needed to migrate, cross over, look for greener pastures.
My father had plans, starting over! With nothing else but clothes and a few worthless currency notes the family travelled, two years after I lived in the country that saw me take my first breath, to a new country. Known for its maritime discoveries and famous sailors, the people here were hospitable. But with no other option, my parents decided to travel to yet another country. A land that was home to my parents, it welcomed us all. Amidst family and other friends, we started over from scratch.
An aunt, received me into her kinder-garden, where i fooled around and and grew up. A few pranks here and there, where I would lock some girl in the toilet and hide myself not to get caught. I wonder how they found out it was me …
At school age, I was put into this convent, run my nuns of the Franciscan Hospitaller order. During the next 10 years, I would grow into what I am now. I did have some ups and downs in between, specially at the age of 12, when I was fed up with the way I lived, I resolved to run of and end my miserable life. Can you imagine, at the age of twelve, running of to some beach, know for drug trafficking, to end my life. I did give my parents a huge fright at the time. Maybe someday, I’ll write about it.
After my secondary education, fate had me traveling back to this country that had me for a brief moment in my past. This is where, I would like to begin my story. A story that begun and hasn’t finished yet … as long as I live.
…to be continued