EXTRACT FOR
Hard Times
(Author Unknown)

CHAPTER ONE

    

    The journey had been tough. I woke up one morning to see my father rolling from one end of the room to another in agony. My mother had smashed a club in his face. It was not a crime that he had lost his job and he was not a lazy man. Before fire burnt down the company where he had worked in Calabar, he was the breadwinner. And we were fine. After the disaster, the company did not recover. This was the beginning of our sorrow. He moved from one state to the other in search of a job but his efforts yielded no fruit. He wrote several applications and nothing happened. With little or nothing from my father, the burden of the family weighed upon my mother. But in the good old days, when my father was the breadwinner, my mother was always happy.?

    Before the old man leaves for work, she would be there to give him a hug and a kiss. His name was sung like high praises and she was fond of him. But his money disappeared, trouble emerged. The love was dirty and the marriage was like a curse. And peace deserted the house. She fights him at the slightest provocation. Mother had become the breadwinner. She barks at everyone. And I am scared to talk to her. My father needs divine intervention. But why was I born if I cannot enjoy my parents?

    Miss Nneka, my class teacher, taught me love and trust, which according to her was the secret of living life to its fullest. But I found myself too young to understand any of this, even though I was passionate about my future. Of all the lessons that I learnt from Miss Nneka, the greatest was that I will be responsible for my decision.

    My father was a man of hope and he desired to be rich. He always encouraged us to be strong and he said whatever we do is a preparation for what we will become. Miss Nneka once told me that I was born for a reason. Without hope life becomes bleak and dreams shattered. I was always angry because of the situation that we were passing through. But, at times, Miss Nneka's words kept me going. Every night I pray that God would change my father's situation and make him a better man. And as for my mother, she needs to be happy and stop complaining. She was now the breadwinner. She was always having sleepless nights thinking about our misfortune. At times, she cried; grumbling alone in the dark. She would run her fingers in her traumatized shabby hair in distress. I wanted to tell her to be patient but fear won't allow me. She could transfer her aggression to me and beat me up. Then my father started staying out late at a bar. By the time he returns home, it will be dark. And most times, he will be drunk, vomiting and staggering from one place to the other.