Aunty Nkem had just returned from her stall with her basket of fruits well balanced on her head. Her movement was very swift even though her face looked very tired from a hard day's chase of a living. As she approached her door post, Mama Ekene welcomed her with a face that wasn't free from worries. "Nwanyi Oma, how has the day been? Is it well? Come inside, let me offer you some kolanuts." Mama Ekene had blatantly refused and immediately began reporting all that Aunty Nkem's son had threatened. Aunty Nkem pacified and begged for forgiveness before skillfully sending Mama Ekene away. I saw my aunty's face. How it twitched here and there in helplessness. She moved her head sideways, very slowly, her hands crossed atop her Bosom and her lips pursed in regret, as she watched Mama Ekene leave. Apparently, she was fighting back tears. She turned to me and forced a smile that attempted to drown the pain in her heart. "Nnam, how are you today?" "Fine, daa," I replied.
At night he returned. Very late indeed, smelling of alcohol and demanding very loudly, his dinner. I watched him as I stretched on the mat where I lay. Aunty Nkem was fast losing this boy, I thought to myself. I watched him finish eating and sleep off like a patient who had been drugged, without saying a word to him. I looked across the room to where Aunty Nkem lay, I saw her eyes wide open. Obviously, she was disturbed. The next morning, after our strong man had gone off to God-knows-where, as I and Aunty had breakfast - ukpa( locally made from cowpea) and tea together, I began, "Aunty Nkem, what are you doing about Nebolisa? You're fast losing him" She slowly dropped the spoon with which she stirred her half cold tea, folded her arm across her Bosom , leaned back on the woody chair she sat on, pursed her lips, and sighed heavily.
"Nnam," as she fondly called me, "don't pray to experience this life as I have. I don't even pray for my enemy to." She sighed yet again. "You know his father don't you?" I nodded in agreement. "Ever since he hired this place and absconded to wherever he did, its been only me and that boy." The phrase, "that boy" rang hard in my ears registering the weight of Nebolisa's wasteful living. " I had to earn both of us a living, so I had to scout for jobs, however mean the pay was. You know when this boy almost died from malnutrition and sickness? Nobody helped. It was my cross and I decided not to beg help from people; not after all they had put me through. Honestly, I don't know how he met those friends of his; how he began smoking and where he picked up all that fearlessness to do evil." A ball of tear rolled down her left cheek and her voice trembled. "Nnam, I really feel helpless with this boy. There is nothing I haven't done"
My throat tightened and I swallowed hard. I could understand her feelings. As she spoke, I thought of the last count of the almajiris down north. It had touched 9 million. 9 million youths left to waste away like sour grapes. Down south and east, the story isn't too good either. One vice or the other occupies these youths too. During the last polls, I remember a political aspirant who moved about with scores of youths. Youths who were ready to devour at the slightest opposition. A pay as meagre as N500 was enough to motivate these youth to come after your life.
How very sickening! How do we make these persons engage in useful reasoning? Let us think of the street vices we know. All are perpetuated by youths. Would these youths, I ask, if properly groomed, have a fearlessness to drive such violence? I know violence is everywhere, but violence too can be classified. Blood shed, destruction of property and wasteful living have ravaged our generation. Our society don't seem to own a future anymore. We seem as a dessert, barren from moist, yet, scattered around are black muddy patches
I noticed a tear in my eyes too as I looked at Nebolisa's bed where he slept each time he returned. His picture came back forcefully and my society stood afore. "Aunty", I found my voice, "it is well", I managed to say.
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