Chapter 3: A Different House A Familiar Fear
1316 Words
Leaving my uncle's house felt like waking up after years of living inside a nightmare.
For the first time in a long while, I was leaving behind the place where I had cried in silence.
The place where I had worked until my body hurt.
The place where I had learned that speaking could bring punishment.
The place where I had slowly forgotten what it meant to simply be a child.
As my aunt held my hand and led me away, I didn't look back for long.
Part of me was afraid that if I looked too much, someone would stop us and send me back.
I silently prayed that this new journey would be different.
I prayed that maybe, just maybe, life would finally become kinder.
We travelled to Lagos.
I had heard people talk about Lagos before.
To me, it sounded like a place that existed only in stories.
A city where everything happened.
A city full of people, businesses, cars and opportunities.
When we finally arrived, everything felt completely different from the quiet places I had known.
The roads were crowded.
Cars filled every street.
People walked quickly as if everyone had somewhere important to be.
Vendors stood beside the roads calling customers.
The air was filled with voices, music, engines and movement.
Everything around me was alive.
Yet inside me, nothing had changed.
I still carried fear.
I still carried loneliness.
No matter how busy the city was, the sadness inside my heart travelled with me.
My aunt lived in Sango Ota.
The house was new to me.
Everything felt unfamiliar.
I looked around carefully, wondering if this place would finally become a home.
When we arrived, I met her daughter, Bose.
She was almost my age.
To be honest, I didn't even know exactly how old I was then.
The difficult years I had lived through had made birthdays meaningless.
But I could tell we were children of similar age.
From the very first day, Bose treated me kindly.
She smiled at me.
She spoke gently.
She didn't insult me.
She didn't shout at me.
She simply treated me like another child.
After everything I had experienced, that simple kindness felt unusual.
I wasn't used to people being gentle with me.
Sometimes I found myself wondering if it was real.
I had already learned that people could be kind one moment and become cruel the next.
So although I appreciated her kindness, I kept my guard up.
I also heard about another of my aunt's daughters, Maria.
She wasn't living in the house.
I was told she was staying with a family friend in Mile 12.
I never met her during that period.
There was also a man living in the house.
I assumed he was my aunt's husband.
Nobody explained who he was.
Nobody explained anything to me.
But by then, I had become a child who no longer asked questions.
Questions had never brought me comfort.
They had only brought more trouble.
So I remained quiet.
Silence had become my safest companion.
That first night, we prepared to sleep.
Although my body was tired, sleep no longer came easily.
The years of fear had changed me.
Even when my eyes were closed, my mind never truly rested.
Every sound startled me.
Every movement made me alert.
It was as though one part of me stayed awake all night, watching for danger.
Sometime during the night, I suddenly woke up screaming.
Even today, I cannot fully remember what frightened me.
Perhaps it was a nightmare.
Perhaps it was fear that had followed me into my sleep.
Perhaps my mind had become so used to danger that it no longer knew how to rest.
My aunt woke up immediately.
She turned toward the man in the house and began speaking angrily.
I listened carefully, but I couldn't understand everything she was saying.
The language moved too quickly for me.
I only knew that something wasn't right.
I became frightened all over again.
I curled up quietly, hoping everything would end.
The following morning felt strange.
My aunt behaved as though nothing serious had happened.
She laughed.
She joked.
She acted normally.
But inside me, nothing felt normal.
The fear remained.
I wondered if I had done something wrong.
I wondered why I always seemed to be afraid, even in places where I hoped to feel safe.
As the days passed, I slowly tried to adjust to my new surroundings.
Every morning my aunt prepared food.
She took Bose to school.
After returning, she would give me something to eat.
Sometimes she took me with her when she went out to sell food.
I watched customers come and go.
I watched life continue around me.
For a short while, it almost felt like I was beginning a new chapter.
But healing is not as simple as changing houses.
My body had left my uncle's home.
My heart had not.
I still expected people to become angry without warning.
I still expected punishment.
I still expected kindness to disappear.
Then one evening another incident happened.
Someone brought medicine for me.
The moment I saw it, fear rushed through my body.
My years in hospitals had left painful memories.
Medicine reminded me of injections.
Of sickness.
Of long days in hospital beds.
Of suffering.
I hated taking medicine.
So I refused.
My aunt became upset.
She insisted that I take it.
I cried.
I begged.
But eventually she forced me to swallow it.
As the tears rolled down my face, I couldn't stop asking myself why fear always seemed to follow me.
The following day became even more painful.
My aunt suddenly accused me of something I could not understand.
She believed I wanted to take her husband away from her.
I stared at her in complete confusion.
I was only a child.
I didn't even understand what those words truly meant.
I had never looked at him that way.
I had never imagined such a thing.
All I wanted was a safe place to live.
I tried to explain.
I cried.
I denied everything.
But she had already made up her mind.
Nothing I said changed her opinion.
It broke my heart.
The woman I believed had rescued me had become someone I was beginning to fear.
Once again, I found myself living inside uncertainty.
I started thinking about running away.
Anywhere seemed better than living where I wasn't believed.
One day I gathered enough courage and left.
I didn't know exactly where I was going.
I simply walked.
I hoped I would somehow find somewhere safe.
But I was just a child in a city I didn't know.
Before long, someone noticed me wandering alone.
Sometimes it was kind strangers.
Other times it was police officers.
Each time, they asked questions.
Each time, I was taken back.
Returning to that house felt like returning to a prison I could never escape.
After several failed attempts, I slowly stopped believing there was anywhere for me to go.
I felt invisible.
I felt unwanted.
I wondered if anyone would ever believe my story.
Then December arrived.
Christmas was approaching.
Everywhere around us, people were preparing for the celebration.
Children talked excitedly about new clothes.
Families bought food.
Homes were decorated.
Laughter filled the streets.
But inside my heart, Christmas felt no different from any other day.
Pain does not stop simply because the calendar changes.
One day, a woman who knew my aunt through her workplace invited us to spend Christmas with her family.
It sounded like an ordinary invitation.
Just another Christmas visit.
I had no idea that accepting that invitation would change the direction of my life.
Sometimes God works quietly.
Sometimes the biggest turning points begin with something that seems completely ordinary.
And sometimes...
When a child has lost almost every reason to hope...
Hope comes looking for the child instead.
- Writer
