worcester.ma (https://worcester.ma/category/kanjia/)
“I was ready to help the gentleman who was the driver’s assistant. It was a game, and I had to play it wisely. I volunteered to help carry a load for a certain woman. She was old and her luggage was heavy, but that was the way I would escape to victory.”
“My grandmother was afraid, because the police would come to investigate why a woman died in front of our house. I was busy playing soccer that day, but seeing everyone running toward our house, I knew I should be there. It was an unpleasant scene. My uncles had to lift the woman up and my grandmother cleaned the place. And I stood there crying aloud.”
“I was getting thinner every day. I was also very resilient. Back with my grandmother and uncles in Motema, our only source of income was the illicitly brewed local moonshine, ‘omole,’ which was a hot commodity, sought either by those who drank it or the police who thought it was a drug and should not be consumed.”
“That morning I left with the intention that I would stay in school all day. I was wrong. I did not have the school uniform, neither did I have the admission. I returned to Motema in tears. A lot worked on my mind. It was all geared toward my return to school. It was hard for me. My grandmother was waiting for good news.”
“I decided to walk to freedom one day, just five days after my interview at the Wesley Secondary School. I went to the military barracks junction looking for any military personnel going to Freetown — Bo, where my mother lived and my potential new school was located, was on the way. A truck was going by at 11 a.m.”
Many unanswered questions came to mind. I hoped it was a boarding school because I could not travel from Daru to Segbwema every day, and I knew no one who lived in that town. Suffering was hanging over my head. I cried alone when I had no answers for these questions. I cried aloud at one point, prompting everyone in sight to look at me.
The teachers had to punish me for telling the headmaster what I should have kept secret. I was given 24 lashes with a stick. While in pain, my result was released. It cured me, but I was still in tears as I heard teachers talk about my good result but lack of money to even go for the intake interview. The days went by fast and I still had no money. Omolé, our illicitly distilled liquor, was helpful.
“We looked for shade to sit and wait for the others as we cooled down. Some children were wandering around, but it was a holiday for them because of the exams for us younger students. They bumped into us. I became their target since I was tiny and going to high school. One of them came and accused me of taking their ball, which was going to be the center of the problem.”
“I had little time to waste for Grannie’s call. She told me in Mende that she had the medicine to make me clever. She showed me the bottle and promised that I would be the best because it is from Bethlehem. I became more excited. She gave me some when we arrived home.”
This was a death trap. It was a bare ferry. It had no engine, it was manpower and cables attached to each shore that pulled it. I think that was the last of its type in the country. The water was dark and fearful, but its speed was terrific in the center. We crossed and had nearly made it to the other side. I then created a panic that remained in my grandmother’s mind for the rest of her days.
I was on one of four soccer teams owned by one Mr. John. Whatever we did at school, my heart focused on what I would be doing after school. It was the most exciting thing above all. Well, our league had started just three days earlier.