I understand that not everyone will agree with my views and experiences, especially the people around me. But when I reflect on my life, I am convinced that I have seen and learnt a lot, despite being in my twenties. Because of that, I celebrate the little things that come my way. These ‘few’ years of my life have taken me along an avenue where I have met several people, made friends, and watched some flourish, and others tumble. These friendships have taught me valuable lessons, despite how rough they could be sometimes.
Today, I can’t restrain myself from remembering one of the inspiring experiences I had. I was 15 and in secondary school when it happened. As an adolescent, I actively searched for my identity and approval, and this is just one of the things that happen when one hits puberty. As such, I found myself within a peer group at school. Mostly, what defined the cliques we formed ranged from the kind of jobs our parents worked, the type of cars they drove, the towns we came from, as well as how we performed in class, though most of us didn’t perform so well.
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I remember doing almost everything together with my newfound buddies. They were there for me, each day like the sun never skips a day. We stood up for each other many times. Our passion and commitment to each member’s interests were exquisite. Being roommates and classmates, our etiquettes went from not allowing difficult questions to torment your buddy in an exam, to not allowing them to be bullied by the prefects or other students. But most of all, our surnames began with the same letter ‘M.’
Everything was okay among us, between the first and second years of secondary school. The following year, things changed. No one saw it except me. I realized I had to change how I handled myself. Having seen the dark side of life, I was the change that happened in the group. I was the change that no one thought would happen. But I knew I didn’t have a choice. I had to do what seemed right.
It all began at home, and on one evening during the vacation period. I remember being called to the living room by my parents. It was a seldom occurrence for them who usually enjoyed being in the lounge after supper to summon one of us to the sitting room when we had retired to bed. Under normal circumstances, the one called was suspected to have done something odd during the day, and disciplinary actions were on the way. The strangest thing on this particular night was that they did not call one, or two, or three of my siblings, but they asked all six of us to join them in the living room.
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With puzzled faces, we walked from our rooms to the living room, asking one another questions we could not answer. Having taken our seats, dad opened the floor, “I know you are wondering what the purpose of this meeting is. Your mother and I have decided to let you know that I have lost my job…” We all looked at him with disbelief. “It’s been three months now; your mother and I decided not to tell you because we thought there would soon be a way out. Unfortunately, we have lost everything in the process of trying to settle some debts and cater for your school fees…” I saw my elder brother’s face contort when dad announced this. He and my sister Yami were already in the course of their tertiary education and were afraid of dropping out. The third born and I were in secondary school, and my younger brother and sister were yet to complete their primary school.
We did not hide our frustration and tears as mom and dad encouraged us that things would be okay. We knew they would but did not just want to agree that this was the state in which we were, without any of the assets we owned before. This was the reason for my change. I changed everything about myself, at home, and in school. I knew I had to reconsider the kind of friends I had to entertain. I had to switch to those who would understand my family’s current financial status. The joblessness of my father who was the prime anchor of the household meant we would no longer have to carry the same overfilled grocery bags to school. What used to be someone’s pocket money was now meant for two.
When I went back to school, I began to ignore my five best friends who were also my roommates. I almost left the room we shared. Often I would drag my feet when it was mealtime. I kept them waiting till they would forget about me. I would slip into the cloud and have my meal, with minimal additives and no relish. I had to cut my budget short or I would end up having nothing while my friends had everything. They soon noticed the change. They noticed my behaviour, the strange patterns of movement, the loneliness and melancholy.
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They were very suspicious of my shenanigans. They needed answers, as to why I was behaving like that. In no time, I knew I would have to give them the reasons behind my stupor. When they asked me, I didn’t hide anything. I narrated the whole sudden twist of fate at home. How my parents could no longer give us the best life they gave us before. I made sure I withheld nothing, just so my actions could be forgiven. Perhaps being truthful would help me leave the group in peace. I wanted to do anything possible not to be anyone’s child’s burden.
One evening, as I lay in bed, thinking of how to leave the room, my friends came to me. They looked at me in silence as Henderson Mikwala explained what they had agreed to do to cover some of my expenses with their resources. I could not believe it at first. But they assured me that life is always unpredictable and that when it takes a sudden turn, friends are always the closest family that helps you shoulder the burden. I felt like crying that night. I could not believe it, but it was what they did till we finished secondary school. We studied and worked on our assignments together. We encouraged ourselves to pursue our goals. After our final examinations, we all managed to find chances at various universities. But whenever I think of them, I am reminded that indeed, “A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in times of need.”
This Creative Nonfiction was published in the December 2022 edition of the WSA magazine.
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Nice write up bro.
Great job…. I celebrate with you little piece you write. I like the saying I celebrate little things that come my way.