STREET KNOCKS

STREET KNOCKS.

Sometimes we realise, though too late, that in our desire to be a man, we have failed in our duties as a boy.

Growing up in the street is like living with a beast. It’s a jungle where you wake with a kiss and sleep with a hiss. I wonder why you will need an alarm bell to wake you in the street. Unless you are deaf to the cockcrows, rattles from rats, gunshots from gangsters and most of all buzzes from our dearest friend mosquito. These are the common alarm bells that can wake you in a street.

You don’t need an intro to tell you that you are in the four walls of our ghetto. One step in, and you are embraced by the ghetto sin, you either join the chorus or carry the cross.

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The law here is intelligence, acidic smartness, a lorry load of experience, craftiness and a bucket full of greed and patience. You tame what you catch, and just hope to hang on to it, before someone else takes what belongs to him.

In this street your best friend is a chain smoker, your colleague is a swindler, and your companion is a nymphomaniac. But one thing remains certain, you decide for yourself.

Suddenly you remember that your father is a deacon, your mother a deaconess, and you are already planning on becoming a saint. With all these friends around, it’s either you face defeat or quit the street.

However the decision lies in your hands, whatever decision you make, don’t forget who you are. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, what you are or where you are for now. What matters is who you are and where you are from now.

Augustus C.

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