Abel Abel

Dear Angela

The Morning breeze greeted us with a wam smile of the sun rise, from our small hut you could easily see the trees dancing and celebrating the birth of the new day, the cock were not left out as their music awoken our deafness like the church bell on a Sunday morning.

Angela, my dear Cousin was still struggling to wash her hair, the economic situation in our country had strengthen our resolve to be more industrious, once a very lazy girl (please don’t tell her) now a very busy and hardworking lady.

“Abel, can you hand me, the shampoo?”
‘I’m not your house help’ My mind wanted my mouth to vomit it, but my mouth twisted the story ” Please, which one is shampoo? Has Buhari invented something else? ” I pointed at the hair cream, she shake her head until I finally pointed at the shampoo.

” Don’t Tell me, you are still this dump” she said and her smile pass a message to my brain and the resulting answer was a smile with a careful look at her beautiful face.
“I’m at your service, beautiful one” I said as I returned back to my loneliness.

The journey to Womanhood was a very interesting journey, my grandmother would have been so proud to have a grand daughter like Angela, Funny, lovely, beautiful, caring but sometimes annoying.

“Angela, you will become a wife one day, you will have your own children, Grand children and your husband will be so lucky” My grandmother once told her during her 13th birthday.
“But, I’m just a child grandma” She responded.
“Don’t worry, we all grow up, I was once like you, young, innocent and beautiful” Grand mother responded.

“How do I look? ” Angela voice invaded my loneliness, and her footsteps reminded me of my mother. I stare briefly at my mother’s picture that was hung just over her head on the wall then back at her.
” You look just like My mother ” I said
“Get out of here! Can’t you just be serious for once?” she pushed me and grab my notepad

“You have been on this novel for so long, when will you be through?” She asked. My mind started searching for answers, then I moved into myself trying to hide my ignorance.
“We keep our secrets” was a novel I started writing during her 13th birthday, it was a story of a woman that was raped in our neighborhood, she was beaten, sent packing by her husband but the main culprit was still walking freely in our Neighborhood. I wanted to have a perfect ending, I wanted to know what happened to the Woman, I wanted to tell the World her story.

“I haven’t seen her Angela, I don’t know how to end the story, nobody knows her whereabout, I’m stuck”
“Come here” she touched my head
“Abel, I believe in You” She gave me her pen, hand me my notepad.
“Do this for me”

Being a good writer was not just about the pen and the notepad, my father once told me “Son, Everyone can carry a pen and a paper, but not everyone is a writer, if you want to be a great writer, you have to find a story worth telling”

This was our story, but how do I get to the end?

Dear Angela, thank you for reminding me of my dreams,
I will speak and write against rape. I will stand up and be a voice to the voiceless, I was born to write and I will live to write.