A couple of weeks ago, I watched as an entire family escorted their beloved child and brother to the bus stop on his way to school. As I sat in the bus looking around as the bus filled up gradually, I noticed a small group of people coming toward the direction of the bus all fussing around a boy… From the way they looked, it was obvious that theirs was not such a well-to-do family. He seemed like he was the only boy born to a family of about 3 other girls (I’m assuming based on the composition of the small crowd). His stuff was packed in a large steel box (I imagined the content- garri, milk, spoons, groundnut, pure water etc) with a huge red padlock hanging from one of the longer sides and his name boldly painted on the top of the box. I wondered how far whoever wanted to steal the box would go before he would be caught as a result of being tired from carrying that kind of load. The unevenly plastered, oily and shiny skin of the boy reminded me
"Flowers will not grow in a bed of stones…" I have kept this phrase in my heart for a while now. I can’t really recall what book I culled it from. But I can say for sure that it keeps popping up and around my head every once in a while. Truthfully, it has helped my decision making more than once especially at times when all I want to do is indulge myself (what the heck!).
