This Monster Called Money
The year is 2006. It is a school day, but I am home wearing yesterday’s clothes and humming to the sound of my rumbling tummy.
The birds are chirping from the tree in Atara Primary School. I can hear them from the window in my room. What I can also hear is the sounds of loud sobs from my parent’s room. Of course, the voice belongs to my mum. She is the only adult I know who still cries. What I can’t understand is why she is crying.
Yeah, I didn’t go to school because fees have not been paid, but no one got to laugh at me today; my heart didn’t almost burst out of my chest because I saw Mr. Tayo’s long neck through the window; I didn’t have to endure long stares as I walked out of my class after being called as a school fees defaulter, so what was the problem? Being home felt a lot better for me.
Or maybe she was crying because of that thing called Rent. Two years ago, she borrowed money from our neighbor, Aunty Juliet, to pay Rent. I know this because I hid behind the door when she came to our house, and mummy chased me away. So, I didn’t understand why she was crying when she could just ask Aunty Juliet to borrow her again or “God will provide” as Daddy used to say every time we left for school with no food in our warmers.
A month later, I will finally understand her tears. The pain in her eyes will finally make sense. Only this time, it will be transferred permanently to mine as I watch chair after chair, box after box being carried out of what I thought was our home and dumped on the street, right opposite my favorite tree where the birds sang from. I’ll stare in despair as I realize that Daddy was wrong and God didn’t provide. I will cry and run to the Ezumbas, hoping by some stroke of luck to come back to a street not littered with our meager furniture.
That didn’t happen.
Instead, more bad things happened over the years, all tied to this monster called money.
