A MOTHER’S CRY

While walking back from classes one day in my school, I came across a sight I considered too unfortunate to be stamped on my memory. A young malnourished mother of two little kids sat at the roadside begging for alms. This is not a sight that is too strange in the society that we live in but it struck a chord deep in my heart. Usually in our society, seeing the less fortunate beg on the street is a sight we have become accustomed. Blind men, cripples, the deaf, the dumb, those with missing arms or other various limbs prowl our roads, highways and even streets and closes. Do they constitute a nuisance? Do you feel moved every time a blind man led by the hand of a child young enough to be yours sings a melodious song of blessings at your car window in traffic all in a bid to wangle loose change from your grasp?
Working on the island can be especially horrible. The number of beggars on Lagos Island alone is enough to make me nauseous. When driving, dirty cherubic little faces are pressed against your window pane, chanting that you are their aunty or uncle as the case may imply and that God was going to bless you in ways you never thought existed! Walking is a different case. While walking you have to make sure, you are not a sucker for little kids as their parents set them up to latch onto any unsuspecting passer by and solicit for assistance. I was a victim once and believe me as a sappy sucker for little kids I had to learn to condition my mind to remember the adults that set this up and my rage against them. This particular kid was a very beautiful Fulani girl of about six or seven years old. She had a poor grasp of the English language but could easily converse in broken English. After calling me her aunty like I was a long lost relative she began to narrate to me how the almighty was going to shower me with gifts if I gave her money. I then informed the young lady that I did not have money to give her since I had mentally scanned my purse and the lowest denomination had been a two hundred naira note. She then looked up at me and asked twenty naira? With obvious disbelief that this beautifully dressed “aunty” could claim not to have such a meager sum. No, I replied her. Ten naira? She took a stance as if haggling over the price of dried fish {eja kika} in the market. No, my darling I replied again. Five naira? She was almost stamping her feet now like a child throwing a tantrum. My dear, I stooped low to reason with her, the thing is aunty does not have any change. Oh! She said, I could see the light of understanding dawning in her eyes. She still held on to my hand as the wheels of clockwork where turning in her brain. Biscuit? She then whispered reaching a compromise. It seemed like the perfect solution.
I took her to a woman at the roadside who had a generous display of biscuits and asked her to choose. She picked up a biscuit that cost me just five naira yelled her “thank you” and ran off to find her mum or another prospective customer. All I could do was stand there and watch her go with my sappy “I am a sucker for little kids smile”. It so happens that the sucker for little kids is now crying out why? Why do these children have to be on the road? Why the streets and not the comfort of a home? What happened to the state or countries where these beggars come from? Are they refugees seeking solace? Are they illegal immigrants? I hear a lot of them are from the northern states. If they are, what are their governments looking at or attending to that they do not notice the regular outpour of their people to Lagos with little or nothing to cater for themselves. What is our government looking at or attending to that it does not notice the regular inflow of people into the state with no prospects, no hope of surviving or even seeing the next meal.
We Nigerians bemoan our situation; we cry out against the economy, against price increase, against bad living conditions, against bad roads and lack of electricity, have you ever considered what it is like for the other man? The little Arab kids that beg for alms at Yaba? The Fulani children at Sabo, Ikoyi and Lagos Island? Their parents who are blind, crippled, or too old to be pitied who live in cardboard boxes or houses with tin roofs. What happens when the rain comes? What do they do for the want of a toilet? I was once on the third mainland bridge and I saw two little boys defecating in the sea. That was as far as they were concerned their toilet. To me it was despicable and very gross. To them it is their only hope of easing their bowels. Do other people think like this? Do we in the comfort of our air conditioned cars and houses think of those who are less fortunate? Do we in our duplexes, three bedroom flats, two bedroom flats, room and parlors, with our generators,{even if it’s an “I pass my neighbour” } consider those who can’t afford a candle because the money could buy one wrap of garri, one wrap of sugar, one wrap of groundnut and one pure water? If you do not, let me take you on a journey in your mind’s eye. Picture that which I saw that fateful day on my way back from class. Sitting by the roadside, a young mother of about twenty two years of age with two of her little ones, a baby who cried out, flies buzzing on the little ones sores, a silently weeping mother, watch her tears drip from her eyes, hear her moans escalate as her child joins her melancholy, hear her begin to wail. A mother’s cry, Do you get the picture?