It is painful but Don’t give up!
I weep when I remember you my brothers…. I was once there and don’t you ever think am out of there am still with you. You don’t see me because I don’t have the capacity yet. Though I got little muscle to help I will use that little to write to you.
I left home at 12 just as you and same some are younger than 12 did to find favour on the streets, even home there were no hopes, how on earth could there be on the streets?. I wondered but as the king of the Street puts it ” it is me against the world” Tupac made the thug life so real to me.
My dear brothers on the streets, your own and hommie says hustle hard, sweat and still keep your head up.
I know the stress, anxiety, the shame and pain, your secret tears and worries, I know! Mannnn! I know!
Am sorry you suffering, am sorry I am not there to quench your thirst, am sorry you are hungry…. Am sorry, dear sister on the streets….!
What people do not know about the streets is that it teaches lessons the hard way… you have the sun to teach you to find shelter, the cold night teaches you to clothe yourself, you are looked down upon by the rich guy in his Benz, the shame teaches you that after all we got to remain humble. Sadly….we cry!
Am aware you needed to be loved, I pray I show you that quickly, I still pray for you.. dear hommie, don’t forget to hustle hard but keep your head up.
Mum died but you didn’t show up at the funeral, you got no transport fare, brother! don’t cry. Cry no more sufferer!
Leaders don’t care about you but God does. They got money for wars but not to cure you, they clump down on drugs but not poverty! The enemy is not we but it is they.
Dry your tears, I saw you pull your truck at Kajetia under the hot sun, I couldn’t help it than to buy water for you, that is what I can afford now.
At same, you pulled through the crowd with heavy load on your head..you are called Kayayee but you have your name as Faustina. You have dignity and respect, your hustle has renamed and denigrated you…. but don’t worry.
I say, I know, am aware of the fact that even in your hardship the KMA and AMA revenue collectors take taxes from you…. but remember I told you that “pay every tax as though God demands it”. That makes we the *streeters* more loyal and patriotic to our nation. While the manager and politician dodge tax payment we happily pay. God bless your hustle. The table will turn someday!
You grow lean, your eyes deep in it’s sockets, your waist as small rounded as a bamboo stick, I feel your disease strickened face! Am sorry, I have to let to know am aware you exist in that condition! I weep and wail for such. It is not your fault! You didn’t cause that! You are innocent!….
You got no clothes, no place to sleep, you got no healthcare, no insurance, no feeding bottle, as for luxury it is just a dream that will never come! But have hope! The table will turn!
She smashed you with dirty water, flogged you, she called you names, that Auntie, that mistress, that rich guy, yes! That rich food vendor and store owner! She did that to you! You are humiliated but don’t worry, I love you and i will forever be there for you!
Don’t look upon the tears and suffering to be irresponsible, don’t be a slave to drugs, don’t smoke, don’t sell your dignified womanhood, you are tempted! I know but sit up grind your teeth but don’t give up.
Remember I told you never to steal, armed robbery will only land you in jail, a more fiery furnace than the streets!
There is more heat there than the streets, the prisons are not friendly but the space infront of the Royal bank at Adum is!. Rest there don’t go to jail I can’t bail you now please! Stay out of trouble. Brother! Stay out please of trouble.
Abena Serwa, I recall your godliness and holiness until Mum died at 54 and Dad at 92.. While you were just 13.
The journey become bleak, Kwaku Agyei molested you, Auntie Connie never spared you the banter, as for the guy opposite the streets, only God knows how he took your vulnerability as a measure to rape you. Is shameful I couldn’t get any justice for you!
Today, Abena you have become a hardcore prostitute, I called out to you and said please change, am proud you have now, thank you! Your life is refreshing, you told me to use your example to advise Yaa Antwiwaa! I did but she didn’t listen today is Monday January 15, 2018, Yaa is 3 years dead. She died of HIV-AIDS. So I asked you the young lady on the streets and thinking that is your last bet, is it worth it ?
Don’t die young! Our elders say if there is life… there is hope!. So don’t stay out at night to prostitute. Please don’t!
Am tearing as I pour my heart out to you. Be responsible, take time and read please.
I love you so much and so is God!
It is me your brother!
Writer: Boateng Samuel Clinton
( De Hunter’s Son)
( Student UEW-K)
Writer’s Email: [email protected]
Please send us your articles for publication via [email protected]
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