Some days #200 was hard enough for him to get. #200 could be his transportation fare, meal and even entertainment for an entire day.
Life wasn’t a bed of roses for him. By age seventeen he was already being the man of the house. Working, feeding his siblings and giving his father some money.
Now, they were asking for #200 again, #200 to register for a course at the university. Where was he going to get it from? Money didn’t fall like manna for him.
He secretly shed tears everyday. Wishing he could have the things most of his course mates had but were never content with. Things like having someone to pay his fees, coming back to meals at home, having enough money to buy books; things like having a mother to console him in moments when all hope seemed lost.
Mirabelle Morah
