AGE

They say in politics stupidity is not a deficiency, so I say in a real life struggle age is also not a deficiency.

Being just 8 isn't a convincing excuse for me not to call my head, shoulders, back and hands into order.

After few weeks of getting into the system of laboring i zeroed my mind to the reality of life and boxed my tears to float down the river of the unknown. I am eight and you're being pitiful with me, what if I tell you that my new friend in the _struggle of life_ is just six years of age. Too young right? I felt the same. Meet my new friend - I met Adam on my first day with dad at work when I was trying to understand how things work with the laboring system

Change seems very constant but changing into this system was constantly weird, unexpected and hard for me not until Adam came through while I was trying to carry a pan of sand, the numbers and size of shoveled sand that was fetched into my pan was assumably too much for me (my thought though). Adam approached me and said "should I help you in lifting it?" I said yes, thank you. But this is way too much for me, I said. Adam replied with a smiling face saying there's a target here everyday, that's how things works here.

He grabbed my palm to assay it's texture and descried its virginity. The affable gestures he wears on his face was indubitably saying that my palm is phlegmatic to the anomaly of this sweaty and un-salutary job.

He braced me with a hand and gave the pan a relaxing placement on my head. I know the fragility of my heart, this brief experience unraveled the tears from my lachrymal gland.

My new friend saw it and shares in my empathy saying 'sorry'.

I watched and waited for him as he solely carried his pan of sand on his head without the aid of anyone, the enigma of where the strength comes from is one thing that almost made me raise a disbelief on his age but still, his face conquered my disbelief. Adam was small, I felt pitiful for him.

We approached our spot of disbursement for the sands we carried although with a heavy stride because Adam urged me and encouraged me to get sanguine with the works. He fervidly made me fall in love with my destiny. He told me that the counts of the coaches of sand I deliver determines the pay I get. I think my dad told me, I said. Oh, your dad is here, so is mine, he said.

Our Fathers works at the cement section because a bag of cement weighs 50kg which is way beyond what any kid of our age could carry.

Why are you not in school I asked. He said; "I've never been to school". This response got me astounded because my believe was that every child goes to school, every child deserves free education. At this time I promised myself never to shed a tear for my present predicament because I phlegmatically believe that my time here is for a short while and not to take me permanently away from school.

I wish I'm in school, it hurts me badly cause I know my teachers would feel the warmth of my absence because I've been the best student in the school. My academical credence is a proof even though I read and survived on few textbooks. Anyway I'm here embracing my destiny with an open heart believing that someday I'll become great and bury my pain.

After hours of footing the ground with restlessness under the scorching sun with sweat dripping down my spine, soaking out my shirt and my short not forgetting how burnt my face have been .

I saw my dad during the 30 minutes break, I almost cried at the sight of my dad. But I remembered the promise I had made to myself, the vow to remain strong in all ramifications of this predicament.

Would i have recognised him (my dad) if he hadn't called my name? Absolutely no, I wouldn't have. He looked disgruntled, frazzled, drowsy and loosened out while he was also masked by the powder of the cements he has been supplying using his head as carriers.

Son, how are you? I hope you are coping? I hope you are not hurt? So he breathlessly asked. Yes Dad , I'm fine! I replied sorrowfully. As he brought out the cassava and groundnut he bought in the morning when we were coming to work, he encouraged me to manage this as our lunch that by the time we return back home mother would have made something sumptuous for dinner.

I consumed the cassava which was soaked and soften with water and sweetened with little sugar as father is so disciplined about the intake of sugar. Anyway the cassava mitigated the rumbling of my stomach after the loquaciousness of the stormy sounds it has been giving me, a sign of hunger though.

We both consumed it together in a stainless bowl and we joyfully belched, the sound of that sounds like an earthquake. We laughed, perhaps the cassava will sustain us till we return home. Minutes later, after which relaxation had drenched all of our strength, we heard a longed voice from the administrators saying 'get back to work', we humbly lifted ourselves up as we approached our different sections of work. Father forgot to pick up his head tie, one which he has been using in carrying cement and blocks, he hurriedly returned back to pick it up, just for a small guy who is unarguably in his early 20's addressed my dad and said; 'lazy man, where are you heading to?' I couldn't stop gawking at the indolent lad with a snippy, loathly and bilious look, my veins were restless, my hands were firmly folded and ready for a punch even when I know that my fist isn't strong enough to make him pay for the sheepish adjective he used for my dad. He saw the look on my face but he ignored, I think I scared him off with my look.

Dad was confusingly picking up his piece of cloth as I know deep down that it was due to the situation of things else my dad wouldn't have pliantly and amenably get ossified by the terse act of the young lad.

My dad was a warrior, a very disciplined man but sometimes he seems temperamental , he gets angry that I do get scared of getting closer to him, it was understandable though. The song of life bent him into a different rhythm.

I know he's not fine but he always pretend to be fine. Hopefully someday I will clean his tear.

We diverged to our different sections as we continued working after burying cassava in our stomach.

Adam made the day less tough for me as we happily walked and joyfully laughed and played before the work of the day ends. It was a great experience, I definitely got lots of stories to tell mum and my sisters when I return home.

We arrived home at the early dark hours of the day. I had a thorough bath before consuming the 'tuwo and gbegiri' mum had prepared.

I told her everything, just as you've read it. I left no stone unturned in narrating 'my first day at work' to her and my sisters.

She felt really pitiful for dad, I can see the love in her eyes.

Mothers are angels in a human skin ..