It had taken a while in my head to remember the days, days when I fought to become a writer, promising my family that one day I’ll become the best, the best that will change the world with my poems, my songs and motivational words.
I can remember how I was laughed at, jeered at and told that it will be better for me to learn a trade.
Now, this you may not understand but I’ll explain; you see, my father was a man giving to polygamous ways, and he had more than six wives, I just couldn’t understand how he was able to, though he was a graduate of business from London. I wish I know what he learned in there before he came home and married more than one wife. Well, he was a Muslim and it suites him.
Well, for me I was never given the chance to go to school more than primary six but had books to console me at the time and nothing could stop me from devouring all the books I could lay my hand upon. I love reading, and my hunger for it made a way for me to write and read all kinds, I was not particular about a genre or writer, from motivational books, poetry, fictions to horror; the hawk series, mills and boom to Nigerian stories, though I always love stories that give a meaning to a better life after suffering due to the way
things were with me at the time.
Growing up was not an easy cast but it was well, as I grew up being trained by my step-mother who herself was another story entirely as she traveled almost all the time, leaving me alone with my brothers, sisters, though she was a big help in a way; I must confess; my life was in between, but I learned a lot from everything that happened.
As I’ve read in the happily ever after stories, I’ll say life can work that way too for anyone but to those who can fashion it out for themselves, having a plan, being focused in their vision and doing the right things. Truly it was tough but at the end, my father died, my step mother was given everything he had, leaving nothing for anyone as she was
privileged to be with him when he died in England (as they were both there together). I was left on my own with immediate brother and had to send myself to school by doing anything I could lay my hands upon and with a little help from my brother (Lolly Salau, my step-mum's first born).
My break was at the end; my singing got noted, my book got published after a lot of trails and errors, I was made a choir master as my songs, poems got noticed, family and friends are now hailing me here and there. Speechless I stand.
Still I am asking myself; am I a writer now?
