Stories (series):My Family’s Dunghill

by | Jun 25, 2013 | Editor's Muse, Stories | 0 comments

Marriage and discord has never been an uncommon pair and couples without some heated discord at some point or the other exist only in the moon, Mr and Mrs Sali however were hell-medalist. I remember going to deliver the usually “opa kan” local herbs for diabetes to them on a fateful saturday, as I raised my fist to tap a knock on the door, the door just lost its hinges, the sheer force with which various deadly junk accessories hit the door, that was when I realized I had arrived at the onset of a civil war. Peering through the slightly lit doorway I could faintly see Biodun cowered in a corner,shielding her small frame as blows and kicks flew round the single 4-corner her father claimed as possession on the “Dump” as my neighbourhood was tagged.
Many families lived here, the outcasts of the city,who lived off the dump. Our slimy streets lined with drunks and addicts all flee-infested and the ragged prostitutes that call for patronage all day. Yet this was home to myself and many more of my age and we were the kings,monarchs and queens of our domain.


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