Children and Childhood

My Mother’s voice

I remember this very well like a scar that won’t fade. When I was 7 years old, I was that stubborn child in the community who had broken his arms twice and fractured those same arms 3 times. Everyone in the house was tired of always talking to me, about been careful while playing outside the house.

On this very Sunday, while my parents were out, my friend Chidi came to our house. After we ate my Sunday lunch together, we went out to play. Chidi didn’t choose anywhere to play but on the Mango tree behind the house. I joined him that afternoon on the tree and were scaring birds from their nests.

Suddenly while we were looking for what branch looks like a catapult so we can take as a souvenir, I heard the last thing any of us wanted to hear ‘RUUUUUDOOOOOOLPH’, my heart began to pound. I knew my mum was back home, as I tried to hurry down, my legs fell on a dried branch and then I fell. Next thing I stood up with a broken right arm

Ruddapoet [TRCP]