My True Life Runaway Story (2)

Continued from last edition...

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The second time I ran away from home was when I was about nine years old. I was on holiday from boarding school, and I was of the opinion that my mum was making my life miserable. So I decided to run away. When she asked me to empty the thrash, I took it out, emptied it, dumped the bucket somewhere, and ran away…

…to my grandmother’s house, which was about 45 minutes’ walk away from my house. When I got there, my grandmother wasn’t around, but I met my uncle, who was just leaving the house. I can’t remember what I told him vividly, but it must have been something like I didn’t want to go back home again because I was being maltreated. The guy just looked at me, and asked me to enter. He didn’t have the keys to the front door, so I went through the back door, and he locked me inside, and asked me to wait for my grandmother to get back from work.

Seeing how peaceful my life had suddenly become, I slept off. Hours later, at about 10pm, I heard my grandmother’s voice at the door, and what sounded like my parents’ voices. She was saying something like “she can’t be inside this house. There’s no way she can be here since no one has been in this house since.”

Next thing, the door opens, my grandmother sees me lying on the chair, and screams “she’s here! How did you get inside? How long have you been here? Why are you here?” I told her my uncle let me in, and answered her other questions.

My parents took me home, and didn’t say a word. The next day, my mum didn’t go to work, and it was just both of us at home.

Let’s just say… SHE BEAT THE LIVING DAYLIGHT OUT OF MY WHOLE BODY. CHAI!

Six years later, I ran away from home again. This time, it was much more thought out since I was older and more calculative. I was 15 years old, out of the secondary school, just about to enter university, I was now a big girl, so the normal African parents beating had stopped, or so I thought.
I can’t remember what exactly happened, but I know it bordered around them getting worried that I was going to end up being a bad girl, buttressed the fact that I had asked a guy at La campagne Tropicana to take his picture.

Anyway, it ended up in me getting thrashed, and up till now, I still think it was unfair because I did not do anything wrong. So I refused to stand still. All through the period, I kept shouting “what did I do? What did I do? I didn’t do anything.” And this kept angering my parents, so the thrashing continued.

This was such an embarrassment to my teenage big girl reputation, getting beaten just as I was about to enter university. Even my siblings thought it was unfair.

So late at night, I packed some clothes, told my brother and sister I was running away, for good this time, and they must not say a word till the next morning. They asked where I would be going, I told them I didn’t know, but I was going.

About 12 midnight, I left the house. Everywhere was so dark, and I was scared. I didn’t really have money on me, but the will to leave my woes far behind me was greater than the fear the darkness of the surrounding created. On getting to the major street close to my house, I realised I wouldn’t be getting far that night, cause the major streets were gated, and there were no buses by that time.

So I walked into one of the streets, and kept walking till I saw a hausa security guy guarding one duplex. I begged him to allow me sleep in the compound because I was kicked out of my house and I couldn’t go far that night. So he laid cloth for me on the bare ground of one of the balconies, and I slept off. I thank God for that guy because I could have met a monster instead of him. What would have been my story by now?

Very early, the next morning, I was off. I went to my friend’s house, and explained the whole situation to her. We were classmates in secondary school, and were both waiting to enter university. She was alone with her brother and sister in the house, because their parents had been out of the country for quite some time.

Life was now very good. Free food, free bed, no parents bossing me, and beating me for what I didn’t do, no chores, nothing! And my parents could never find me… ever. There were no mobile phones then, and internet was not even common.

Day 1, Day 2, Day3… And then the drama started…

To be continued...