PROLOGUE

My name is Bolade. I am nine years old. My parents died when I was five.

My uncle promised my people in Iluaje that he would take care of me. He promised to send me to school, to give me food and clothes, to make me happy.

But on my first night in his house in Ayegbe, I slept on the kitchen floor. No mat. No pillow. No blanket.

This is the story of how my suffering began — and how destiny had greater plans for me.

CHAPTER ONE: Bolade's Beginning to Suffer

Ayegbe was a very small village. No light. No phone. No good road. To get water, you had to walk far down the bush path to the stream or pull from the well, with the bucket heavy on your head. That same water was for cooking, bathing, washing plates, washing clothes, everything. At dawn, cocks crowed, women swept compounds, the air smelled of firewood smoke, and farmers carried hoes and cutlasses to farm. In the daytime, the sun was hot and children played everywhere - shouting, running in the sand, chasing each other, laughing without worry. In the evening, the old men gathered under the big mango tree in the middle of the village, drinking palm wine, cracking jokes and laughing loudly while children listened to stories. At night, everywhere was dark. Only firewood fire and small kerosene lamps gave light. You could hear crickets and dogs barking far away, and sometimes an owl crying from the bush.

In that village lived Bolade's uncle, Mr. Durojaiye. He was married with three children - Desire, Gbemisola and Idunnuola. People called Gbemisola "Sola" and Idunnuola "Ola" for short. Desire was fifteen, Sola eleven, and Ola seven, a real spoilt brat. Bolade had to live with them because his parents died when he was only five. Now he was nine, and life was hard. In that house, nobody liked him.

When his parents died in Iluaje, where his parents and grandparents lived, Mr. Durojaiye promised to take very good care of him. He promised to give him food, clothes, school, and everything he would need to be happy and successful.

After the burial, Mr. Durojaiye took Bolade to Ayegbe. But Mrs. Durojaiye took Bolade as her house-help. Mr. Durojaiye forgot all his promises. He never thought of sending Bolade to school, while Desire, Sola and Ola went to the best school in Ayegbe.

That same night, Bolade slept on the floor. No pillow, no mat. He slept alone in the cold kitchen, his small body curled on the bare floor.

The next morning, by 4 a.m., Mrs. Durojaiye woke him by pouring a full bucket of cold water on him. She shouted, "You stupid boy, get up! It's morning! Don't think you can sleep anytime you want here like you did when your parents were alive. Only God knows what kind of child you are!" Bolade wept bitterly.

Mrs. Durojaiye left angrily to get a cane. When she came back and saw him still sitting on the floor crying, she got more angry and flogged him hard without mercy. Bolade ran out of the kitchen shouting and crying. Mr. Durojaiye heard everything from his room, but he did not stop her. He just turned to the other side and slept.

Mrs. Durojaiye warned him never to let her see tears on his face again.

After that, Mrs. Durojaiye told him to boil hot water — but not for him. The hot water was for her and her family alone, so they could bath. Bolade alone must use cold water. And when he was done with that, he should go and cook their breakfast. She told him to start now. And Bolade started.

Mrs. Durojaiye left and went to her room. Immediately she entered, her husband smiled and said, "You did well. I like how you dealt with that stupid boy. By now, he should know his place in this house."

Mrs. Durojaiye replied, "Thanks. That boy is very stupid. I had to show him his right level. That is, him and my beautiful daughters are not on the same level."

Mr. Durojaiye said, "You are right. He and our children are not on the same level. He is just a mere orphan. He should thank us that we even allow him to sleep under our roof."

Mrs. Durojaiye laughed, "Yes ooo. This is just the beginning of his suffering." And both of them smiled.