WOMAN UP - LIFE WILL NEVER BE FAIR

Chapter 1: The Catastrophe

My name is Azusa Twyla and I am a thirty-five-year-old lady whose experience in life is worth being told to the world. Life, according to me, has never been a smooth journey but a pack of mystery and I keep wondering what my parents did to make me deserve such karma. Let me take you back to how all this started and explain to you why I am whining about my life
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One Monday morning as we plowed our small farm behind our house, a neighbor came home so tense and sniveling. We all stood and stared at him, wondering why he was this worried.

Neighbor: Mama ZU, can I have a word with you?

Mum: Yes, you can. What is wrong?

Neighbor: Can we find a place we can sit and talk, please?

Mum: Yes please, let's sit under that Silver Maple tree?

After about five minutes, my mum began screaming and rolling on the ground as though she had gone crazy. We ran to where they were and tried to calm her down.

Azusa: What have you done to her?

Neighbor: Nothing. Just came to give the sad news to you. I'm very sorry. I did not mean to make things worse than they already are.

Azusa: what did you tell her?

Neighbor: I.... Your.... Your father.

Azusa: What about my father?

Neighbor: Your father just passed away. A trailer hit the bus he was on. He died on the spot. I'm sorry for the loss.

I felt like my whole body had lost strength. I was sweating all over. My brother was still holding my mother, consoling her while my sister collapsed right beside me. I just stood there like a statue. I did not know what to do at all. Within an hour, other neighbors and friends had filled our compound, everyone trying to comfort us in the best way they could. I had lost the person I treasured the most. The one person who gave me all the attention I needed in our home. After father's burial, everyone went back to their respective homes, and we were alone, lonely. Even those who promised they would check up on us from time to time had already forgotten about us. We had no means of livelihood since dad was the sole breadwinner. Our small farm could no longer cater to all our needs. Mother, therefore, began a local brew joint at our home. All kinds of irresponsible men and women flocked our home, so you can imagine the hell the rest of us were facing. Our home had turned into a hub of atrocity. Amid all the drama in my home, newfound friends influenced my mother to use dope. This went on for about two years. After our demise, my father's siblings never showed up again. They never even called to confirm how we were fairing on. It was not shocking to me since they were never there for their parents either. They had made me learn a parent should not raise a child expecting anything in return. I knew so little about my uncles. They were only active when grandmother died and they miraculously appeared in their big cars to dump their mother six feet under. The house grandma lived in was old and bend. One glance at it, you would think the wind would blow it to the ground. I wondered where they were when grandma was on her sickbed struggling with cancer. She did not take the medication she needed and ended up dying a miserable woman. Mother had spent days and nights nursing her and I knew that one day her kind heart would make God bless her descendants and by a descendant, I believe I am the descendant I'm talking about. My uncles were always reluctant to send any money to grandmother because they assumed it was our family that used that money instead. I came to learn that the child that remained in the parent's home always seemed as a failure. As a man, society expects you to work and get your own home elsewhere. Anyone remaining in their parents' homestead is lazy and hopeless.