Riches over poverty…………
Living in a materialistic world like ours has revealed in more than one way that, being poor is a serious crime. Everyone therefore strives to make wealth for themselves either through legitimate channels or in most cases as we see, through dubious means. Sadly, the gap between the rich and the poor, especially in this part of the world is not one that can be filled within a short time. It is rather a situation of the wealthy getting wealthier and the poor getting poorer.
Poverty is a plague I wish I had been fortunate enough to avoid as a child, but, unfortunately, I could not avert the circumstances of my birth. My mother gave birth to me at the age of 16 on the streets of Kafansha. She was a homeless runaway child who had been disowned by her father and tagged the black sheep of the family. Her pregnancy was viewed with scorn and considered totally unacceptable by her father.
Yes, I was an unwanted child, a product of sexual assault but my mother decided to keep me against all odds. Being a street child was very challenging; the major problems I and my mother faced were lack of shelter and unwavering hunger pangs. The elements of nature dealt with us severely on some days. It was either we suffered from the heavy downpour of rain or the scorching sun during the day.
The streets of Kafansha became my home all through my teenage years. I was a very bitter teenager who disliked the people around me and their lack of compassion for the needy. On days when we had no money for food, I usually transferred my aggression to my mother. Don’t get me wrong, I honestly do love my mother. After all, it takes guts to decide to keep an illegitimate child despite not having any steady source of income. Our living condition however pushed me to being acrimonious.
The proceeds realized from begging on the streets sustained us. We never had enough money but we were buoyant enough to stay alive. I usually sat with my mother at her favourite spot on the overhead bridge to beg for alms, but as I grew older, I also learnt to fend for myself. The driveway with the traffic light was my most lucrative spot. There, I moved from vehicle to vehicle cleaning windscreens in an attempt to get meagre monetary gifts.
It was on one particular afternoon during my routine begging escapades that I resolved to go to any length possible to become wealthy in life. The events of that afternoon left me scarred. The traffic light had just stopped vehicles, so I seized the opportunity to move from one car to another to persuade the car owners into releasing what they see as peanuts to me. The sixth vehicle I encountered was the overbearing one, it had three spoilt children at its back seat. These children looked much younger than I was. I eagerly wiped the windscreen of the vehicle that conveyed them and then walked towards the rear end of the car, with my face almost plastered on the vehicle’s glass for my reward . Before I knew it, the eldest of the rich kids reached out from the vehicle, lowered the car window and spat at me.
I took a look at the sinister young boy, he exuded wealth from every angle. He was seated elegantly at the back seat of the car and wore a properly ironed school uniform, white socks and sparkling shoes. The look he gave me was the most demeaning look I had ever gotten from a stranger. I was completely dumbfounded. . It was at that moment that I realized it truly was a crime to be poor. I watched the driver of the vehicle zoom off as soon as the traffic light gave the go ahead sign.
Following the unfortunate incident, I refrained from begging on the streets and decided to find a more dignifying source of income. There were not too many options available especially because I was uneducated. After weeks of roaming about the city, I stumbled on what I considered a fantastic offer. A certain group of illegal immigrants were on the look out for kidney donors. The reward money was very huge and overwhelming, I was completely stunned regardless of what I had to give in return.
I put the idea forward to my mother but she vehemently objected to it the moment I confided in her. Her opinion actually could not stop me, I had made up my mind to trade my kidney for the life changing sum of money. Besides, I was sixteen years old and mature enough to make decisions on my own.
What I failed to realize at that time however was that not everyone was fit to donate a kidney. Apparently, a series of investigations were required to certify an individual fit for the donor operation. Furthermore, an independent assessor (who is usually trained by the human tissue authority) is required to counsel the donors and inform them of the risks and complications associated with donating a kidney. None of the required investigations were carried out on me. I sold one of my kidneys to illegal immigrants without giving my decision any second thought.
This unreasonable decision eventually had dire consequences. Seven years down the line, I was diagnosed with end stage renal disease. The only kidney I had left had become incapable of sustaining me. I had gone through series of dialysis, I even struggled to get my name on the hospital’s kidney transplant list but I was unsuccessful.
As I lay on my death bed, I looked at my life in retrospect and concluded that poverty is indeed a societal menace which impacts negatively on every human victim’s life. I surely know this because I am one of its victims.
