Looking through the window, I heard him speaking—sounding like a local "area boy" on a tour of the neighborhood. It took me back years to when he was just a child. I can’t even wrap my head around his age now because he’s so grown, but I remember him running around the compound.
Even then, I knew it wouldn't end well. His father would send him to buy cigarettes, and his uncle would send him for cocaine. Now, his youngest brother is being led down that same dark path. Word eventually reached his father that the boy is now a smoker himself; the father threatened to "deal with him" if they ever crossed paths, but I doubt that will happen anytime soon—if ever.
It’s a classic case of "like father, like son." He started on the wrong foot, coming from a home where his parents fought daily, threatening to kill one another. His father would shamelessly steal his wife’s money and sit at home doing nothing. What a platform to stand on.
Now, having dropped out of school, he survives on manual labor—cleaning gutters, scrubbing latrines, and bricklaying. He returns from these grueling jobs without even bathing, lacking any sense of hygiene, only to smoke his money away and gamble the rest. It is a fruitless cycle, and I truly pray he finds a way to retrace his steps soon.
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