Diary of an African child 1

When they call a man a beast, what is he really. A man in need, hungry, desperate, depressed, angry or just an animal who behaves no differently than a beast. I thankfully don't think like that, not only because I think differently but because of the way I was brought up. Living in a poor, wretched African home. No living different from my peers. I was brought up or should I say down to think that I couldn't amount to nothing but a poor farmer. I wouldn't blame them for telling me such a sadistic and hope-dashing tales, I didn't even think so much about myself. But everything changed when I met an European missionary who came to preach the so called Christian gospel. He claimed that a certain man called Jesus will save us and changed our lives for good. I didn't believe the man. Why? Because why would such a man bring another person to a dark place called Africa. The man must have left his sprawling mansion in Europe just to come to Africa. To me, that's just pure insanity. But I digress too much. This 'brave' man walked up to me on my way back home from the village's only primary school which was built by the colonial master's years ago when they raided my village of everything and took our able bodied men as slaves to work on their cotton plantations and our young women to satisfy their sexual desires and needs. But at least they gave us something in return no matter how little to make it seem it was a forced trade. Before I continue, let's take a minute to check my sponsors

So, this man came towards me and preached the life-saving word of Christ and me being a traditional worshipper, I doubted him and asked lots of questions about this unknown religion. Surprisingly, he was able to answer all the questions I asked him convincing. Needless to say, I started to believe him and was slowly being converted. This was possible because of all the people living in my village I was the only open minded person and always encouraged change even though this did not go down well with others.

Unfortunately for me and the missionary, my father showed out of nowhere and caught me talking to him. I wished that the ground would just have swallowed me at that point. My father with the help of others got rid of the missionary (I wouldn't like to mention how) and there after took me home and gave me the beating of my life. African parents are well known to be good at instilling fear and discipline in their children and that involves beating them to stupor in other to teach their lesson. My father certainly didn't disappoint in that field. I certainly learnt my lesson that night or so I thought, to never speak to a man trying to convert me to a new religion. I slept that night outside the house with marks and on my body and blood stains all over my clothe just because he wanted to teach me a lesson. Little did I know that what my father did to me that day would define my life.

This is my first article. The first of many I hope. I'm just trying to create good content and stories. Till next time.

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