That is the way of life since time immemorial destiny is driven by the unseen hand that rules life; fate is controlled by the invisible voice that dwells in all mankind consciousness. That is life, so why would you expect it to make an exception for you, and wrap you in white robes of splendour and beauty, nurse and treat you like an infant, brother? Is it because you are the proud to the kingdom of freedom and liberation? Is it because you have been shelled and shielded away from poverty and suffering under the roofs of the big mansions you live in? Is it because you were born with a golden spoon in your mouth, of which its contents you gradually spat out ungratefully and you know no hustling?

Well, if you care to know life is a hustle, my brother. And God only provides providence for those who are willing to work themselves up; those who urge themselves to be in the forefront even when odds are against them but hope pushes them onwards, even if they falter or stumble; still their hope is unshaken and forever present to spur them on. Their inner spirit never fades or wither it keep them afloat even during floods when all is swept away to the seas; when all is a hopeless, that seems unable to be repaired either by time or anything of that sort; but the honest truth is: time heals all wounds…

Let me escort you back to the joys of childhood when you were surrounded by lots and lots of over-exaggerated love from parents, siblings and total strangers you met in the alleys of this life; strangers you probably would never meet again, who showered you with love and filled your heart with ecstasy. It felt nice to be loved and appreciated and observed like a blooming flower in summer; to be gazed upon as if you were a marvellous piece of art exhibited in a gallery for all to see and admire…

The old superstitious people feed you propaganda and lies; they wrap you with a religion you know nothing of when you start questioning it: they lament and say: “What is the world coming to?” After that they would drag up old memories which lie forgotten somewhere in their fading minds and start saying: “When I was your age, we kids were told not to ask much because it is rude and un-African.

Tell me my child what is the world coming to, but all this madness can be blamed on this schools you attend… When I was your age, we girls use to cook, fetch water and tend the lands of our parents. In so doing, we were trained on how to be good wives to our husbands when the time came. But now, only God knows if you will ever get husbands. You change men like you changing underwear and give birth to bastards that are fed by the small pension money I get from Zuma… I swear…” interrupted by your blank eyes gazing at her, she would stop right there…