”My name’s Chinanu,” I told Good Samaritan, who wanted to know why I was all alone in the dark roadside, sobbing. His torchlight flickered on my face.
I told him everything — the promise of quality education by Egoigwe that turned turned out to be street hawking, nocturnal visits to my room and, if I protested, the constant reminder that I was his commodity because he bought me from my uncle.
” Your parents?” enquired Good Samaritan.
I bent my head in silence for a while. Raising my head, I cried, ”Why did they leave me behind in this world to suffer?”