Francis Cardinal photo
By
John Chizoba Vincent
Often when we hear the stories of girls who hawk in the street being harassed and molested by touts and area boys, we tend to forget boys are also victims of this same crime. Many boys are molested by touts in the street or at every bus stop and other hiding places in town.
Growing up in the streets of Aba, I had this friend of mine. We hawked groundnuts and some other things together in the street. That fateful day, we were supposed to sell soft drinks but didn’t wake up early, so we instead bought some sachet water to sell. We sold the first pack and the second set of sachet water and the next. Our major routes used to be the Cameroon road and Tenant Road in Aba. We walked from Cameroon road to Tenant road and back to Market road and Jubilee road. We made it a hobby, trekking and chatting. Sometimes, we sat under one big mango tree to gist and eat whatsoever we bought. We were hawking to support the family. Although, it wasn’t palatable to us we had to do it. We had to make sure that our parents lack nothing, especially our mother.
That day, after eating some of the Okpa we bought nearby, my friend carried his bowl of pure water as I lifted mine. We marched on, singing and laughing. Someone called us. I pointed at myself but the man said no, that he was calling my second. So, I asked him to go while I waited on the road. I waited for some minutes but my friend did not come back. I waited longer but he didn’t show up, so I decided to check on him. Carrying my bowl of pure water with me I found my way to the staircase, a two storey building. As I climbed, my spirit was not at peace with me, but I fought harder to see what was keeping my friend in the house. When I got to the door that led to the balcony, I beheld blood sprawled on the floor. I shouted inwardly and held myself tight, opening the door gradually to see this figure struggling for life on the ground. I hit the door hard and threw the bowl of water on the staircase then ran for my life. I screamed for help as I got down from the building. People gathered. I could not find the voice to explain what I saw. I could not give them a vivid description of what the problem was. All I did was point here and there. Then, I understood the importance of sign language.
Some men followed my directions and went upstairs but they were too late. They lost the men. These men made away with their game and were never seen again in that locale. When the police arrived, the whole neighbourhood were arrested. They were detained for as long as I could remember but nobody was able to get those men. The poor innocent boy was killed and his mother was left voiceless. This could happen to anybody whether a girlchild or boychild. My take here is that those things we clamour and agitate in the street in order to keep the girlchild safe, this same thing happened to the boychild also. Let’s have it in mind that the same harsh and tough situations which the girlchild faces daily, the boychild faces more and more of these things each day without anyone agitating for them.
Let’s keep the boychild safe also, they are our future, the same as the girlchild.
Read Parts One and Two of Boys Are Not Stones here
John Chizoba Vincent
John Chizoba Vincent is a poet, actor, Novelist and D.O.P. He is the Author Of Hard times, Good Mama and letter from Home.