2

I was told, my name is Tiara.

I hate that name with all the nerves I've got.

Sometimes I sit down and wonder, was it my father that suggested it or my mother and why? But I would never know because I really never met them, now that is a story for another day.

I saw myself growing up in an orphanage home run by the Reverend Sisters of Immaculate Heart of Mary popularly called, IHM briefly.

They were a religious group of nice people who thought it wise to fangle a foundation under the church. Their successful mission was to provide a home for many of the homeless kids that plagued the ghetto streets of Ajelli. They fed us, clothed us, and most times people who were living comfortably and those who had things to spare visited us with few measures of rice, loaves of bread, worn out clothes and even faded shoes that they no longer use. We always expected them and they never disappointed, each time they visited, it was Christmas for us.

We felt loved. But then there was something every kid in the Home bore in mind; If you don't get lucky enough to be adopted before the age of eighteen, then get ready to be laid-off.

We called it that because that was actually what it felt like. We will be taken away from the Home and then back into the streets to make room for new younger intakes since the accommodation was very limiting.

We girls had alot bigger and better opportunities unlike the boys as they say, in the sense we had a window to joining the Reverend Sisters in the convent if considered an option. But for me, it wasn't even amongst my options neither was it an alternative because, I wasn't ready to be tied down under some religious rules and dos and don'ts.

I was seventeen at the time and it kept ringing in my head like a bell. I have always been afraid of the streets. So many cruel and disgusting tales have been told about it and it never ceases to creep under my skin each time I remember that in less than eleven months, I would be out of here. Definitely not for good.

There was this young lady that made a routine out of her visits, she was very rich.

I could tell because she was the second person I saw making use of an Android phone after the Parish Priest. She had a warm attitude and she treated us like her kids, she was so angelic that many of us wished to be adopted by her but she wasn't really looking that side.

She was beautiful and light skinned and was always seen on either expensive hairs or very long braids.

Stories had it, she was one of us, once upon a time and that was why she was liberal in her dealings with us. But what marvelled me was how she was living big and conveniently as though she was born with a silver spoon, initially. I wanted to be like her, I mean I was fed up with being literally at the receiving end. So I started plotting on how to approach her, maybe she could be of help. But that opportunity and dreams of mine could only happen if I eventually left the Home. All of a sudden, I couldn't wait to leave the orphanage, I forgot about all my fears for the streets and all its malicious tales. Actually, a popular saying encouraged me and made my resolve stronger;

The only way out of the streets is through the streets.

When the year came to an end, I and my age-mates, about fifteen of us were discharged to fend for ourselves, alone.

We parted ways and I found out how cold it could be to be all alone in the world with no one by your side. It was really an experience I wish to not remember.

I never really made friends in the Home because I was stigmatized for having a big buttocks and big tits by my fellow kids. They ridiculed me saying I buried my parents in there and sometimes, the boys abused me by touching me carelessly. I was fortunate because it never progressed into something more than just that.

My puberty came in at quite an early age of ten and I wasn't really precocious.

All I ever thought about in my little head was the way forward; 'what would become of me if eventually I leave this place?'

Later on, I begged a fairly old woman in the neighborhood to stay with her, she was really excited because I would be helping her in fetching water, cooking, washing her clothes and keeping the hut clean and tidy while she would provide me with shelter over my head. It was a win-win situation.

She had a small farmstead where she reared few goats and chickens and she takes their eggs to the market with the vegetables she cultivates. It was her only source of income and when I came, I managed the business and it grew tremendously.

Ajali people were well-known for their nightlife and partying. Most men were habitual gamblers and drunks and you would always overhear their wives, reprimanding them and denying them access to entering the house in their drunk state. Sometimes fights ensues from the disagreements and the rarely good neighbors would try to separate the fights while the others would chant and clap to encourage it, some rugged boys would go ahead and provide them with weapons and most times, people die and some sustain ugly injuries from this regular incidents.

Over time, I got tired of staying with the old woman, she was becoming naggier by day and it irritated me so much. She never really appreciated my efforts but I didn't actually give a damn because, as much as I was afraid of the streets, I was streetwise and astute.

I saved up money for myself from the extra profits I made and I bought more chickens to increase the egg productions.

One fateful night, I tiptoed out of the hut with my belongings, not leaving out my money box, of course which contained but just a few shillings.

I took them all with me and dashed out into the night.

I came to an abrupt stop when I stood face to face with a clubhouse full of people who were partying so hard as though there was no tomorrow. They were all jollying and rocking with bottles of beers and wines in their hands while the women were seen almost naked doing their lucrative businesses, servicing the men.

Men from the city usually came to the ghetto clubhouse after work every night because of the women prostitutes that Ajelli bred, to unwind.

They were generally referred to as 'tigers' due to their infamous prowess in bed.

I figured there were so many promising opportunities waiting for me if I stepped my feet in to the clubhouse that was filled with rich and classy men of the city, I've always heard and appreciated the stories of the beautiful features of the city. Who knows? Maybe I might be given the chance to visit there for once in my dreary life.

I wasn't so pretty and neat because of how unkept life had kept me, but I knew I had what most of the ladies in there didn't have which was prominent even the blind could see it.

So, I tore my long patched up gown to the thighs as I brushed my disheveled hair with my fingers. I walked felinely into the clubhouse.

Very optimistic.

When I entered thinking I would attract all eyes with my curvy body, I was otherwise disappointed. It was as if I never really existed, everybody had a handful of ladies and liquors at their disposals. I was about to give up when I saw the beautiful lady from the Home, sitting seductively on the thighs of a man in his late sixties at a corner.

I couldn't believe what I was beholding but then I was sure my eyes weren't deceiving me either. It was surely her with the peculiar red curly wig and fair glowing skin. It appeared she wasn't so angelic as we thought but who was I to judge? afterall, I entered the clubhouse for the same purpose.

I decided to wait patiently for her so I could ask for her help even if it's to shine her shoes every morning. At this point, I don't mind.

In the next hour, the man settled her with a fat envelope and left the building. I looked on as she lighted a cigarette and smoked untill nothing remained of the stick, moments later, she picked up her bag and left the building too while I stealthily trailed behind her hoping to catch her alone.