My Neighborhood Watch #6 - Reporting Events Around us

Hello Steemians

I'm overjoyed to participate in this contest. I hope everyone find my work mind-blowing and captivating.

Source

Come into my house Youndi, you will see my mother's room that look like a pit latrine. She enjoys the smell the way I enjoy eating her cake. The room has a concave wall that resembles the shell of a snail, from the corridor, there's a dog that barks when a stranger comes into the compound, and when the dog barks, my mother pack her smells and hid under the dimshade.

I am 9, girls loves me because of the smell that follows me around. I'm not rich, my face resemble a gorilla, I'm dwarf and look so pinkish on the lips. My mother do tell people about me; but hardly reveal what makes me famous.

Today, my neighbourhood had a challenge—quarrel challenge. I play too much and mother doesn't likes it. She always wanted me to smile during my graduation from the primary. But on the day we had our graduation ceremony, my face travelled back to pitch-dark season where primitive people are painted red because of their failures.

My mother used to award other children in my neighborhood when they are outstanding academically. In most cases, when I failed to play my role as a child, she brings up memory of the past just to shutoff my mouth. This are aweful memories—things that hurt within. She won't be happy celebrating other family's children when hers is alive. So the day she throw out my luggage, my neighbours came around and were astonished.

They didn't expect such aroma from her. The quarrel challenge started immediately she painted my back with strokes of cane. I was so little in the fight, so no one had my voice. I kept standing, sobbing, tears dropping so profusely that anyone that later sees me will wave at me.

I didn't know what actually happen, but I found my body on the hospital bay. My mother was beside me, with unfamiliar faces. Everyone's eye were given me signal for something I didn't know. “What happen to me Mum?”, I asked and held her left hand, while the right hand relaxed on my heart-beating body. She couldn't make a word, only praying silently that I should recover. “Was I dead?” the neighbours couldn't say anything, they were also connected in the spirits to bring me back.

“Flogging a child of 9 years is a child abuse in Africa and beyond”, My mother regrets. She wasn't telling me, but I prescribed the hidden thoughts that engulfed her. “God! If you can bring back my son, I will never flog him again”, she felt remorseful. I was shocked, noticing her invisible tears, unseen by the neighbours around. But that was a lesson to learn.

Morals

1. Never flog a child on the back no matter what. The powerhouse is in the back, so if the back is destroy, it will affect the powerhouse of the child.

2. Give your child space to speak nomatter what happens. They had reasons for carrying out every fake display.

3. Love your children the way you love others and pray for better days to come. God is giver of wisdom, knowledge and understanding. Connect them to the wisdom-maker, knowledge-maker and understanding-maker, if you are not happy with their present academical performance.

4. Avoid conflicts, disputes and hatred. It doesn't pay, instead generates bad feelings for one another

5. Maintain personal hygiene. Endeavour to wash your toilet and keep it clean.

I invite @xkool24, @bossj23, @vudeme123 and @usoro01