I have experienced many difficult situations that looked overwhelming. In some instances, I was able to scale through with some emotional support.
Out of these numerous experiences, there is one that stood out. It happened very early in my life but left indelible memories in me.
I was only 10 years old when my family experienced the most difficult moment. It was in the year 1998.
My father was a farmer in Ekiti state. After harvesting his yam each year, he would take it to Kaduna or Kano to sell.
The yam produce was harvested in the month of August. I can remember vividly my role during the harvest. The role of my elder brother and I was to gather the yam tubers in a group of 10 or 20 across the farm.
The harvest was done in three days and on the fourth day, my father and two others who joined him to charter a truck embarked on the journey to Kano.
We were filled with joy as we awaited his return. That period of the year was the happiest one for us as kids. Our parents found it easy to buy for us some things that they couldn't afford for us during the other periods of the year.
About five days later, my father returned from the journey with beaming smiles. The market was good. He bought many goodies for us.
In the evening of his arrival, my brother and I were in the living room eating the buttered bread that he bought for us. My dad and mum locked themselves in the room, counting and arranging the cash.
They joined us in the parlor shortly after. My brother and I started to remind my father of the things he promised to buy for us. Mine was a bicycle. He promised to look into our demands the following day.
We went to bed as a happy family.
In the night, the men of the underworld struck and we were robbed of the money, about 100000 naira ($1200 in 1998). Our happiness about the good sales for that year was cut short. My mother was crying while my father's eyes were red. I knew that a great blow had been dealt with us.
A few days later, people that my father was indebted to came for their money. 20000 naira out of the stolen money was meant to pay different categories of workers that had worked on the farm and not paid in the course of the farming year. My dad begged them to give him five days to get the money and pay them.
He returned to the farm and harvested the remaining part of the farm that was meant to serve as food for the family. The yams were sold and the debt paid.
Survival became very difficult for the family. My dad started doing menial jobs to feed us. My mum wasn't left out. They would work on people's farms and be given raw food in return.
The peak of the difficult moment happened on Christmas day. Though we are a Muslim family, we celebrated both Islamic and Christianity festivals. My father decided to do this so that when Christian kids were eating specially prepared Christmas food, we shouldn't feel bad as kids. My mum would prepare our own food for us.
On the Christmas day of that year, there was nothing to prepare for us. The only thing at home was cassava baked flour (garri). My brother and I were not happy and it was obvious to my father. He called us to the room to plead with us to manage the garri. He promised us to balance things up before New Year.
As he was talking to us, he didn't realize when tears started flowing on his cheeks. When we were about to join him to cry, he cleaned his face. True to his promise, the new year was better. We ate something better.
The period between August 1998 and August 1999 was a very difficult one for the family. We navigated through with the resilience and doggedness of my parents. However, the impact of that loss was felt on the family for years.
One good lesson that I learned is to strategize to scale through a problem rather than allowing the challenge to weigh me down.
Another lesson that I learned at that tender age is to limit the cash in my possession at any time. I do my transaction through the bank majorly because I can still recall the trauma that we experienced that night.