My mom and I are top confidants. She brought me up having her as my best friend and more or less of a sister.

Growing up, I did not really suffer waiting to have things done for me. I was doing just okay. I could stretch my hand to ask for pocket money, accessories, clothes, hair do, mani-pedi, stay-cation and thankfully, my parents were capable of provision.

Recently we’ve had a conversation with my mother about the killing of young women. Sadly these women are my age group. My mom made it clear to me that upbringing has contributed wholesomely to the unfortunate femicide.

She told me during their days, she could walk close to twenty kilometers to and from school every day. They carried gallons of water as well so they could dust off their mud floored classrooms. Unlike today where she dropped me off and picked me from boarding school. We did a comparison of her younger days and mine and realized, that is how women like me have been brought up. Our parents (me and a good number of others) are not doing so badly. Not like their parents.

Therefore young women have refused to learn how to climb up life using stair case. They prefer lifts. Girls today after form four want to find someone who can get them an iPhone. Some money to be on tiktok all day and stay happy. Young women have made a sitting around predators. They have zero enthusiasm to work. It’s not comfortable. Is it?

“If you don’t understand the sacrifices I had to make to get you this life is so unfortunate because you could be thinking I started well like you which is not the case.” my mom said firmly. Last week as I was heading to work I asked her to drop me off to stage coz it was raining . Over her dead decaying cops. I had to walk to stage. Or find my means.

Last year during my birthday I reminded her about it coz she didn’t mention it the whole time.”We held you a birthday party since age one. No one will hold a birthday for a whole grand mother. Sorry not anymore.” She said. “I hope you learn to strive. Work hard and earn the lifestyle you want to live. That sweat tastes sweeter than grapes.” she made her point. Is this what they call in other words adulthood?


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