TEARS OF A HELPLESS WOMAN….Part 1

My name is Mwansa Yande, I am an orphan who was raised by my uncle and his wife. My parents passed on in a terrible car accident when I was 3 and I joined my grandmother in the village. I remember the village so well although I left when I was 12, my uncle picked me saying I had to go to school.
My uncle works for the mines as a geologist while my aunt is a housewife. She is nothing like my
mother, yes I do remember my mother so well. She was light skinned and beautiful, with hair that fell over her shoulders. I hear my parents were so rich and they were the bread winners of the family, I can
imagine what that means because if they were better than my uncle then they should have been stinking rich.
My uncle has a beautiful house, it has 7bedrooms and I don’t know how many bathrooms. You should
be thinking for people who are so rich, I must at least be a middle child. Well I’m far from that , I’m
not even a maid. I’m simply an outcast.
At the back of this mansion is a chicken run and in the next room is a neglected storeroom. Its neither
painted nor vanished its simply another room that should have equally been a chicken run. Well to cut the long story short, that is my room.
Its very accommodating to all my needs and I guess you am happy. For me, happiness is a choice. Like you choose to be sad, I have chosen
to be happy in all situations. You see for a girl like me you don’t really have much choices, for example none of the things that have happened to me are my choice. So when given an opportunity to choose, I choose happiness.

My aunty and uncle have two children together, they are twins. I call them my sisters from another
planet, not in their faces of course. But that’s how I often refer to them.
They are sisters from another planet because they are blessed with hate that I can not explain, very bitter beings.
My uncle is in a world of his own and in his world I barely exist, talk of being invisible. I only have one thing I boast of and that’s my writing talent, I write everything and I document everything about my life.
I remained with a couple of books that my father left, that’s all my grandmother kept and she didn’t
explain much about where my parents property went.
I don’t consider what my aunty does to me as “mistreating” I call it tough love. She loves me but in a very tough way. Her children, the twins…

She calls them miracles babies because she struggled in labor. Well, they go by the names….
Joy And Faith. Faith is really dark while Joy is quite light, that’s the only way I can tell them apart. Other
than that, they look so much alike. They are 18years of age, very beautiful and very spoilt.
My uncle promised that I would be starting first grade again on my 21st birthday. I did learn from 1st grade to 7th in the village, hence I can read and write fluently.
Anyway my birthday is in two weeks and I am so excited. I was supposed to be in night school with other adults but my aunty said no. She wants me to be in day school a class filled with kids that will probably laugh at me, I know it’s a plot to get me frustrated so I stop school but against all odds.. I
am a survivor. I survived this life, I survived everything my aunt threw at me. I will survive this one too, I just want to learn how to read and write.
I Like to read and write a lot. I guess that’s all I can do. I have absolutely no interest in arithmetic or any other
subjects. One day I hope to be a writer. I believe I will sale a lot of books. I’m so excited about school because I get to move a step closer to my dream if becoming a writer. I’m not sure how that will play out but I believe all will go well in Gods time.
The first thing I would like to buy when I become successful is a house, because this steel roof above my head steals every inch of sleep I have. It makes serious noise when it rains and I often wake up in tears staring at the mansion and wondering how life turned out this way for me.
Another thing I would like is a beautiful bed bought from a furniture shop. I want so many things but firstly I want school.

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