The room was all ears. Soaking it all up. So she gently pulled it out. She let it all drip like mucus and saliva. Exhausting. But at least she would not bleed to death. She would not die of shame. She had shared that part of her she had buried in her veins and she did not bleed to death.
The audience was as shocked as they were captivated. They had never been this close to the reality of over eleven thousand Nigerians. Trafficking was something they heard about and forgot about. It was something that happened to grredy Nigerians, to them it was something that could never happen to any sane himan being. Omotinne was their mirror. She showed them what they could not see. She let them bleed with the shame of their indifference.
Priscilla continued to weep long after Omotinne had told her their story. The story of their being. The story of how her mother had become made not by herself but because of herself. She was expected to feel pain and shame but she felt joy, relief and pride in her hero. A survivor.
The morning dew had fallen and Omotinne was ready to minister not to be ministered to.
Et ut ministrum non esse ministeree.
“Morning Dew” ……an exciting and educative piece! With some Harlequin-like wordsmith, enwrought with “Nigerianized” English flavor, Temitope is undoubtedly one of the best budding authors in Nigeria. Keep it burning.
Great Ife!