Tears flowed down my eyes as I saw the lifeless body of my childhood friend Jessica. Standing by the graveside, watching her parents and siblings sobbed uncontrollably for their loss, my heart was heavy with grief, but "who can I poured out my burden to"? Who would quietly listen to me without condemnation?
Fresh tears dropped down my cheeks, as I pondered all these quietly in my heart.
The wailing of jessica's mother brought me back to reality and noticing it was time for friends to pay their last respect, I drew closer to the graveside, squatted, grabbing a handful of sand in my hand and pouring it unto the grave. "Farewell friend", I said. Running out of the crowd like I was being chased, I ran never turning back until I reached my room, where I knew it was safe enough for me to freely poured out my pain and burden. TO BE CONTINUED

Who shall I poured my grieve to? Who would listen to me without accusation, shall I be condemned if I opened. Ah! Sobbed hardly as all these thought choked her mind.
The only person she confinds, Amanda her sister has all lot going through her mind, from their dead parents, to the seizure of all their parent property by her uncle and the force marriage which was influenced by uncle Eze on the promise of giving them their parent property back.

Amanda has always been my trusted adviser. From the early stage of my menstrual pain to the time when a boy in my class decided to use me as his bullying tool. Each time I remember how she bullied my bully, I laugh. That was the last day he ever tried bullying anyone. Infact, each time our path crossed he would get scared and avoid me or greet me with respect and pass. On a certain, he almost prostrated in the name of greeting me. The people around us laughed to their satisfaction, making jest of him.

During the day hopeful eyes
Are lifted to heaven
With hope in their heart
At night tearful eyes
Look to heaven with
Burdens in their heart

The song continues each day
When will this suffering end
When will the hand if the creator
stretches out on us
When will the heart of the king
Remember us

Mourning and wailing are heard everywhere
As the suffering never seizes
Sadness lies at the doorstep
Tears has turned to the morning garment
Hunger and depression sleeps with them

There is hope that "all will be well"
But it seems like folktale l
As the past is remembered with contempt
The present produces suffering
And the future is talked about with a bleeding heart.

To be continued