Corn Dough Diaries.
A day without the sun. Upcoming event; 50 lashes on my back.
The sound of a belt or a bamboo stick striking the flesh of a child was nothing strange to break the silence of the village. My village, Konafa, was a warzone in it's unique way. The name, with literal translation "fight and take", was a breeding ground of persevering predators. Survival of the fittest. Everyone was in their own lane; and no one will hesitate to make you regret making the decision to enter another's. This instinct was so deeply wired in our genes, a new born baby could smell it's scent in the air. It was the cause of my punishment... Or so I thought.
Day 1; stealing mangoes from the chief's farm.
Day 2; fighting with the prince for sleeping under my favourite tree.
Day 3; spilling palm wine during a naming ceremony.
And today, I fought with a neighbour's dog over the butcher's meat it had stole. I don't get those kind of "treats", so why should it? I was born, bred and battered within the thorns of society. They pricked so hard I could literally get muted by the pain... And this feeling was more than a thought. Bad luck was like my shadow: trying to evade it got me more trouble. Even though my mother had nothing, my skin was bruised and beaten for every effort I put in to put food on the table; the rewards for trying to polish a life I didn't ask for. I watched over my own self, and I was doing that better than anyone ever could...
Or so I thought.
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