“Life of A Street Boy”: Trauma, Lessons, Motivations, by Tunmise Ajeigbe

Back in the days, when I was still in the hood. The street-life in Ibadan seemed everything to us, and the happiness was incomparable to the good pleasures of these days. 

As a street boy with utmost street credibility, we were cultured with life-norms and always sounded in our ears that this gloomy world is wired with classes and hierarchies. This is an undeniable fact that has been keeping the world running. 

Our parents had everything to give to us, just not to keep up with that street-life, but that way of life was just to inevitable for some of us. We took it as a clarion call to moderate our progression after the era. 

Sometime back then, when I was below ten years of age, I ran away from home for three days to have a taste of how it is to survive alone on the street.

It happened when realized that I’ve messed up and disobeyed cultural rules. I was afraid of being disciplined at home and I had other choice than to fall out and go join my co-fellow on the street where I turned a beggar, a bus conductor, I worked as iron scavenger to save up money with plot to heading to Lagos, where the real hustle is. 

An unknown strange man who accidentally walk into the picture cutoff these plannings, I failed in elevating to Lagos with my colleagues which we had these projections together. 

This unknown protagonist fished me away, and questioned profile because I wore an inter house-sport blouse of my school “Police Children School, Agugu Ibadan”. I was fluent and blunt in my responses and he was shocked about what he heard. He bribed me with food to buy more time for further questioning, when flawed and dropped my mum phone number to him. 

He stylishly already made me partway with other disciples whom street-living bounded us together, he took me to an Amala joint where my mum came to meet us, I was relaxing with nap sitting on a chair and comforting on a desk. Only to open my eye after a while of short nap, I found my mum crying again that they have been looking for me for three nights. I felt so sorry inside me, despite acknowledging that my decision to leave home was intentional. 

During these three days, in the night, I always go sleep inside an abandoned vehicle at a mechanic workshop located along Bereruka to Bere road together with my street friends. We have homes but we made ourselves homeless because of our false aspirations.

I fed myself all alone before the angelic bird arrived. On the street all man for himself. I was cautioned to be very careful, while sleeping since we have no home, pocket robbery takes on in the night among ourselves to test how vigilant we should be.

Despite being a juvenile, I learnt that love is missing, no one loves you on the street, street champions are known for brutality, effort must be equal to reward, no free service, delaying is dangerous, no price no pay, no appreciation and memory for good deeds. 

On the street, street game is a business of elevation, street workers are classified into two categories, “the Erukus” and “the Eleniyans”. The Erukus are street rookies who work and deliver royalties to the Eleniyan. 

Erukus are the common street boys found on the street but have some people they respect and can’t disobey. 

The Eleniyans are chairmen in the hood, well respected and coordinated. They are former Erukus who believe in the street-making with perseverance and consistency. They are champions of the moment. 

Every Eruku dream is to become Eleniyan one day, and every Eleniyan wants to retire well and continue reining even at old age. The culture on the street remains that Eleniyan can be relegated for a smart Eruku to take on. This can be achieved in several ways with strategies and manipulations. 

I never for once shy to refer to myself as “A street boy”, I know the agony and melancholy that are attributed with street-life. I know the language on the street. I bear the burden and have the special feelings. I had these rollercoaster of experiences before my age ten and those principles are still very useful in my everyday life. 

When coming from birth, we didn’t choose our destiny, our fate was assigned to us by the most high. Every face on the street is marred with chronicles, judging book by its cover is a delicate preference that can cause more harm than remedy. In my case, I am not a victim, I am a survivor and it was my reality. This is my Sunday motivation Happy Sunday!

PS:  Tunmise Ajeigbe is a Nigerian journalist and, a public affairs analyst.

He is a PhD student at Cyprus International University.

He can be reached via ajeigbetunmise1996@gmail.com and +234 814 610 9636