How I Acquired the Nickname "Hyena"

I hate tobacco farmers, cigar manufacturers, smokers and anything else to do with smoking with passion. One day my father came home from his daily fruitless drift. As usual his walking stick was held by both his hand and was resting on his shoulders. He walked into the house and roared at me. This told me there was enough trouble. I was shaken beyond words but I could not scamper.

I went to him holding my breath. He stood there tall and mighty. The sight of the stick made me wish to melt. “Where are the coins I left on top of this cupboard?” he asked with a more harsh tone than before. The smell of the last smoke of tobacco from his breath almost choked me. I was only a small boy and could not see the top of the cupboard. Before I could climb to the top of the cupboard, a hard stroke fell on my hip joint. Screams came from my mouth voluntarily and controllably. Mom and neighbours came to my rescue but not before I was lame. All this because my father could not satisfy his urge to smoke another cigarette. I learnt while in hospital that he found the coins in his pocket.

My argony started that day. In school, I was shunned in games. Someone would say, "Hyena will no be in our team". Another one would retort, " He will also not be in our team". I would sit alone while other children were playing.

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