Tears of an Orphan
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© Francis Mary Solomon
Cynthia reached the shop and carefully unlocked the burglary proof. She pushed the door open, breathing heavily. Dropping the key and padlock on a small wooden table in the corner, she quickly grabbed a broom and swept the shop clean.
After sweeping, she began arranging the goods for the day. She dragged out half sacks of rice, beans, and garri, placing them carefully in front of the shop so passersby could see them. Then she set up a wooden table outside and spread fresh tomatoes, peppers, onions, and spring onions across it.
By the doorway, she hung small sachets of milk, Milo, Maggi, detergent, and even a few umbrellas to make the shop look lively and full. The pure water, however, she stacked neatly in the fridge to keep it cold for customers.
On the counter, she placed black plastic containers filled with sweets and chewing gum, covering them to keep out dust. The biscuits, on the other hand, were lined up neatly on the shelf in their colorful wrappers. Finally, she arranged the snacks inside the show glass — meat pies, fish rolls, egg rolls, buns, chin-chin, and doughnuts — all neatly displayed behind the clear glass, ready to tempt anyone who walked in.
When everything was in place, she sat quietly in the shop, waiting for customers. But her mind drifted back to the past. She remembered how life used to be when she was a year younger.
Her memory took her to the day her younger brother James celebrated his birthday. They had played so hard together. Their parents had promised to take him out to celebrate, and she had wanted to go with them. But because her grandmother was very sick, her parents had asked her to stay home and care for her. She had agreed to help her grandmother with water, food, and anything else she needed. So, her father, mother, and James went out for the outing.
That was the last time she ever saw them.
Later that evening, she kept waiting, but they didn’t return. Even the next day, she and her grandmother were worried. She begged the neighbors to call her parents, but whenever they dialed the number, it was switched off.
By the following afternoon, her worry turned to fear. At around 12 p.m., her uncle, Mr. Olajide, arrived. He spoke softly in Yoruba with her grandmother. Before long, Cynthia noticed her grandmother burst into tears. Confused, she asked what was wrong, but they both shook their heads.
“Don’t let her know yet,” her uncle whispered in Yoruba to his mother.
Little did they know that Cynthia understood Yoruba very well. Immediately, her heart sank. She turned to her uncle and asked directly:
“Uncle, why is Grandma crying? You came and spoke to her, and now she’s weeping. Where are my dad, my mom, and James? I miss them. Please, tell me the truth.”
Her uncle pulled her close into his arms, stroking her hair gently.
“Cynthia, your parents are fine. They only had a minor accident,” he said, trying to soothe her and hide the truth.
“Okay then, Uncle. Can you take me to the hospital to see them?” Cynthia, the smart 12-year-old, asked boldly.
Her uncle froze, shocked at her intelligence and persistence. He grew silent, shaking his head with pity as tears filled his eyes.
“Uncle… are you crying too?” she asked, staring at him.
By then, her grandmother’s wailing grew louder despite her sickness. Cynthia could no longer be deceived. She broke down in tears.
“Uncle, you’re hiding something from me. You forgot I understand Yoruba. You told Grandma that somebody died. Since you won’t take me to the hospital, it means my parents and James are gone!” she cried bitterly.
Her small body trembled as sobs shook her. Her uncle struggled to suppress his own grief to comfort her, but her pain was too much to control. Soon, neighbors gathered. When they learned that Mr. and Mrs. Harrison and their little boy had died in a ghastly motor accident, they wept openly. People came with condolences, and some bought food for the grieving family.
But Cynthia and her grandmother could not eat. Her heart was too heavy. She barely swallowed two spoons of food, and only because her uncle scolded her.
“Cynthia, you need strength. If you refuse to eat, you will die too — and that is not what I want for you,” he pleaded, first with anger, then with tender words.
But Cynthia cried out: “I want to die too! I want to join them!”
Exhausted from grief, she finally cried herself to sleep.
The next day, her uncle took her and her grandmother to live in his house. After the burial and all the arrangements, Cynthia stayed there permanently. Though her uncle truly loved her, his wife slowly poisoned his heart with bitterness. That was the beginning of Cynthia’s suffering.
Now, a year later, as she remembered all that happened, she burst into tears again inside the shop. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and weakness made her body heavy. She had been instructed not to eat anything before opening the shop. As she cried, she didn’t realize a customer was standing at the door, knocking and calling out.
She sat like a statue, lost in thought, not hearing or seeing anything.
“Lord, why did you take my parents away?” she whispered painfully. “I am only 13, yet I struggle like this. My uncle and aunt don’t care for me as my parents did. Even their son is terribly wicked to me.”
The customer waited for a while, unsure whether to console her or leave. Finally, he walked away, leaving her alone in her grief.
By 4 p.m., her hunger and weakness grew unbearable. She laid her head on the wooden table inside the shop and drifted into sleep.
Some time later, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Startled, she sat up quickly — only to see her cousin, Greatness, smiling kindly at her. Cynthia sighed in relief.
“Cynthia,” Greatness whispered with concern, her eyes soft. “You look so weak. When I came in, you were already asleep. It’s not good to sleep like this in the shop — someone could just come in and steal. But I know you’re tired.”
Greatness opened her bag carefully, her movements quick and secretive, as though she feared being caught. She removed two loaves of bread from her bag and placed them on the counter. Then she went to the fridge, opened it, and carried a chilled yogurt and a sachet of pure water. She also picked a pack of shortbread biscuit from the shelf and slid the money across the counter to pay for everything.
“Here, my dear… please eat this,” she said gently, almost like a mother. “You’ve suffered enough. Don’t let hunger finish you.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened, tears spilling again. She held the food to her chest before looking up at her cousin.
“Greatness… what would I have done without you? I was so hungry I couldn’t even lift my head. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Greatness leaned closer, holding Cynthia’s hand firmly. “We are cousins, yes… but more than that, you’re my sister. I don’t like what Mommy, Daddy, and Eric do to you. I see everything. I wish I could change it all… but at least, I can help you like this. You’re not alone, Cynthia. Don’t ever think you’re alone.”
Her words sank deep into Cynthia’s trembling heart.
“Go inside that small room,” Greatness urged softly, glancing at the door. “Eat there quickly, before Mommy comes. She said she might stop by. Please don’t let her catch you, or both of us will be in trouble.”
Cynthia obeyed, clutching the food like a treasure. Inside the little room, hidden away, she ate slowly with grateful tears, while Greatness stayed outside to attend to customers — guarding her in secret.
When she was done, Greatness hurried home before her mother suspected anything. She advised Cynthia to pretend she was still hungry so no one would know she had already eaten. Cynthia followed her advice. Though she acted like she would faint from hunger, in reality, her belly was filled with what Greatness had secretly given her.
As customers came and bought items, Cynthia attended to them. During quiet moments, she picked up her book to read, but her mind was too troubled. Pain and sorrow clouded her thoughts, making it hard to understand anything. She also remembered she was supposed to take a test that day but had missed it.
While she was reading, she suddenly sensed a presence in the shop. Looking up, she froze — her aunt was standing at the door, glaring at her with fury.
Cynthia’s heart skipped a beat.
To be continued..
Inspired by the Great Teacher.
Do not copy or edit any part of the story without the author’s consent.
Stay blessed until we meet again in the next episode.
Written by Francis Mary Solomon.