I became an orphan at the age of seven when my mum died. My dad had passed on earlier. So when my mum died, all the adults around me were unsure of my future. Even at that age, the hopelessness of the situation was obvious to me and quite scary.
Eventually, one of my dad’s distant relatives, Aunty Rose, stepped up and took me as her responsibility. To be honest, I envisaged a miserable life for myself, but having no other option, I surrendered to my fate. I had seen movies where orphans suffered at the hands of bad aunts. I assumed this would be my lot. But as the days turned to weeks and weeks became months, I realised my aunt was different.
Not once did she or her husband lay a finger on me throughout the time I lived with them. Her family accepted me wholeheartedly. She forbade her children from being mean to me. The woman was strict to the point of beating them when they tried to be mean.
She always said, ‘Sophia is my last child’, and I saw it in her actions. I visited her once as an adult and greeted her as ‘Aunty Rose’, but she said it was about time I called her ‘Mum’. I couldn’t agree more because, truly, she had earned it.