In the second part of her ‘typical world problems’ series, Dina Toki-o writes on #thirdworldproblems issues, which serves as a reminder for many of us: count our blessings.
We live in a twelfth-floor two-bedroom apartment in a block of flats on a busy main road. The lifts don’t work. They never have, as far back as I can remember. I would complain, but at least I get a good 30 minutes of cardio into my daily routine! My brother can hardly leave the house as my father and uncles are working. We need them to carry him out, and of course back up.
We’ve been trying to move to a more suitable flat for a while now. Maybe somewhere in a nice area, closer to my father’s workplace. But we can’t afford it. My father is an engineer. The pay is okay, equivalent to about 75 pounds. But he hasn’t been paid for the last month; the owner seems to have disappeared. We are in heaps and mounds of debt, because of my brother’s medical treatment. So right now, there’s no option but to stick it out and look on the brighter side of things. At least we have a dynamic view of sand-swept traffic every morning!
In the evening, the lights are dreamy and hypnotic, minus the migraines we all get from the stupid amount of necessary warning honks and screeching tyres, random street weddings, and shouts of arguing from busybody men hanging around the streets like they have something to do. The same men that happen to be my best friends’ fathers, the ones that leer at me every time I might have the unfortunate encounter of walking past them.
Sometimes I think that my family or I might not have it so good, but there’s always someone worse off
I love standing out on the balcony on most evenings when I’ve done all the housework. My mother suffers from severe arthritis, so most of the cleaning and cooking is up to me. Every day, I leave the flat to get to my university, located almost an hour and a half away, using public transport. But I love to learn so I’ll always get there. Onto the main road, I trudge past the rubbish piles, flies buzzing under my nose, me swatting away at them. I pass all the open-air cafes they have here on the edge of pavements, forcing me out onto the road, unless I want to walk amidst 20-something to middle-aged men, interrupting their morning coffee-swigging with my somewhat ‘attractive’ long outfit that sweeps the floor clean as I walk pass.
I arrive at my bus stop, and I dread this part of my day, every day. The buses are always jam-packed and I’ll never find a seat. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d take it. The thought of being surrounded and almost trapped is not one I’d like as a reality. Being groped by men attempting to get off the bus, or by their ‘moving’ hands that grab onto the handles, I try not to get into these situations as much as possible. Once, I screamed out for them to STOP. But I was only accused of lying or causing troubles. When your only option is public transport, it can be hard to avoid these situations. Wealthy people employ drivers here. We’re yet to afford a driver, let alone a car.
I spend my day with my classmates through lectures and taking notes. There’s so much to study before our exams; it’s unbelievable. Hopefully my hard work will pay off, and then I’ll be able to afford a car for us.
On the way home, I decide to get on the train instead of the sweaty buses. The queues are huge for the women’s section. Almost triple the length of the men’s section. I’d much rather wait than be ‘trapped’ again like on the buses!
I get off and start the final leg of my journey back home on foot. Along the way, there’s a motorbike in the middle of the road, with a man a few metres away. A car halts to a stop opposite with a few people surrounding the scene. The man had landed on his legs; they’d been pulled from underneath him, behind his hips. He is howling in pain. This turns out to be another fatal accident.
I pass by, trying not to look. A few metres ahead, there’s a little boy sleeping on the pavement, wearing nothing but a ripped tee shirt. I wake him up and offer him the leftovers from my lunch.
It’s not much, but he’s happy for it. It really gets me thinking when I see a child living like this. Sometimes I think that my family or I might not have it so good, but there’s always someone worse off.
I might want more in life. I might wish for a bigger house, a car, for more money. But in reality, I’m thankful for what we do have. Our family is together, we have a roof over our heads, we can eat every day. I can study, I have friends and my family is happy.
What more do we really need?
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