Okurut Wyclef
“You finally visited?” Baba said.
Omar and Leo had left for the square, and the children who had stayed were happy to see Jesse.
“I need to make sure my siblings have a taste of what is good,” Jesse said.
“Not when the ‘good’ was acquired in deceit,” Baba replied.
“It was a concert, Baba,” Jesse pleaded. “It hurts when you think the worst of me.”
“You leave me no choice.”
“There is a lot to eat in these places, and a lot of the food is barely touched.”
“Yet you pay an exorbitant price to go to these concerts.”
“The price I pay to enter these places is a small tax compared to what I’m able to get for my siblings.”
“Worrying about you will kill me.”
“Baba,” Jesse pleaded, “You’ve been everything to me, my father, teacher, guardian, and friend.”
“Yet you still don’t listen to me.”
“It’s not like that. You’ve given me such confidence that even when I’m with these learned people, I can speak in places where they speak because you gave me the knowledge and confidence.”
“What else are you looking for?” Baba asked.
“I need to break through, or else the life we’ve lived will be my life.”
The children sat in the house as Baba and Jesse stood outside. The children were having everything that Jesse had brought them: soda bottles, many of them half full, half-eaten pizza, unopened water bottles, deformed cake with leaking icing sugar, cold hard chips, and other items the children struggled to understand or pronounce. It only mattered that they were edible.
Even with their gluttonous nature when they ate exotic food, they didn’t need a lot to fill their small stomachs. They left a lot to Leo and Omar.
“I’ve seen the house, and I can only imagine how rough the night was for the children,” Jesse said somberly.
He continued, “I know a group of boys who can help us build a stronger structure. It won’t be anything fancy, but I would sleep easy if I know that the children are not disturbed when it rains at night.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Baba said dismissively.
“Why?” Jesse asked.
“What are you going to pay them?” Baba retorted. “Money from the drunkards you fleece at the bars?”
“I do what I have to do to get by, and you’re going to have to make peace with it. Those drunkards don’t even get to remember what happened to them the next morning.”
“Oh! And that is supposed to make it okay.”
“Please set your pride and morals aside for once and consider the well-being of the children.”
“Get out of my face!” Baba barked. He was livid.
Jesse felt guilty for what he had said, but he stood firm and stared at Baba, hoping he would see the merit in his point. But it was too late.
“Get out of my face!” Baba barked with rare vitriol the second time.
…
Baba’s Children
by Okurut Wyclef
A powerful novella about a fallen man, the street children he gathers as his own, and the impossible choices that love demands.
Available now as an ebook.
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Okurut Wyclef, the dynamic Ugandan writer born in 1996, crafts captivating stories that blend African heritage with modern dreams.
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