The Boy Who Couldn’t Read: The Origin of My Fiction Journey

 

Three different image of Douye Soroh in his office.

Douye Soroh: The Journey of a Storyteller

While growing up in a very underdeveloped slum in a city called Port Harcourt in the southern part of Nigeria, I was one of the dullest students in my class. To those who aren't aware about Port Harcourt, it is one of the richest states in Nigeria, and it has numerous oil wells, but the citizens of the city were the poorest; only a few elite people sit on that wealth. While growing up in the port of Port Harcourt, a place called Nigeria Port Authority (NPA), it was a bitter-sweet memory. As I reflect on my life journey right now, I have tears in my eyes; it is not tears of joy, it is not tears of sadness, it is just that melancholic mode and a nostalgic feeling that I only experience anytime I think of my childhood.

I'm writing part of my life story here, so my esteemed and valuable readers could know who I am and what motivates me. I want my readers to understand me not just from what I put on my bio; I want them to know who Douye Soroh is. I want my readers to know the real me and what drives me to start a fiction blog.

Like I said, growing up wasn't an easy ride in that slum of Port Harcourt. I have always been a good kid and I obey my elders to a fault; I respect people a lot and I do whatever task I was given. When I was nine years old, my parents divorced and to this day, I have no idea what caused them to separate. Till date, they have not sat down and said "this happened because of this or that." They have been enemies for years and they hate each other till date. It hurt me seeing how a once robust relationship would turn into a crack that can never be mended.

So after they divorced, my life changed. I started living the life of an adult; I started a hawking business where I load stuff on my head and take it around the street to sell. My parents have four kids and when they separated they made an agreement to collect two kids each, but due to circumstances it never happened and my dad was the one who took care of us. Mind you, my mom was still playing a key role in our lives, but she couldn't be there; as a health worker, she is always on the move from one location to another. She is one of the best and the government wouldn't let her be; they keep transferring her from one remote location to another, but that never deterred her from sending her love and support.

At age twelve I wasn't even able to write or read; it was the hardest thing in my life. My dad bought a load of storybooks for me and my sister, but all I could do was just to look at the pictures. It was a frustrating thing for him, but he tried his best and enrolled me for a lesson so I could be able to read and write. But I will never lie, all his effort proved abortive. People always asked him to give me some time and that things would fall into place; they told him all hope was not lost, but my dad is not a patient man. He has that belief that if he wants something, he should get it that moment.

At age thirteen, I had an ear infection and due to the poor condition of the clinic and no other alternative in that slum on a poor civil servant salary back then, I could only get consultation from an ENT, but not the actual treatment. They just poked and prodded and never did a good job and to this day I end up with hearing difficulty.

My breakthrough for reading came about from my crush then; her name was Thelma. I wrote a story about her titled THE SCENTED NOTE had a crush on her and unknown to me, she also had that crush on me. It got exposed when a teacher asked us to write a letter to those we care about in our class. I couldn't write, neither could I read. I was shaking all over not knowing what to do; I held the pen over the plain sheet of paper. I had the words in my heart but I couldn't put them on a paper. I was even thinking of peeking from my seatmate who knows about my lack of reading and writing, but she covered her book—and then the magic happened.

Thelma gave me a note shyly and asked me to give it to someone to read it for me, not in school but at home. My world burst; I was on cloud nine. I couldn't wait to reach home and when I got home, my brother was the one who read that letter (and he had to take a bribe from me!). After that, it motivated me to put in more work and I started grasping some terms. The day I was able to spell the word "ENOUGH," I shed a tear. It was a magic I just couldn't comprehend. It was a word that said enough of your dullness; it was a word that said enough of this mentality. It drove me hard; it pushed me to the brink because that word just broke the chain that bound my brain. It unchained me and I never looked back. I started buying books; I could not even understand how I could spend $900 out of $1000 on books. I never ever thought about any other thing than to read a book, but sadly, before I could show Thelma my expertise, we had to relocate.

My Roots and My Writing Journey

Back then in that slum, there were all manner of people, and at age nine kids were being recruited into gangs. I was approached and threatened, but I never for once even considered it; I never for once even thought of that kind of life. While I couldn’t read and write, I spent time playing around. There was some stuff we kids did and I wasn't proud of it, but it was not something I could say was "bad"—I had to laugh here, sorry! Well, it was bad for an African kid to sample a cigarette at that age; it was bad for an African kid to take a peek at an adult who was taking her bath. Yes, I did some stuff, but I guess I can only say it was peer pressure or just accepting a daring challenge. But no, I guess it is still a bad thing.

I remember how I was ambushed by other kids. According to them, I behaved as if I’m better than them. They thought I was too good because I refused to join their gang. While they caused trouble, I was busy on my hawking; while they became violent, I was busy trying to learn how to read and write. It was a sad thing growing up in an environment where parents don’t care about what their kids become. I was lucky I had good parents. My mom and dad were both health workers and they focused more on our education. My dad is a very strict man and he disciplined us in the African way. I can say I’m happy he pushed us in the right direction because his strictness shaped us into very good people.

My Regret

The only thing I regret back then wasn't showing Thelma that I could read. It was a big blow to me. I pushed myself due to her motivation and at the end, we had to relocate when my dad was also transferred. We had to leave Port Harcourt for Bayelsa State, also in the southern part of Nigeria—another oil-rich state but swimming in poverty and underdevelopment. I’m not afraid to say my honest truth about myself, and I will be glad to answer any questions my readers would like to know about me. I also put part of my life experience in THE ROUTE THROUGH THE PINK SUN and THE LAST DAY THAT BRING CURSE. Some of my writing has real-life experience! 🤣

How My Writing Journey Started

I love reading and I couldn't end a day without reading a book; it has stuck to me ever like that till date. Reading is like a drug to me. Reading a good book is like I have entered Heaven and met Angel Gabriel. I love reading, and as I started digging into more books, I started getting the idea of writing a book of my own. But to be honest, I found out reading a book and writing a book are two different things. I have a book ongoing which I hope to publish this year, but I will not lie: I’m not sure about it because I haven’t seen that deep motivation yet that would make me finish it.

So, my writing journey started after I read THE QUEEN'S BLADE by T.C. Southwell. I love her books, and by the time I read DEMON LORD also by her, I just couldn't hold back myself. I wrote a few chapters of my life titled HOW SHE SPOILED HIM YOUNG. That book is sitting on my desk and I’m afraid to publish it because it has some stuff that I’m not sure the public will like. Given that the person or people are still around, I guess it is hard to bare your deep fear and the "behind the scenes" that happened in your life as you grew up that your parents aren't aware of.

So instead, I chose to start a blog where I can publish my short stories and twist part of my real-life experience into them. I just can’t go all out and blazing like Donald Trump! 🤣 I need to be subtle and put it in inch by inch.

There are tons of authors who have motivated me, and I just couldn't comprehend, but my greatest thank you will always go to Thelma. Her letter pushed me and it drove that ambition in me.

I will bare it all very soon. As time goes, so will my story and journey be out. Thank you, my dear readers. I will be better this year.

What do you think of my story? I will be grateful for a share and a comment.