Volantina

The stone mason 's paradise, the highest achievement a farmer's lad could hope to accomplish i.e living in the city ; The pride of a peasant's daughter to be married to a man who resides in the city. Well there are two schools of thought about that afore we reach a sequitur, to the city immigrants, city living is the next thing to a paradise but it's a pandemonium to the City natives, The automobiles are a wonder and the skyscrapers are a tourist attraction to the reservoir relocatee whereas it makes no matter to a native born all the same, for these were once the catalysts of fatal tragedies.

My parents named me Clementus, the year of my relocation to the city was 1874; like most peasants pauperism was our constant prevailing state and impoverishment was our importunate, obstinate companion, the compellation and the consternation were rather excruciating. The pull factors were too good to be true, "a land flowing with milk and honey", "the place of endless possibilities" ..the annual visits from our village brothers and sisters and the gifts they brought for Christmas were the greatest of the pull factors .. even the city name "Volantina" was music to the ears, I went in search of wealth, prosperity, fame ? Or did I? Nay I was like a gladiator in a Roman Arena seeking to vanquish poverty and extinguish pauperism, in search of greener pastures did I go but did I get that ? One can only wonder .......

On the fourteenth day of the pilgrimage the immortal city loomed large, yes it took a fortnight of hunger and thirst on most days to reach the beautiful city but did it matter? All my troubles would be over the moment I stepped in through the city gates, but did they? . It took a few days to adapt to my new life, save for the sole improvement that is of taking my impoverishment with me into the city, almost every thing else remained the same My first abode was a glass stained windowed jewellery shop and my only property the few rags that fit into my bag, it would have been warmer at night if I slept inside the shop but I had no place to go so I was content to feast on the hope of better days ahead and my blanket was the dream of owning mine own house in the future ....people referred to me as a street kid, to my astonishment since I wasn't born by the street, I was a young boy of thirteen seeking for greener pastures, my sight was loathsome to the seemingly superstitious city folk that made my job quest even harder. ...as I was always chased away before I made my request known, I made my conclusion as I perused through the contents of the restaurant waste disposal these people are "mean, greedy, stingy, devilish, satanic................demonic" this I muttered whilst feasting on what they had left for me with countless other boys who shared my apartments with me(the streets). I was prone to dream of the nobility of desertation to the unimaginable decertation due to the degradation and the inevitable disintegration, Mutiny was my only choice here this place was only a paradise from a distance but it was just another purgatory from within. "Mutiny was beckoning on the horizon " my mind was made on quitting the city life it would seem.

As I highlighted earlier it all depends on your stand point, Your breakthrough is affected by your back ground as your posterity will be affected by your prosperity, milk and honey were there in abundance but they weren't for everyone, food outlets infested the area but the food was for the city folk and those who would renounce their village ways and accept the city way wardness, there were classes here it would seem, the rich (those that do the feasting) the reapers (those who cover the expenses of the elite class) , the reavers (the hungry looters) and the rapists ( the murderous thieves) . Cursing and swearing was the street language, but there were those who were clad in formal regalia and drove automobiles, they were seemingly not gifted with a tongue save when barking orders. They lived in mansions it was said, they also had a notoriety for immorality, sophisticated thieving, for they stole using a mere pen and paper.

My intergration ceremony commenced on the third year of my criss-crossing the streets with no particular destination in mind. I was used to the state of hunger, rejection and dejection . A Mr Viola from the nearby village of Volantis offered to take me in, he owned a farm and he sold his produce to the city folk, I was soon working as an assistant to the driver but not before my valour and gallantry could be tried and tasted under the close scrutiny of Boss Wakefield, this process took a good six months of tireless working, the rapid ascension was made possible by my sticking to the cultured way even in company of notorious youths...who earned to err therewith with wages so hardly acquired, honesty, punctuality and integrity won me my master's heart but enmity also ensured from my work mates....my job was to help the driver to sell the produce and help in chasing away my former brothers (street kids) lest they steal, though for one who knew that being a street kid was no synonym of criminal I was lenient toward them....

The City living is two faced, poverty and prosperity walked hand in hand in the streets, pedestrians and prolific motor cades flood the street alike, as the first sun ray makes its presence visible, men and women flood the city from the high density suburbs and low density suburbs alike, the urban life is a stranger to inheritance and predestination alike, poverty or bankruptcy as it is called in the city comes crashing into one's utopia and eventually disintegration to poverty is inevitable, a few exceptional individuals challenge the status quo with their dangerous exploits, to lead the city into new spheres of living both good and bad ....it's not really a question of which city ? But who you are, what you do, your character, your aspirations, your goals and your faith....is there really milk and honey or its horrific poverty courted with milk and honey ? One can only wonder.