The Eldest

I was cautiously walking down the bazaar street. The night market was buzzing into action. Neon lights flooded one by one, as the electricity crackled in the small shop fronts, all crowded with men and women in  after-office attire. 

The noise was deafening as they brawled away on bargains and chatted away the essence of their day. 

A couple of officers in uniforms patrolled the area with their batons in hand, eyeing the suspicious out of the corners of their eyes. I felt sweat trickle down my back and all my nerves gather in a full union. 

Elections were getting closer now and the street was littered with the posters and pamphlets strewn everywhere. This very evening, every party and color was just another face on a piece of paper being trampled on by the people who had their lives to go on with. 

This was my life now. 

I stopped at the small tea spot for a hot plain tea and a snack to munch on. The small black box was switched on above the shop owner and 7pm news blasting in the highest volume. 

I sipped on the silver tumbler as I watched.

Home. The reporter was talking about back home. I straightened up on the stool. 

I watched as if a child was watching it for the first time. It was my village and the reporter bringing on the problems of elephant on agricultural lands. 

I run down my memory lane. When I was a kid, I used to go to the fields with my father. A pitcher and a padding of food in hand, on to the tree hut to spend the nights. My father used to bring crackers with him for emergencies. And we both climbed the tree hut after dusk and as I watched my father would start singing to frighten any intruding animals so as to protect the cultivation. It was our life. Everyday after school this was my evening routine unless occasionally I was allowed home. My father prided himself as a farmer, a hero in my heart…when one day he was no more. His life was taken away by an elephant who went to be merciless. No one to blame but we lost our lives. I was just in high school and we were helpless with no income. So I quit. 

My mother couldn’t take up work anymore and had three kids along with my grandmother to look after. 

As the eldest it was my job. 

And that is how I was sitting in the city bazaar street right now. I came away with a little pocket money in search of a job. I have been jumping from job to job due to lack of experience and qualifications. 

No one expected much from a high school dropout. Every week I sent home all the money I earned, keeping just a little to survive. 

It was never enough. But there were 4 at home who solely depended on me for their life. I have had a long day unloading lorries downtown from the bazaar. The night market came with the early morning loads in a few more hours. Until then it was me. I had met a couple of friends a few months after I came here, who lived in the same area as mine, in the tinned shackles of the suburbs. All had a story like mine. They introduced me into their business. It was far more a crime than business, about which I was too late to know and understand. 

They would give me a small brown paper parcel, that I would dress up smart and carry in a small black working style pouch to the location they would tell me. And I was to wait for a pickup. This was new to me and I earned a reasonable cut out of it, so I continued being a part of the job. We would finish the days work and then party late at night in the end of the shackles street singing and dancing wildly in the air. But never did I know what I was dealing. 

When suddenly one day, I was going on with my cue, I felt being followed. Two civil men following me for quite a time as I circled and re-circled as usual to hide my tracks as instructed. I kept onto the side alley and when I emerged at my spot after some time, I could see them no more. A lock of a pistol on the back of my head left me a paralyzed. They dragged me down the side alley and pushed me to the ground. And that was how I ended up behind bars. I was in for fifteen days and then released on probation. Those were the worst days of my life. I cried all nights remembering what my parents would think of me and how they brought me up to be a good man. I never knew what I was doing, because I didn’t want to. I was ignorant that I was dealing drugs for one of the low dune cartels. 

I was released on probation on strict orders for corrected behavior as I was underage. I could have ended far worse. 

This was my cue. 

I was hopeless that I was shattered with my ignorance. I couldn’t face my mother, I couldn’t go home. I had brought up a scar. I just needed money from any source and that was where I went wrong. Nothing was perfect, but I shook hands with the evil, unknowing the consequences I will have to face in a fairly short time after the thrill of dirty partying. Life taught me my lesson. I just couldn't face family right now. I needed a good proper job, even if it ached all my muscle and sucked all my life with it. 'Do the right thing always my son' were my mother's words the day I left home.

So, I worked hard day and night decently and ended up as a load carrier for a permanent contract under a businessman. 

I was learning the trade alongside. I sent my weekly earnings as usual, this time happier about myself. As the eldest, I should look after my family. Who else would?

I could feel tears down my cheeks as I continued to watch the television in silence blurred out of everything that happened around me. 

The night market was in full swing. I gulped the last of the now cold plain tea. I rambled my pocket for change and places it on the counter. Waved the owner who now knew me and slowly walked down the bazaar street in time to start back my night shift at 8pm.