At age 10 my parents died in a freak accident, the usual story of a drunk driver and an innocent family.

My parents were millionaires, I was not brought up in Lagos, but in England. I had the best education, plenty of friends and love from my parents. My parents and I were on a holiday in Lagos for summer, we were driving out of the airport when the accident occurred.

"So Zara what do you want to do for your 11th birthday?" my mother asked.

I was going to turn 11 on  August 11th, my mother was constantly bringing it up, asking me what I wanted to do and what I wanted for my birthday. It was quiet tiring, but it was better than she not any showing care. I had friends who's parents never noticed them, missed countless of birthdays and thought their presence will be known by the presents they drop. Even though my dad was a busy doctor and my mum the head accountant to a big multinational company, they still made time for me. Watching my friends go through the pain of losing a parents attention, I began to see and appreciate what I truly had.    

I stared at my mum for a moment as she turned to face me, taking in her long hair and sharp jaw. My mum was Betty, her Ethiopian blood giving her natural big eyes and dark flawless skin. My father sad that the moment he laid eyes on her, he fell in love with her dark and sharp beauty. He always that her eyes were the key to innocence and love. I fell in love with their story and hoped that one day someone will love me for who I am.     

"Nothing ma." I responded back with a sigh wave of the hand.

Turning eleven was not a big event of your life, I wanted a small party with only my two best friends, Gracie and Becky, and my parents. But my mum wanted something extravagant and loud, my parents had money and  were wiling to spend as much to make me happy.      

"Zara dear please tell me that you are joking, any child your age would want something big and well big, for their birthday. Tell me God, why did you give me such a boring child? wahhhhwahhhh, wahhhhhhh, wahhhhhhhhhhhh."    

my mum was always playful and full of fun, trying her best to make others laugh. She said that it was her technique of gaining friends and  making others fee comfortable around her. I laughed at her horrible attempt to make me change my mind. I wanted simple and she wanted wild, shows how or characters contrast.

I let the conversation drop, and my parents and I soaked in the comfortable silence of the car. I looked out through the window, the darkness of Lagos was both aesthetic and scary. I had never been to Lagos,  so seeing the night markets with the makeshift candles and rough strip clubs, with the wild men and the colorful prostitutes, was strangely artistic and beautiful.

We stopped at a red light, green, time to go. It happened fast and horrifying, I saw the trailer at my right side, coming right to us. My mum turned mouthing  to me 'I love you'. My father did the same. Time stopped but at the same time was fast.   

Before I knew it I felt the impact and everything went back.        

From that day I taught myself how to feel nothing. It was a good technique for helping me not feel pain over my parents death. I can never forget them, they were warm and full of love. They held me close and never left me alone. My mother would spend hours talking to me about life and love.

My father would take me to trips into the world of history and art. I was living then, thinking, breathing and smiling. But now I'm living in the abyss of death and fear, fear that anyone I love will leave me. 

   The first moment I stepped into the orphanage the orphans looked at me in shock, it most have been my British accent or the fact that what I wore could have paid for their education for five years.

  Living in the orphanage for 7 years was not easy, they treated me like shit because they thought I was better than them. Living in an orphanage did not give me the same opportunities as any normal child in Lagos. I had no access to proper education, happiness and life.

We fought for: food, water, clothes and love. Every morning I will walk three blocks to the public tap to fetch water to bath. I was the youngest in the house, so I  will do this 10 times for 5 other people. I was never happy, I worked constantly as punishment for the fact that I had a British accent and my parents were well off before they died.

They called me proud and a spoiltbrat, making me cook for everyone, not allowing me to go to school and never letting me see the light of love. I can say that till now I'm sad and weak. Weak because I let them control me and sad because I had no choice, for I could have been thrown out of the orphanage at any time I made a mistake.

I was alone and tired, I was thwarted constantly and not given the basic needs of a child. No education, no friends, no love and no happiness. My life the moment my parents died was emptiness and darkness.