Her Story, VIII by @SkuSskus

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s true story was sent in by one of our readers @SkuSskus

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile


My name is Mojisola

This is my story and I hope someone finds a lifeline in this:

I feel very uncomfortable, maybe I should go to bed.

I’m going to bed” …  “Make sure you lock the windows” mom says as she leaves the sitting room for her bedroom.

I adjust on my favorite sofa in the house.  I feel the pains in my bones, my lower back hurts. “Relax” I tell myself. I drag myself to my room, locking the windows as mommy instructed.

My favorite followers are online, I try to tweet away this familiar pain. This is one of the several I’ve experienced. The least pain, infact. I never get notifications but I abide by all the rules: “Never expose yourself to cold or heat, drink lots of water, use your routine drugs…” … The list is endless.

I deserve to live a normal life, I deserve not to live by any set of rules, just like any other person. I deserve live without the extreme caution. We all will die someday anyway so sometimes I throw caution to the wind and it’s no boomerang. Whenever I become cautious, things go wrong.

I’m having a crisis. My blood cells are clogged up. I feel pain all over, words can’t describe the pain my tiny body is going through now. PAIN? That’s what I endure because I am a sickle-cell patient. PAIN. I’m used to it already so I bear it. It’s my cross and I have carried it for 24 years.

It’s almost an hour since this started. I hate to do this but I pick up my phone to call my mum, I just need her beside me, now. Maybe I’ll feel better. I can’t feel my fingers, “You do not have sufficient credit to make this call” my network provider tells me . I hurt badly. I need her beside me. I need to tap out of my superwoman’s strength. I can’t move.

“If you have credit, please call 080xxxxxxxx. Tell her you’re my friend and that she should come to my room. I’m in so much pain” I tweet. I shouldn’t have but I did it anyway. I need my superwoman!

“You’ll die young, your parents are going to sign your death certificate” Kunle’s voice rings in my head. Kunle said that to me in secondary school. Maybe now is that time.

I open my eyes, I’m in the hospital. Mum tells me that’s the 5th drip. She holds my hand tenderly and smiles. “You’re a strong young woman and I’m proud of you” she says.

I smile back at her, but deep down lies the pain, fear and uncertainty of my next bout of pain.

I hide it all, beneath my smile.

• • •


N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’His Story, V’ by an Anonymous writer.

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

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