One quiet and peaceful evening, I saw a stranger strolling up my grandmother's house which I had lived in for a donkey's years. The plump stranger's face was covered with pimples. the eyes looked hooded in the shadow of the trees. As she opened her mouth, I saw the whiteness of her teeth.

Then I felt a sudden chill rushing down my spine because I knew her reason for coming. As she entered the house, she walked towards my grandmother who was busy preparing dinner. They talked and for the first time, I heard her rough voice. A few moments later, I saw the stranger walking towards me. This time, the stranger was holding something in one of her hands; something which terrified most children of my age. It was a cane.

I scampered to one corner of the room waiting in fear for the cane to strike me. As expected, I was hit and I let out a scream but she continued to hit me hard on my buttocks. The stranger finally stopped hitting me and walked out of the room, leaving me behind crying without uttering a single word.

Although she caned me, she is a kind, friendly soul. She sometimes buys food for me because she is my mother. She has left me and my two brothers in the care of my elderly grandmother and comes to see us only a few times a year.