Ezeh, Chioma lives in Emene, Enugu. TYWA stories may be slightly edited for grammatical accuracy and to better serve TGF readers. The originality of the story is 100% intact. - TYWA 2025
He was a young lad, probably seven years old. He looked malnourished—bearing a striking resemblance to the haunting images of children from the Biafran war era. His legs were painfully skinny, and his skin, though dark, had taken on a pale, whitish hue—the kind of dryness harmattan gave my own skin, no matter how much oil I applied. It was as if harmattan itself was his birthright, the only force active within him. I didn’t know his name, so I simply called him “Boy.”
Anyone could tell when Boy was nearby. He carried with him an unmistakable stench of decay, like the dead rat I had discovered in the hostel a few weeks earlier. His odor was a murderer, a destroyer of peace, and I couldn’t help but wonder why a young child would smell that way. Boy’s head was nearly bald, save for a few stubborn strands clinging to his scalp. And if you looked closely, you would notice four large, swollen ringworms comfortably settled among the sparse patches of hair.
One thing was certain: every ten seconds, Boy would suddenly spring up—as though stung by an angry bee—and plunge his hands into his shorts, scratching his groin area with a kind of desperate, almost desirable violence. He would let out a moan of relief, a drawn-out “Ahh!” that told anyone watching just how much solace he found in scratching. When I asked him one day why he scratched so much, he cried out in his native tongue, “Aunty, ihe m na akọ m’ụkọ!” before struggling to translate it into English: “My pim-pim is growing pimples, it's scratching me!” I stood there, frozen and speechless. It was obvious: Boy’s endless scratching was the cry of a body trapped in dirt and neglect.
“Mama”—meaning mother—“I think Boy has an infection!” I blurted. Speaking to her would later become one of the worst decisions I ever made.
Today, I saw Boy again outside the hostel, dressed in an oversized white checked shirt and blue shorts—probably his school uniform. It was barely 6:30 a.m., yet there he was, already carrying a bucket of abacha mmiri—what the English might call cassava flakes. Whether his infection had been treated, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that no one seemed to care for him. Boy was only a child, yet life had already forgotten him.
This is a powerful and deeply moving piece.
This writer captured my whole being! I can sense boy all around me!
Omo! Writers choke
They choke! Thank you!✨
Good evening. I’m Emmanuel Excellent Feyisetan, I wrote Hadiza you can check it out (if you want). I’m also a contestant.
I’ve read almost all the other stories on this contest and this one really caught my attention.
its a great work you showed a lot with just few words. its perfect. Rooting for you.
Getting this compliment from a fellow contestant is nothing but amazing. Thank you souch for reading through my story. I appreciate it.
The webs of this story wrapped me completely. As I neared it’s end I desired more. Lovely. I like it.
Thank you, I really appreciate it!✨
The girl is good with the ink. Well-done!
Oh my! I can’t believe my story made it here!
Nice
Very interesting
Keep it on baby girl
Finally!!
Splendid
Feels so real.
So much in touch with reality
Skill and mastery carefully blended to pass across a story, a message and a Food for thought In a limited number of Words
This is my Winner
Oh my! Kaii! Adim speechless… Thank you!✨
Touching and emotional.
Thank you so much, Ade!✨
Your blend in personifying the company of challenges “Boy” had going on with helped me understand the depth of pain his soul was undergoing.
I enjoyed this piece, it was a good read.
Thank you so much!✨
The writer has a good sense of description which is very nice and is also good when it comes to the use of vocabulary
Thank you so much! Thank you!✨
Oh my God! I feel so sad for this young child.
Haaaa!
I read this story over and over again, and to think I didn’t want it to end.
This is so pathetic.
Boy by Chioma is the best I’ve read do far.
Chop kisses my love
“Boy was only a child, but life had already forgotten him. ”
This is my favorite part of the story.
It’s a fascinating story, so realistic.
I love this story. You did a great job in capturing the details.
I think writers like this needs encouragement to keep doing their thing. I love she perfectly describes the young boy. I love the use of ‘Boy’ as a whole.
Keep it up dear.
This story is wonderful
I really love your write up
Like it’s amazing
Thumbs up
How to know a good book?….you feel everything the writer wants you to feel
This book is so so good