The crowd broke into a pandemonium. Apparently, they had seen that the remaining bags of rice will not be enough to go round, so everyone made a run for it.

Uchendu was one of them.

With strong muscular hands adapted to the harsh realities of the street, he fought his way to the front. In a sweep, he landed a bag across his shoulder but a deafening ring stilled his world.

" Papa!" Obika cried again. The ten year-old had lost sight of his father.

Without a second thought, Uchendu released the bag of grain and rushed towards his direction like a madman.

Nothing made sense anymore. Not even the grain that would last them through Christmas.

" Obika, where are you?" He called as he pushed through the crowd like a beast unleashed on earth.

The boy's voice came again, and Uchendu managed to reach him before a quarter of the population fell against him.

When he saw Obika's face safely buried on his chest, he feigned a smile, “ we will be fine.”

" But, how do we get out?" The boy struggled to speak.

" Let me worry about that," he said and suppressed a groan.

Gradually, the people were pulled off Uchendu's back.

Some were cold, and others were choking.

By the time they pulled Uchendu away from his son, the boy had lost consciousness.

Hopping on an available bike, Uchendu followed the rescuers to the hospital. His eyes were red and dry. His sanity thin like tread. 

He paced in the hospital as the doctors tried to revive the boy and never for a minute did he resign to fate.

When the doctors came out, their faces were the rain cloud.

Realization set in, but nothing of acceptance.

Uchendu returned home alone, and wails met him at the door.

His two older children couldn't believe he hadn't sold their brother off. They were so poor that it made sense.

They didn't want to see his face. But their mother knew and never said a word.

The neighbours imagined he wouldn't last the night but he lived. 

Years later, when he died and was buried after his wife, his two children found a letter stuffed into their mother's pillow.

" Please, let me worry about that," it read in part.

It was attributed to their father but in their mother's handwriting.

At the end of the day, they sat under the cashew tree, staring at the freshly raised earth where their father laid. It was then they realized, he took the blame to let them heal.