21/05/2026
THE GIRL WHO SOLD RAINWATER
CHAPTER 1 — THE RUSTED ROOF
In one forgotten corner of Lagos, where crowded buses screamed through narrow roads and children chased each other barefoot beside dirty gutters, there lived a young girl named Amara.
She was only sixteen years old, but suffering had already carved deep sadness into her eyes.
Every morning before dawn, while most people still slept, Amara climbed onto the rusted zinc roof of their broken house carrying old plastic buckets. During rainy season, she collected rainwater and sold it to nearby homes because many parts of the slum had no clean water supply.
The roof was dangerous. One wrong step could send her crashing down. But fear had long disappeared from Amara’s life. Hunger was more frightening than falling.
Her mother, Mama Ada, lay weak on a thin mattress inside their tiny room. Years of illness had drained the life from her body. Some days she could not even sit up without coughing painfully.
Amara’s younger brother, Kachi, was only nine. His ribs showed clearly through his skin from constant hunger.
That morning, dark clouds gathered above the city.
Amara quickly placed buckets beneath the dripping edges of the roof.
Rain began falling heavily.
She smiled weakly.
Rain meant survival.
As water filled the buckets, Amara whispered quietly to herself,
“Please, God… let this rain last.”
After collecting enough water, she carried the heavy buckets through muddy streets. Her slippers were torn, and dirty water splashed onto her legs as danfo buses sped past recklessly.
At every compound she stopped and shouted,
“Clean rainwater! Clean rainwater!”
Some people bought from her.
Some insulted her.
Others ignored her completely.
One rich woman looked at Amara with disgust.
“You poor children are multiplying everywhere like flies.”
Amara lowered her eyes silently.
She had learned long ago that poverty stole not only comfort… but dignity too.
By evening, she returned home exhausted.
She counted the small amount she earned and bought a little garri, medicine for her mother, and bread for Kachi.
That night, Kachi ate quickly like someone afraid the food might disappear.
“Slow down,” Amara said gently.
But the boy kept eating desperately.
Hunger had taught him not to trust tomorrow.
Later that night, while rain tapped softly on the roof, Mama Ada called Amara closer.
“My daughter…”
“Yes, Mama?”
“No matter how hard life becomes, promise me you will never steal.”
Amara looked confused.
“But honest people still suffer.”
Her mother smiled weakly.
“Maybe. But when poverty steals everything from you, honesty is the only thing you can still protect.”
Amara nodded slowly.
But deep inside her heart, she wondered whether goodness truly mattered in a world that was already cruel to poor people.
Outside, thunder echoed across the sleeping city.
And somewhere beneath the endless rain, destiny quietly began walking toward Amara’s life.
TO BE CONTINUED...........
©️ Ai Folktales by Blessing
