I had a long wait for the school that I had chosen to attend.
I’d been told that I needed to go for a year of study.
It had been almost a year since I’d seen a single person.
I knew nothing of the people I had seen.
All I knew was that my father had died and my mother had been killed.
I was terrified.
I remember the day he died.
He was lying in a bed at my aunt’s house and she had no idea who he was.
I had never met him.
He wasn’t my father.
I don’t remember how I got there.
I could hear the voices of other children in the building.
The voice of my father was screaming in my head: “I’ll get him!”
My father was a fighter.
He died fighting for the people who wanted him dead.
But it was so hard.
My mother had died just a few months earlier, and I had no family left to care for me.
I felt like a child again, and that was enough to drive me mad.
The next day, I got up to go home, but it was too late.
My father had been taken from me.
He had no money, no job and no chance to go back to school.
His body was dumped in a river.
I ran for my life and didn’t stop until I reached the police station.
I begged them to take me back, but they told me that I was too old and weak to do that.
So I went to the police.
They told me they couldn’t do anything.
They just said they could give me a chance.
The police gave me the chance.
They had been told by my family that I would be better off in the school.
My dad was a boxer, but he never lost.
He would fight for what he believed in.
He never lost because he believed.
My family never believed in me.
My parents had a bad relationship with the police, so they used to make me fight for my rights every time I was taken away.
It was a cruel system, but the system worked.
I fought and won my case.
The school had changed their policies.
They would not let me go to school anymore.
I couldn’t go to my class anymore.
They forced me to live in a room with only three other people.
The people who had taught me the best taught me a new language.
I learned how to speak the language of the police and to speak English.
It took me a long time to get used to the new language and I wasn’t used to talking to people anymore.
It became hard to talk to people.
I even had a hard time finding someone to help me with the language because the police told me I had to be quiet.
I started to hate my family and my new language, but I always had hope.
I thought that I might be able to change things for the better.
In December 2007, I went back to Skylines High School. I wasn