Douye Soroh: The Journey of a Storyteller
Introduction: Growing Up in Port Harcourt
While growing up in a very underdeveloped slum in a city called Port Harcourt in the southern part of Nigeria, I was one of the dullest students in my class. To those who aren't aware of Port Harcourt, it is one of the richest states in Nigeria, with numerous oil wells, yet the citizens of the city are among the poorest; only a few elite people sit on that wealth.
While growing up in the port area of Port Harcourt, a place called Nigeria Port Authority (NPA), it was a bitter-sweet memory. As I reflect on my life journey right now, I have tears in my eyes. They are not tears of joy, and they are not tears of sadness; it is just that melancholic mood and nostalgic feeling that I only experience anytime I think of my childhood.
Why I Am Sharing My Story
I'm writing part of my life story here so my esteemed and valuable readers can know who I am and what motivates me. I want my readers to understand me not just from what I put in my bio; I want them to know who Douye Soroh is. I want my readers to know the real me and what drives me to start a fiction blog.
Family Struggles and Early Responsibility
Like I said, growing up wasn't an easy ride in that slum of Port Harcourt. I have always been a good kid, and I obeyed my elders to a fault. I respect people a lot, and I did whatever task I was given.
When I was nine years old, my parents divorced, and to this day, I have no idea what caused them to separate. Till date, they have not sat down and said, “this happened because of this or that.” They have been enemies for years and still dislike each other. It hurt me seeing how a once robust relationship could turn into a crack that can never be mended.
After they divorced, my life changed. I started living the life of an adult. I started a hawking business where I loaded goods on my head and took them around the streets to sell.
My parents have four kids, and when they separated, they made an agreement to take two children each, but due to circumstances, it never happened. My dad was the one who took care of us.
Mind you, my mom still played a key role in our lives, but she couldn't always be there. As a health worker, she was always on the move from one location to another. She is one of the best, and the government kept transferring her from one remote location to another, but that never stopped her from sending her love and support.
Educational Struggles and Determination
At age twelve, I wasn't even able to read or write; it was one of the hardest things in my life. My dad bought a lot of storybooks for me and my sister, but all I could do was look at the pictures. It was frustrating for him, but he tried his best and enrolled me in lessons so I could learn.
But I will never lie—his efforts seemed abortive at first. People always asked him to give me time and said things would fall into place. They told him all hope was not lost, but my dad is not a patient man. He believes that if he wants something, he should get it immediately.
Health Challenges and Their Impact
At age thirteen, I had an ear infection, and due to the poor condition of the clinic and lack of better alternatives in that slum, combined with a poor civil servant salary, I could only get consultation from an ENT specialist, but not proper treatment.
They poked and prodded but never did a good job, and to this day, I live with hearing difficulty. This experience highlights the importance of access to quality healthcare, especially in underdeveloped communities.
The Turning Point: Thelma’s Letter
My breakthrough in reading came from my crush then—her name was Thelma. I later wrote a story about her titled THE SCENTED NOTE. I had a crush on her, and unknown to me, she also had a crush on me.
It was revealed when a teacher asked us to write a letter to someone we cared about in our class. I couldn't write, neither could I read. I was shaking all over, not knowing what to do. I held the pen over a blank sheet of paper. I had the words in my heart, but I couldn't put them on paper.
I even thought of peeking at my seatmate’s work, but she covered her book—and then something unexpected happened.
Thelma gave me a note shyly and asked me to give it to someone to read for me, not in school but at home. My world lit up; I was on cloud nine. I couldn't wait to get home.
When I got home, my brother read the letter for me (and he had to take a bribe from me!). That moment changed everything. It motivated me to work harder, and I started grasping some words.
The day I was able to spell the word “ENOUGH,” I shed a tear. It felt like magic. That word told me enough of my dullness, enough of limiting beliefs. It broke the chain that bound my mind. From that moment, I never looked back.
I started buying books. I could not even understand how I could spend $900 out of $1000 on books. Reading became my priority. Sadly, before I could show Thelma my progress, we had to relocate.
Lessons from My Environment
Back then in that slum, there were all kinds of influences, and at age nine, kids were already being recruited into gangs. I was approached and threatened, but I never considered it.
While I couldn't read and write, I spent time playing around. There were things we kids did that I am not proud of. It was bad for a child to experiment with cigarettes or invade someone’s privacy. Looking back now, I understand those were poor choices influenced by peer pressure and environment.
I remember being ambushed by other kids who thought I acted better than them because I refused to join their gang. While they caused trouble, I focused on hawking and trying to learn how to read and write.
Growing up in an environment where many parents didn’t guide their children properly was difficult, but I was fortunate. My parents, despite their separation, valued education. My dad was strict and disciplined us in the African way. Today, I appreciate that discipline because it helped shape my character.
My Greatest Regret
The only thing I regret from that time was not showing Thelma that I could read. It was a big emotional loss for me.
Just when I had improved, we relocated from Port Harcourt to Bayelsa State—another oil-rich region facing poverty and underdevelopment. Life moved on, but that moment stayed with me.
How My Writing Journey Began
I developed a deep love for reading. I could not end a day without reading a book, and that habit has stayed with me till today. Reading felt like entering another world.
As I read more, I began to imagine writing my own stories. But I quickly realized that reading and writing are two very different skills. I started a book that I hope to publish, but I will be honest—I am still searching for the deep motivation to complete it.
My writing journey truly began after I read THE QUEEN'S BLADE and DEMON LORD by T.C. Southwell. Those books inspired me deeply.
I started writing chapters of my life titled HOW SHE SPOILED HIM YOUNG. That manuscript still sits on my desk because I am unsure how the public will receive it. Writing about real-life experiences, especially when people involved are still around, is not easy.
Why I Started a Blog
Instead of publishing everything at once, I chose to start a blog where I can share short stories and blend them with real-life experiences. It allows me to express myself gradually and carefully.
I cannot just go all out at once—I need to be subtle and build my story step by step.
Final Reflection and Appreciation
There are many authors who have inspired me, but my greatest gratitude will always go to Thelma. Her simple letter changed my life and ignited my passion for learning and writing.
I will share more of my journey over time. As time goes on, so will my story unfold.
Thank you, my dear readers. I will be better this year.
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