Chapter 4: The Morning I Fought With a Broken Pipe
I woke up the next morning looking like a boiled yam.
Hair scattered. Eyes swollen. Body itching from leftover mosquito bites.
But you know what gave me hope?
Water.
I told myself, "Today I will bath like a normal human being."
I carried my towel, my sponge, soap, everything, and marched to the bathroom with confidence.
That's when I saw it.
The bathroom floor was flooded like River Volta had passed through in the night.
The pipe — the stubborn, wicked pipe — had burst open and was pouring water like it was training for Olympics.
"Oh Lord, why me?" I whispered.
At first, I thought it was a small leak.
But when I stepped closer, the pipe started misbehaving.
It sprayed me straight in the face like a water gun.
My sponge flew from my hand. My towel got soaked immediately.
I slipped and nearly kissed the bathroom tiles.
At that point, I was fighting for my life.
I grabbed the pipe with both hands, trying to close it.
But the more I squeezed, the harder it sprayed.
Water was entering my nose, my ears, my mouth — I was coughing and shouting:
"Ei, Ghana water! What crime have I committed?!"
Meanwhile, my next-door neighbor was standing by the window, sipping tea and watching me like a live concert.
After about 10 minutes of wrestling with the pipe, I managed to twist the valve and stop the flood.
But by then, I was fully baptized.
Wearing only boxers, dripping water like a newborn baby goat.
I staggered back to my room, towel dripping, pride finished.
I sat on the edge of my bed and told myself:
"Samuel, in this life, just accept that suffering is your portion. But you must suffer beautifully."
And I laughed — because at that point, crying was too expensive.
End of Chapter 4