Memoirs of a Young Boy

By Askia Moses

Askia Moses is a self-made man. A loving husband and father, his overwhelming success came as a result of hard lessons learned from growing up in difficult circumstances, with few chances to escape the harsh realities of life.

This is a coming-of-age tale about crushing poverty, a love of soccer, betrayal by would-be friends, and dubious business deals in which he participated so he wouldn't starve to death before adulthood. Being of above-average intelligence, he fights his way from childhood through adolescence in order to stand on his own two feet. He never gives up, no matter the cost, and despite disappointments in life and a lack of money, Askia is able to attend university and break free from the shackles of ignorance, violence, and despair.

This is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Askia Moses
• Release date: Dec 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310941207

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Memoirs of a Young Boy

Askia Moses

Memoirs of a Young Boy

by

Askia Moses

Published by Askia Moses at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved

Cover Design: Askia Moses

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT PAGE

EPIGRAPH

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

PART TWO

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART THREE

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ABOUT ASKIA MOSES

You’re never too old to change, bad boy.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This story is for all the young boys out there who are like I once was, struggling to find meaning in a world that seemed determined that I fail.

Hopefully you will read this and realize that life is too short to be saddened by what is or isn’t happening the way you want it to right now. Take the time to enjoy life as it is because your childhood will quickly pass away, and soon you’ll be an adult, living on your own, away from the frustrations of home. Try to remember the joyful things from your childhood, the things that mattered most.

Living life carelessly and wild may not be wise. Very few teenagers are spiritually mature and self-aware, and even fewer parents get it right. But in the end, your life is your own. Cultivate positive values by choosing books, watching programs and listening to music that will elevate your mind. These things will guide your heart and teach you how to live and find your purpose.

Avoid company that will bring you down, and seek out positive relationships. A good mentor can help you pave the way to making the right decisions in life—socially, academically, financially—and offer different perspectives for your consideration. But remember: they, too, have their own biases. Your choices are your own.

Love your friends and enemies with all your heart, and you will live a long and happy life.

PART ONE

The Boyhood Years

CHAPTER ONE

Poopy pants

I was born into a poor family. If anyone were to look at the only surviving photo of my toddler years, the extreme poverty couldn’t be missed. In it, I was sitting in the dirt yard that surrounded my house. My hair wasn’t combed, and there was a lost look in my eyes.

The comparison to my rich neighbor who had a son a year older than me, was stark. They had a car, we didn’t. They had fancy meals, we didn’t. They had nice clothes, and my family looked like peasants. The neighbor boy had toys, and I had none. The list was long.

I asked my parents about my childhood many years in the future, and from their answers I learned that as a baby, I was very quiet and curious, like most infants. I had lots of space outside to explore, check out the insects and enjoy nature—one of my favorite things to do to this day. I was breast fed.

I don’t remember much about the day I was born, but according to stories I heard later on, I pooped in my diaper on the way home from Kingston Jubilee Hospital, and they had to open up the windows of the car. I was a force to contend with, even then.

The neighbor who brought me home for the first time—Mr. Green—was one of many people who rented rooms in the house where I grew up. He had a wife, a daughter and one son. I was friends with Kaye and Dwayne.

The house where I lived in the suburbs of Kingston, Jamaica was a wonderful three-bedroom dwelling which my father Edward Moses had purchased for a cheap price after arriving from England after his work permit expired. He had worked in the steel industry there.

* * * * * *

Before England, Dad lived in America and had a job as an apple picker. But since he was very tall—over six feet—he was promoted to work on the truck and collect fruit from the pickers instead. When he returned to Jamaica, he became a contracted and licensed firearm security officer until he retired.

My father’s first wife died from diabetes, a disease she had in England, too, when they both lived there. She was a nurse. Dad found the climate in the United Kingdom to be very unpleasant.

I later found out that he had one stepson from that marriage—my half-brother Osbourne, and later another son, Alwin through his courtship with my mother Merlina. David was born four years later.

Edward Moses met my mother while working as a security guard at a wealthy man’s house in Kingston where she was the house help. Alwin stayed with one of his aunts in St. Elizabeth, and my mother ended up working for Dad’s wife as a helper after he had a falling out with his wealthy employer. She was able to keep Alwin with her there. However, my father got her pregnant and she had to leave the house until his wife died. After that, Mom returned and they later got married. Dad was twice my mother’s age and was old by the time I was born.

Both of my parents—Edward Moses, born May 17, 1917, and Merlina Beckford, who was born December 21, 1950—came from the rural parish of St. Elizabeth. It’s located in the middle of the island known as the Middlesex region, and is referred to as the bread basket of that area. It is considered rural since not much business development is in evidence, and most of the residents are farmers.

* * * * * *

I’ve heard it said that you can take someone out of the country but you can’t take the country out of them. This was very true of my mother and father.

They built chicken coops in our backyard, and instead of flowers, we grew yams, bananas, ackee, coconut, pawpaw, avocado pears, mint, tomatoes, sweetsop, soursop, peppers, lime, breadfruit, and much more.

As a toddler, I spent most of my time at home with Mom and my older sister Rebecca. I feared the sound of my father’s heavy voice. I used to watch Rebecca play with her dollhouse along with children from next door—Kaye, Dwayne, Suzy and Jerome.

Dwayne attended MeadbowBrook High School with my brothers Alwin and David. He wasn’t as streetwise as they were, though. My male siblings hung out on the streets where they ate, slept and drank football, which is what Americans call soccer.

The memory of my brothers wasn’t strong from this time period; only the sound of their voices echoing from the chatter on the street. I hardly spent any time, early on, with them. Instead, since I was the youngest, I