1 The Aha Moment

I feel shy about scribbling my struggles on this paper. I mean, I have grown out of poverty, a strict religious family, a stepmother issue, and now a global star who represents the voice of every struggling star out there.

The journey had always been difficult. You all call me Young Cole, which was named after my idol J. Cole because our music draws some similarities, for example: - social issues and we both are fearless to stand against odd.

At home, this Cole is quite different. Everyone calls me Jaden or by the full name Jaden Rakim. Pretty nice name for a young black fella. Before hip-hop came part of my life, it was a family of 8 where my heart goes on. We lived in this tin shed house, barely one bathroom remains for all out of two, coz we financially cannot afford to mend our home and furniture.

Our father, Mr. Hashim Rakim, is a strict imam of a mosque in the capital of Sierra Leone. He is described as someone without wit humor and a conservative father. He never smiles and tolerates no wrongdoings, but he has this soft heart for us, the Rakim brothers, that he can't stand two feet when we tear for something we demand and frequently take care of us. It's hard to understand what's in his mind, but he is a sweet person if you understand him.

Then comes my mummy, Mrs. Rashida Rakim. She was the young old lady every sophisticated man dreamed about. She had elegant fashion choices, always ate less, and knew how to appeal the society. Sometimes I am proud of being her child. Her calm head always ran our family happily despite going through a crisis.

I miss her after 5 years of her passing. May Allah grant heaven to this beautiful woman.

Among brothers, I am the middle one, a perfect example of a decade of transition, as I am 12 years old, and my two elder brothers, respectively 22 and 20, our relationship remains more of like guardian rather than a friendly one, the same goes with my stepbrothers, Jacob and Jeremy both are the twins of 4.

It's sad to reveal that the younger of mine has a mom of a heartless one. She is a snobbish and arrogant one. She spends almost 80% of my dad's income on herself.

Honestly, her actions turned me brutally against her. I have no personal grudges and never had one.

Our family has one restriction: no entry for entertainment, as my dad and my elder siblings think of it as a crime, more than a homicidal one. I never opened myself up about my dream of being a rapper.

I only get to listen to a masterpiece in a radio kiosk near my madrasah, which is 5 meters away from my house, and the kiosk has an air conditioner and a luxurious sofa.

The shop is owned by Mr. Ahmet, who once flew to the UK for a job, and made millions, but left all benefits and came back for serving his nation, he proudly says "Come back home, and you can have the best staple in the world."

Interestingly enough, he is one of the most honest people I have ever known in my life. Once, with my curiosity, I asked, "Why shouldn't we sing? Or dance?".

He spits a gruesome fact. "You have jinns by you. They make you criminals."

With the weirdest reply, the hall turns into laughter, and the local kid of a rural area accompanies this banter.

He watches and grins upon our joy. We could see our foe's happiness backing us to laughter even more after a silly joke. A memory that will never be captured even last stage of my life.

The rapid rise in thirst fizzed these giggles, and we sat back for some cola, let chill ourselves a little more, and the radio was turned on.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, you all are listening to Freetown FM. let's begin our show with a song called Middle child by J. Cole." The radio person announces, and the beat goes "Tuuk tuck", which enthralled my ear to listen more and know what's in it.

The beat was quite outlandish with the flow, and the lyrics were straight on point, and I said I can be a rapper too, but my family will never allow such practices. I wondered what to do.

I borrowed a piece of paper and a pen from Mr. Ahmet and notched a list of components for being a rapper first: - I need an instrument and players, second: - I need to be an excellent writer, and third: - be updated about the industry.

Then compared the list with my current circumstances, I can't believe, and I am ashamed to admit that I almost gave up, as nothing was favoring my decision to be a hip hop artist.

Then folded my hand to cover my broken heart chest and then laid my head over it and nuzzle the rough surface to think of a way.

A way of doing this business not getting my relatives to know, but I have a problem. I barely can read stuff from paper, as I am dyslexic. I patted my best friend Derek and say, "Will you help me?" and he replies with a mild smile on his face, "Sure, what can I do, bud?"

Later I confess to him my ambition, and he was listening with amused curiosity. When I ended, he was quite blank at the time of reply.

Once he mention to me an opportunity to work with DJ Fresh, a close grown-up aide of Derek, who works at local parties, and was actually hunting singers for his new project, but squashed down as applicants were full of stooges that pissed him off, and he will consider of it again if someone finds him a proper talent, I was offered by Derek because I won three poetry competition, and mind you if I memorize something, I recite with expressions and soul.

I pinched him and he shouts "Ouch, What the Hell?", and didn't lose time to remind him I was waiting for his call to meet DJ Fresh; he whispers in my ear to meet him tomorrow at 4 pm near the school garden and sipped our soda, discharged from the kiosk as soon as we can, because our lunchtime about to start, and I have to make to my house by 3 pm and be back again for playing.