15 miles over in the town of Chilhowie. This is the place I consider my childhood home and where my story truly began...

But it is also known for being smack in the middle of the Bible Belt, where children say “yes, ma’am,” and “no, sir,”...

My mom gave birth to me in...Lagos State, Nigeria...but I should say, I come from a polygamous background. My dad had two wives...

Our village was surrounded by the forest on all sides, but those were not forests children could play in, because there were tigers...

Despite our town’s lack of resources, my father always tried to provide us with the best of every opportunity, and my mother supported him..

But what I wish I didn’t remember— what I wish I forgot so completely—was my father’s drinking. My father’s hands as they beat me...

My wheels are a chariot to freedom rather than a temporary crutch to prop me up from the harsh aspects of society...

Life can be tricky; it’s like teetering along the edge of a cliff. One setback can land you on the streets...

...As a child, I spent most of my time outside. The more time I spent in it, the closer I grew to it, and my love reached further...

With many, many patients coming his way, my father was highly esteemed—a venerated figure like a god, in fact...

Teaching, preaching, writing, and interacting with students of all ages gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I was happy...

They say that an angel’s wings are made up of the troubles of the souls they protect...

Those early years were rough on my mother as she was battling demons in the early stages of her alcoholism and drug addiction...

“We have to move, baby,” my mom’s voice was tense. “Get packing.” I did as I was told; it was routine...

For as long as I can remember, it was always a constant battle for survival...hunger was our close friend...

my father was a poor shopkeeper with little earnings to feed, clothe, and provide for my mother, my four siblings, and me...

My childhood was a distressing one because we never had enough to eat or spend on ourselves. Since I could remember, my father...

My father was a police officer, and my mother ran a small shop. My life started out normal...

My childhood was not sweet, to say the least. Instead of love and security, it was filled with mockery and humiliation...

My story began before I was even born, when the traditional values of the Pakistani culture sunk into the hearts and minds of my parents...