In his black shorts and torn Arsenal jersey,
He runs towards you,
Breathing hard, but with great confidence.
“iPhone15 Pro for sale, this one be falaa!”
Hoping you’ll be convinced,
To buy a device at a price six times below its market worth.
Why?
Why so cheap for something so rare, so high in demand?
Don’t guess.
Rock Boy pickpocketed it yesterday.
From the moving crowds near the VIP station.
This is Accra Circle,
Where your stolen item might just walk back to you
With a different story,
And a discount.
Yes, it’s a circle.
Why are you surprised?
But wait.
Even a stolen iPhone 15 Pro… sold this cheap?
You scoff. “this guy no get sense?.”
But maybe you should reason.
Because Rock Boy is not bad at heart.
He didn’t grow up dreaming of quick runs and hot phones.
He had dreams, bigger than this street.
He wrote WASSCE and passed.
Maths, Science, English, all good grades.
But no money for school.
No uncle at the Ministry.
No slot in the system.
Four years ago, hunger pulled him to the roadside,
And every attempt to climb out
Was met with silence.
Today,
His sister just gained admission.
Bright girl, always reading, always praying.
But no fees. No laptop. No hope.
And Mama?
She’s lying in a hospital bed at Ridge.
No insurance.
Just a prescription list and a blinking monitor.
Doctors say, “Bring money.”
So yesterday,
In the crowd, he saw it.
Shiny. Untouched.
Peeking from someone’s back pocket.
And Rock Boy,
Rock Boy made a choice.
Not because he wanted to.
But because no one left him any good ones.
This is the struggle of the boy-child they don’t put in campaigns.
The pressure to provide,
Before he’s old enough to be provided for.
The silence he’s forced to keep,
Because boys don’t cry,
Don’t beg,
Don’t break.
This is the story of the brother, the dropout, the streetwise child
Who still carries hope folded in his back pocket
Next to his WASSCE results.
But hope doesn’t pay bills.
And results don’t fund hospital treatments.
So today, he’s selling,
Not just a phone.
But a cry for help wrapped in a “falaa” deal.
And if you ask why it’s so cheap,
Don’t just think crime,
Think cost.
The cost of being a boy
In a world where only his toughness is seen,
But never his tears.
Joe Yapzor 
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