I know, you must be sick of me. I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this either. Who would? But I need the money to pay for my school fees, my brothers’, books for my sister, ribbons for her hair. My parents are not rich, not like yours. But I have hopes too, dreams, plans for the future. So, please.
And of course: praise be to you, and God too.
Divagyrations 