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Written by John Nkemcho
(0805 771 4385)
One hot afternoon, I stopped at her stall to have a bottle of cold water to quench my burning thirst. The mistake I made was taking the stuff there. “Oh, holy man of God,” she began. “You decided to patronise us today? I thought you don’t see us when you pass?” You see, she adjusted herself, boldly facing me, provocatively, “Lots of people imagine all kinds of things about white-robed churches. Their evil-entrenched position kept them away from well-catered snacks.
“Two men went to pray in the temple. One was crying, ‘I am a sinner; Father, have mercy upon me,’ while the other felt on top of the world, justifying himself.” She looked pointedly at me, thumping her chest. “I am that man crying for God to forgive his sins. Judge me, it doesn’t make any difference. God is the ultimate judge.
“They preached to the youths under the trees to stop taking drugs. Your own image is shrouded in mystery. What are your chances of seeing Jesus on the last day?” She raised her voice a decibel. “The insinuation that I put something in my food to get higher patronage is true. I put all the right ingredients, not sparing the cost, so that my customers would be satisfied. I did it for my customers. Yes, I put something,” she said, charging at me.
I quickly fetched money from my pocket, flashed it in her face, dropped it on her table, and fled before she could reach me. “Your change, sir,” cried one of the serving girls, neatly dressed with a clean apron and hair tucked into her cap. Her clean appearance matched the environment. Probably sympathetic, seeing I provoked not her mistress, yet she unleashed her umbrage mercilessly at me. I waved at her, signifying that I didn’t need the change. Her mistress was not yet done. She shot at me again. “First, remove the mote in your eyes before you can remove the beams in your brother’s eyes, holy man of God.”
My church is the best, my doctrine is biblically correct. Where did you put Jesus? Where did you put Jesus, holy man of God? I have done no wrong. Even for the fact that her approach to the things of God is not tailored to the Holy Scripture, I tried to open her eyes to the real Scriptures. This she found to be radically different from what she was taught by her father, their prophet.
The persistent queue at her stall sets the tongue wagging. Now customers book days ahead for her food. And this, they say, is abnormal. They attribute the hotcake fast selling to several things. I did not run afoul of any law or judgment because I uttered no word in respect of the long queues or advanced bookings.
She, however, heaped the gossips on me today with a scorpion in her tongue. This morning there was no trace of anyone being there, so she left in the rapture? I questioned, perplexed. God’s way is unsearchable, completely shaken out of my wits, I trembled. This is unlike an earthly situation. Filled with fears, thoughts of fears, unimaginable fears, I trod on.
Woe unto this age. After all the preachings of chosen men of God, and they still remain the same, adamant, unchanged, unrepentant. Instead of evil decreasing, their lust for the pleasures of this world by the increase of evil. How have you fared? I questioned myself. I tried to recollect some of my evil deeds, ungodly utterances. Anger, jealousy, and hate-filled judgments. Unruly displays of the flesh.
Uncaring and a negative view of others, saying ‘no’ instead of ‘yes’ with clarity when under pressure, not observing the golden rule: ‘Thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. Love thy neighbour as thyself.’ All these I have not kept from my youth. No wonder the rapture did not carry me away. I wailed silently, as I looked fugitively in every direction.
“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaimed, “this is the residence of the physicist. People call him Doctor Jide. Hurt, hurt to the marrow, his father, a former diplomat, hailed from Anambra State. His mother from Ogun State. He left for the United States of America in his youth and disappeared without any trace. His father and mother passed away; he didn’t know. So his mother’s people induced his homecoming diabolically.
He landed at our airport with only a bag containing a few personal things. He was like a tamed but wounded lion. He took to drinking. He swore every moment of the day. As a scientist, he refused to capitulate and give up; instead, he fought back, but physically. Whenever the power that held him captive lessened its hold, you would hear him asking, ‘What am I doing in this place? What am I doing in this damned place?’
At a birthday party instituted by his uncle at their two-acre estate, Doctor Jide, looking gloomy, sat at one of the tables, refusing to taste anything. Though surrounded by family and friends, he seldom contributed to their discussions. Suddenly, he began speaking in anger. ‘Can I ask a question, please?’ The discussion ceased, all attention was given to him.”
“A researcher with a rising profile at Alabama University, who worked hand in hand with NASA. Suddenly… he paused. ‘What am I doing here, wasting away?’ he answered in a gentle but dangerous tone. I got grants from all over the place for my work. Then he exploded, ‘What am I doing in this place? Damn place,’ he roared. He overturned the table, picked up a bottle of whiskey, and flung it in the direction of his uncle.
The bottle crashed into the wall and scattered; bits of it hit the uncle. That’s when he realised it was meant for him. He took to his heels. The grandmother slipped away, and these two are rumoured to be the culprits, people believed to be behind his predicament. And a week later, the same uncle who owned a house opposite Jide’s father’s house was driving out of his car when an explosion occurred.
To be continued…
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