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A MIRROR OF HOPE

You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
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FAITH



FAITH

There is one power so great - the wisdom of tomorrow. No one wishes ill on themselves but when we are in a fix, we tend to wish we had the power to tell what tomorrow would bring. Just like Mama Iliya.

The night before was so cold that she took her last available wrapper, covered up her son and lay by his side all night long to keep him warm enough to see a new day. Afterwards, she was going to meet with her pastor to pray out every sickness from his lanky body. He had been sick for two days; would not eat, could hardly breathe, see or taste anything. After selling Wankee the week before, he had complained of a headache and was told to lick red oil by his mother. The bottle of oil is empty today, staring at Mama Iliya as she rolls on the sandy room begging Iliya to wake up.

“No be wetin we talk be this o Illiya. You tell me say we go go market this morning together go buy meat to use cook food for our customers. You say you go use Wankee build me big house. You even say America go be our new home. Oya wake up or I go come with you. Iliya!!!

 

Her pastor has arrived, unable to soothe her. He keeps repeating that the Holy Spirit will comfort her during these hard times and quotes Ecclesiastes. He tells her how much Jesus loves her and will be there to make everything new. Mama Iliya does not budge. Her wailing summons neighbours. Her usually empty room at that time of the day is now a spectacle. “Mama Iliya how e take happen? Why? When? Chai this one no be good sign for this new year at all…Why you no carry am go hospital when e start?”

The pastor speaks: “It was the Lord’s doing. No hospital would have saved the boy’s life as they did not give it to him in the first place. It was all the Lord’s doing and we are not in any position to question God!”

 

There is a pierce in Mama Iliya’s brain as she grabs and yells at the pastor to shut up and get out of her room. “You tell me say this your God big well well to do and undo. You tell me say my business go blow if I pay tax every Sunday from my small Wankee money. When Iliya start to sick you say make I give am the red oil wen you bless for me last month. Because money plenty for my hand I no argue with you to carry am go clinic. I do as you talk; I get faith. Wetin I wan use the faith do now. My pikin don go, I don kill am because I listen to you, because I think say Church na hospital. I don kill my pikin. Abeg, comot for my room before we go kill oursef now for here!!

 

All eyes are on the pastor. He reverses towards the door; the mini crowd follows him. His pace increases, their fury follows suit. Will his faith save him? Mama Iliya does not care, she only wants her son back!

Don't Forget to be Honest!

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Comments

  1. anon28 March 2021 at 15:03

    The Church is confused for hospital when there's no money

    ReplyDelete

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