Hope & Faith

Based on a true life story.

Oh the beauty that of the fresh air that slaps your cheeks and causes your very existence to smile with all your six senses. 

When the ambiance of tears, anguish, bitterness and grief has crept out of your soul and you can only laugh from your skull till it travels down through the matrix and gets to your heel. 

I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m talking about that’s making my tummy sweet as if I poured honey there shebi?

It didn’t begin this way. I was frail when it all started. I was a busy-bee. A nobody who wanted to walk with my shoulders at the right place and not high or low; I wanted my back to be straight as well. My peers were strong and overzealous unlike me.

Then came the time to claim the national cake. They raised quizzical brows and wondered what I was up to. 

They felt I was a comedian. I went to meet the leader and asked him why they didn't want me to claim a part. He told me women don’t. 

I disagreed and fought till the council of elders took me seriously. They said I would have to sweat out my part and I agreed. Didn't think it was a big deal or too much work.

The following morning, I adorned myself with work clothes. The people on the farm laughed as I walked past them. 

The task master apportioned to each individual a piece of land. To me he gave the long-forgotten road, an ancient path. This was a huge task. I got to the road and opened my mouth in disbelief! This was going to be tasking. I got to work immediately. 

It was gruesome. I felt it was just ordinary thorns and thistles like normal weeds but alas, it was strong and mighty old trees. 

I called those who I believed were my mother’s children to come to my aid. One after the other, they turned their back against me. 

They spat at me, mocked me and told me “you beta waka, you think say na beans?” (walk away, did you think it was going to be easy?) They began to call me all sorts of names that made me gnash my teeth in the darkness that took me.

 I began to take down the trees one after the other. I knew leaving that land would mean aborting the work. I slept there and my tears became my pillow. 

No one should go through what I was going through. It was raw pain. I found a name for myself. It was “despicable me”. 

My onlookers, passers-by and mockers continued to stare in disappointment. They whispered and said to me “you no say na only you waka come, you go soon tire” (you’re alone and you’ll soon be tired). I knew that myself but I vowed this was where I will end myself.

I finally brought down all the trees and I felt my soul emit the life from me like the Dementors from Harry Potter sucked it out. 

They saw my flaws and poured mud on it. I sought comfort but found none so I cloaked myself in ash and sack-clothes. 

I noticed there was too much similarity between me and the humus I worked on. As a matter of fact, the more I worked, the more I became one with the soil. Should I continue and change into it? Why not! Let all the bull shit on me, no problem. But the scorn, the scorn was heavy.

I continued with the work as it moved from days to months to years. I dug the earth afresh and each till into the ground took along with it a part of my flesh. 

At the last lifting of my hands was the last shedding of my blood. I dropped to the ground as the earth carried my lifeless being. And the last rain poured on my decayed lifeless self and all the agents watched me waste away.

I was startled that my eyes opened again. I awoke to see a few familiar faces staring at me. 

They gave me fine linen clothes. I took a good wash and was mortified to find out that my skin was glowing. I got dressed and went to face the council of elders. 

They gave me a resounding ovation to my surprise which had me blushing for too long. We raised our glasses of wine to cheer to this special occasion which kept increasing my amazement.

They gave me a lovely purple and gold dress. It was absolutely fantastic. When I wore it I was fully convinced it was someone else in the mirror. I knew what I looked like in the mud yet they told me my death produced this.

Down the line were other girls staring at me with awe. I was like #whatstheirproblem but they walked up to me with cymbals and tambourines while they danced and they called me mother.  

As how (how come) I gave them a quizzical eyebrow. They told me I made the way for them. How? I still didn’t get. 

In my pain was their strength and courage; in my footsteps was their pathway and they were thankfully. I didn’t know. I didn’t even expect it.

I know you’ve been here you just didn’t shine your eye.

If mine didn’t end in shame, yours won’t.

So be encouraged.