I was about 18 when my dad canned
me for something I considered trivial. This was I, well behaved, always
obedient yet he couldn’t let such a trivial thing pass. I was so upset that I
made up my mind to leave home. I remembered not crying; I was so upset as I
retired to the room. As night crawled in, I mapped out a plan and sat up in bed
with my legs crawled up and my hands holding them tight to my bossom as if
wanting to be sure no one saw through my decision to run away from home. Soon sleep took a hold of me but I shook
myself awake, determined that this would be my freedom night. At 10.00PM I
heard my dad lock up the door and iron gate, usually he would check in on us; I
guess he didn’t or perhaps I pretended to be asleep when he did. At my set time
11.00PM I crawled out of bed, leaving my innocent siblings in the room and went
to the parlour to get the keys so I could let myself out; unfortunately the keys
were not there. My Dad never used to hide the keys, what happened? Did he as a
former policeman see through my plan? Did God hide the keys from me? Flip the
coin and you’d come face to face with another scenario; What if I let myself
out? What if I fell into wrong hands? What if I found shelter with a gang? A
good Christian girl from a good Christian home they would say.
He was in the university; he
gained admission effortlessly having attended a unity college. He soon found
himself running from cult members who wanted badly to enlist him as he fit their
profile. He remembered his parents told him, “You are becoming a man and you
have to start taking your future in your hands”. Perhaps this was one of those
times. He thought of Moses, then he thought of Robin Hood but before he could
make a decision, another group came to his aid, “Are they bothering you? We can
save you from them.” They were nice, friendly, accommodating; he found out too
late that they were from a cult group. Of course the other cult group left him
alone. But soon he was called to save another boy in his shoes; he was selected
as part of the hit squad. He knew how harassed he felt; this could have been
him, there was no saying no. The hit was successful 2 down, 3 injured… “They’ll
never try that again!” The dead buried their dead, the maimed treated
themselves, peace returned; but only for a while. Unknown to him the game is
never even. The other group decided to strike back, their strategy was neat but
no less deadly. His room was one of the hit points unfortunately it was his
roomie; an innocent boy from a good home, who got the axe. He didn’t live to
tell the story. What if the victim’s friend chooses to strike back? What if the
hand of the law caught up with him? A good Christian boy from a good Christian
home they would say.
My mother’s class mate; a very
popular woman today. She got pregnant in secondary school, how? Of course she
had sex! She decided she would abort. Her mother got wind of it and pleaded
with her not to. She was her only child and had asked God for another child, “She’ll
be my child” she promised. She took her to a village where she was nursed and
delivered of the baby. The mother returned with the baby as hers. The girl
moved on with her life like nothing happened; she did not have to play mother;
she enjoyed carrying on the good girl image. Soon she married an aristocrat. One
year, two years, three years… no child. People called her names (you can imagine
the Yoruba’s with words); she would cry, she would pray, she would consult
doctors… As if woken from a long dream, she ran to her mother, omo mi nko (what
of my child)? She had never referred to her as her child. Omo e? The mother queried.
After years of denial, she wanted the world to know that she is indeed a
mother? She would no longer bother about procreating after all she is a mother.
But what of the husband who never knew her secret. What is he becomes bitter?
What if he decided to do something bad seeing that their problem had now become
his problem? A good Christian man from a good Christian home they would say.
A man of God was at a subway
waiting for his train. There they were, three children running helter-skelter
like lost goats. Sitting not too far away was a seemingly unconcerned father. “Can’t
he put them in check? How can little children be so unruly; shouting, bumping
into adults, playing tag in a train station! He better do something or I’ll
scold the children. But if I shout won’t people wonder what a clergy I am
shouting at children”. I’ll just look away, he decided. But being rather
irritated, he walked up to their father who stared into oblivion like he was
not there. “Sir, he managed to be polite, can you do something about your
children?” In a solemn cracked voice he responded, “I am just coming from the
hospital, their mother just passed”. I’m sorry he muttered, feeling beat down
as he took the empty seat beside him. But what if he had spanked the children
and the man had hit him with a blow that made him pass? A good Christian man
from a good Christian home they would say.
It is okay to evaluate but do we
have a right to judge especially when we don’t have all the facts?
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