Anyone could tell he didn’t belong once he opened his mouth to sing the first line of the song “Kumbaya.” Apart from the unconscious cracks and the battle of staying on the key of C major, Joni was shaking with each breath exhaled. His legs wobbled, his hands waggled, and his eyes spoke the language of fear mixed with doubt. How shocking! He was introduced to the choir as a tenor singer from a sister church called Oasis. Unfortunately, this oasis had its lungs and throat all dried up. Joni stopped singing from the looks on every face. By a corner, he saw the man playing the drums lift his eyebrows - not in wonder but a mechanism most people adopt to hold back laughter. The woman playing the bass guitar was looking down at nothing. As Joni’s eyes roved around the church, he saw an invisible congregation, all rising from their seats, eyes tight with laughter! The white walls were bloody-looking. Ah! Even the brown wooden cross on the altar resembled a negation. Joni felt the wo...
THE
EGYPTIAN OR ME?
On
my way back from a lucky-less interview I met an Egyptian man asking for
directions to a pot shop close by. He had on this sorry look like a man who had
just lost his job. When I think of it now, I think it was because I thought we
shared a mutual feeling that was why I even stopped to listen to him.
At first I could hardly understand him until I noticed he was holding a photo
of the pot shop in his hands. I pointed towards the direction, telling him the
easiest way to get there. Suddenly, this short movie became annoying when this sun-tanned
chubby looking man asked for my almost-emptied bottle of water. That bottle of
water was my first meal, friend and companion after my horrific interview- an
interview that I was made to wait for hours only to be told that the boss had
traveled and won’t be back any time soon. That bottle of water helped me hide
my tears as I drank it while I struggled with my thoughts of how I
would survive through the month and there was this foreigner asking for it.
“No!
I want to drink it so I can’t give it to you.” I said to him.
And
this was what this man had to say to me:
“Egypt good. Nigeria no good. I test
you to give me water. You say no. you, you no good at all. No like you. I only
test you and you fail.”
As
he walked away, I just stood there watching him. He looked worse than I
did; tired and disappointed. I couldn’t tell if his meeting me even heightened
his current state. I could only tell that he hated my country maybe even more
than I did. Was I really as bad as my country? Was I without compassion for the man? It was just water after all and I could not even share it or give it
out rightly. Why would he use water as a test? He must have not gotten over the
parting of the Red Sea. Yet, I felt bad for allowing my pains take over my
compassion, for treating another with such inequity whether I was being tested
or not.
I
walked home consoling myself with the fact that the man’s dentition needed
immediate deliverance. Only Jesus would share a bottle of water with such a
person. “If I ever visit Egypt. I will surely not share a bottle with anyone, I
thought.” However, the truth of the issue is that our country really makes us
who we are. Whether the Egyptian was right or not, deep down I know that nothing
should make me behave less of a human being but as hard as I try, my country
just wants to pull me down with it. It especially tampers with my goodwill. I
am afraid that I will lose it.
A
Shared Experience.

Interesting write up very educative and inspiring.
ReplyDeleteVery true. Sometimes we let the state of this country get to us so much that we lose empathy
ReplyDeleteWell said...
ReplyDeleteInteresting! This mood thing ehnnn....both the Egyptian and the Nigerian, in such, everyone is a victim of it jaare!!
ReplyDeleteNice one!
ReplyDelete👍👍👍
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