Short Story: Beloved In Christ (Part Seven)
So Sharifa, whom I thought was just joking, gladly went with me to the car park to meet Maa Christy. “Good afternoon, Mom,” she said. My mother responded. “I really enjoyed your message for us today. ‘You are becoming too negligent. It is high time the youths understood the need to enjoin what’s good and forbid evil. And call others to truth’. What’s more lovely than this? I have to add those words of yours to my daily reflection.” “Thank you!”
It was obvious that Sharifa depicts the sanguine type of temperament. Being around such people is loving; they tell you everything and anything. Though I am an introvert I enjoy the company of extroverts. We have just known each other, and she’s already taking advantage of going home together with me. The way she opened up to my mother I doubt I could do so, had I been the one in her position.
That said, with all these engagements, we had to move to the road side and pick a taxi. Most of the members had gone home. It was only the pastor’s car and some two other cars available. I will believe we had delayed so the car owners had all gone.
Briefly when we had gotten to the road side, there was this oncoming Toyota Camry. It hopefully parked in front of us. Its window glasses were tainted. We could not have noticed who was inside. The driver rolled the glasses down. And oh, it was Kpebu. He softly beckoned my mother, Sharifa and I to come and take a seat. From all indications, Sharifa was dazzled. She therefore probed, “Kpebu, when did you get this one, it looks like that of Pastor Ntim’s car?” “Yes, you are right. “Hey! And you have tainted the glasses already. Hmmmm! “Oh! It’s nothing. I am honoured that he has appreciated my ‘service’ to him. Sharifa, I have not told you this…”
The car was still going. We were almost in proximity to our place. Kpebu’s last words were, “…I was the only youth who started being his boy servant since I was a teenager. Even when he left his old church, I also left there to join him here. A business mogul he once helped with prayers has come to add a car to his fleet of cars, so this is just to say thank you to me too. Or I don’t deserve it?” “I am not saying that. Pastor Ntim has always been a heaven sent. God is pleased with him. I know what he can do,” Sharifa corroborating Pastor Ntim’s highly enviable sense of benevolence.
We have arrived at our destination. Kpebu turned off the ignition key. He went out and opened the door to our main gate for my mother and I. Sharifa also alighted. “Ah…but I thought I would be going with you, Sharifa?” “No. I want to spend some time with Adukwei.” “Okay, then I will see you all tomorrow,” he said and left. Maa Christy asked Sharifa to tarry for a while. She went inside and came with a plate of rice for us. After we had enjoyed it, I also took to going to know Sharifa’s place.
On our way, I was being very observing; my gossiping skills had not all been flushed away by the agents of repentance. I noticed that most pedestrians who saw us walking together were kind of winking at us. I do not know if the winks were meant for us or me, in particular.
What really helped to settle this rumored thought of mine was the fact that all those who had given us the offensive look appeared to be Muslims. The ladies among those people had covered their heads with a veil (Hijab). The men wore trousers above their ankles, and there were those with long cloak they called “Jilbab”. And since I am new in the neighborhood I doubt if anyone would wink at me. For what reason? I had no affiliation or whatsoever with any person in that area. This pushed me to ask Sharifa a daunting question. “You are supposed to be in a mosque, so what were you doing at church?” “My sister, you have asked me a serious question. I wish I could wake my mother’s ghost to answer you.” I could notice her painful joy.
“When I was done with High school. . .” she said, “some four years ago, my late mother could not afford for me to enter the University. My father, a man I had not seen anywhere before. Maybe he just impregnated my mother and gave me an Islamic name. That was all. It is the “Kooko” or porridge business which sustained us. I was then attending “Makranta”. I still have not forgotten the verses and traditions I have memorised. But here is the issue: when my mother died, nobody took to taking care of me. I would be living in this kiosk and be selling porridge. All my Muslim sisters, brothers, and the leaders of our mosque were interested was, it seems, the day I did not make it to “makranta”. They would come here and be calling me offensive names even when I was selling, that now I have known men so I do not know Allah. Meanwhile, I did not know anyone. Even Jafar that they used to tease me with, at “makranta”, does not know what a woman’s breast looked like.”
I wanted to tell her to pause so that we would continue later; I was being teary. How can I be enjoying the “Sobolo” she has served with while being emotional at the same time? But she insisted to continue. “One day, on my way to buy food ingredients, I met Mrs. Ntim. Adukwei, that was how everything ominous about my life got changed. She spoke to me like a mother. I was immediately convinced that these are the people who understand the favorite saying that ‘service to man is service to God’. Do you know that from that day it’s Pastor Ntim who takes care of me? He pays my school fees and feeds me, despite the fact that I still trade the “Kooko” business. Mrs. Ntim is like a mother to me. I go with her anywhere she goes. This is the reason my Muslim brothers and sisters see me as Lucifer, for I have stopped worshiping Allah. But they have forgotten that providing neighbourly needs are part of Islam, which I am getting in Christianity! And that Robert G. Ingersoll’s philosophy stated that ‘the hands that help are far better than lips that pray.’”
I was completely shushed. I thought I was alone in this canker. My father has neglected us. Sharifa’s brothers and sisters in faith had also abandoned her when she needed them the most. “Sister, this is dreadful and heartbreaking. Take heart. I do not know much about religion but I know that Muslims and Christians worship the same God who created the universe. But come to think of it, then if Pastor Ntim knows that I have graduated from high school, I am sure he might want to also help?” “Oh yes! Maybe your mother has informed him already. Just relax. Things will work. He is very good at helping. He is a giver who gives without stint.”
The night hour was clocking so I asked Sharifa that he should also see me off. This is funny; she came to see me off earlier from church. I saw her off too. And now she is going to see me off again. This madness is for the ‘Beloved’. While at halfway the road, she met her course mate at the university, so I seized the opportunity and left her there. I would have to continue alone so that they would have some time together. That was how we parted ways that late afternoon.
TO BE CONTINUED…
By Abdul Rahman Odoi
(UNEDITED)
NB: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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