“I’ve had enough” I scream as my voice echoes in the emptiness of the room. If the walls could speak, they will yell back at me like a woman will chide her naughty child. I sink to my knees, in spite of my efforts to maintain composure, hot tears start coming. I’m not an emotional person but now I have a good excuse to bawl my eyes out.
Have a good cry. I pacify myself.
I’m heart-broken. I wish I can end it all. “Your mother would have been a very caring Mother if death had forgotten her; she died when you were four” Father says to me with so much pain in his voice.
He tries to act manly with bottles on his chest every night. He drinks to forget his depression. I guess. I do not ask him why he drinks.
My 100 level results were released; I didn’t meet up with the crossing Grade Point of my faculty and I was offered two options by the school which were to either be moved to the faculty of education from the faculty of engineering or to face expulsion.
Home is where they catch you when you fall but mine is the opposite.
My Father crashed through the door of my room, pounced on me like a hungry Lion almost tearing my skin into pieces the night he found out my results.
“Why me??” I say shortly, staring at the wall. I do not have bad sores, I do not have children who all died or a business which is running down but my woes seem bigger than that of Job.
Let me lead you to die.
It’s God – I think – not God. It’s the Devil telling me this like a man will ask a woman for a dance. Some instincts tells me it’s the devil. Because Sunday school teacher says to me “The devil’s side of things are always, bad, evil and ungodly”
I make a quick decision. Yes. I’ll rather go straight to Hell.
I stagger to my feet, slide the window open and…
The phone distracts me.
The sound of a Yoruba song is leaking out loudly. I ignore the call at first but it’s consistent. I step back and slink into a corner beside the window. It’sMorakinyo.
Morakinyo is the teens’ choir leader. I always admire his courage and his big smile. His smile is so enchanting. I knew in my heart that I would miss him.
My phone rings the 5th time. I’m sensing urgency. My stomach does this funny squiggle and I reach for my phone, scared.
Now it’s a text. It reads
“Bolu, how’re you. Let’s hang out
tomorrow. You’ve not been in church
For a while now; I’ve missed you!
Till then, have it at the back of your
Mind that God will never give up on
you. He loves you more than anyone ever
can. Please pick my calls
Wanna hear your voice.”
My heart melts. I feel love. I sob and sob. My phone beeps again. It’sMorakinyo. I wipe my tears.
I hit the green button. I’m half listening… and bawling my eyes out. I eventually calm down. Next thing I’m pouring it out. I just skipped an assorted meal of death.
Friends, no matter how sweet it might look, the assorted meal of death is not yours to taste. Are you passing through terrible times, please do talk to someone. There’s always someone you can trust. You don’t need to walk that road alone; I bet you! With God holding in between, you can walk that road over. Remember that a threefold cord is not easily broken [Ecclesiastes 4: 9 – 12].
To the million and one Morakinyos’ out there, please do show someone some love today. That show of love might just save an individual. Please never ignore a nudging to call, text, start a conversation with that individual; an assorted meal of death might just have been served.
NB: This story is purely fictional. Any resemblance to any person/ situation, living or dead is purely a coincidence.