STORY 2: LOST IN THE VALLEY

TEARS OF EDWARDO

I suddenly wafted away from where I had landed and observed that I was rather in a valley. It was very cool and dark but I could see things clearly. It was rocky and uncomfortable. I sat on a rock, lonely and very sad. I was here until midnight. I nearly died of fear as series of ghost related stories/movies ran through my mind and it was as if the rocks were walking and laughing at me. I nearly screamed but held my peace as that could attract beast or demons. I then remembered I was having my scapular on my breast pocket blessed by Fr. Martins Connel our parish priest from Scotland. I dipped my hand in my pocket and brought it out, made sign of the cross and put it on. In faith I was confident that the scapular will surely scare away evil from coming near even wild animals.

At midnight I heard someone drumming and I turn to the direction and saw a red light burning. The drummer shouted, “I know you are there, stranger. Come out here or I search you out myself and you pay the price.” I was nearly frozen at this major development. I cried out, “Dear good one, I am here. Please spare the life of your innocent servant.”

“Come out,” he thundered again. And I appeared before him trembling in tears and panic. The valley was very low in temperature, but I was sweating profusely and trembling in fear. He gazed at me a while and laughed loudly as though there was something really amusing about my sad mood.

“Young man!” he called out, “what brought you here?” he asked having a wooden local lamp by his left hand which enabled me have a glimpse of his hairy face. He was few years older than dad. If psychologically assessed, one can liking him to be a sanguine, he was cheerful and happy by nature. As hard as he tried to make me have a perception of him as a wicked person, the more the real him unfolds as he struggled with himself to prevent smiling as a result of my disdain and mournful look. I noticed him smiling pretentiously as the lamp reddish melancholic rays flashed across his face.

“My good father, I never had it in mind to come over here and have your peace disrupted. Please forgive me a disobedient son. It was out of carelessness and stupidity that I had gotten myself trapped here.” I explained a little relieved. At this, his real humorous and cheerful nature unfolded as he threw-open his arms and held me to himself. He smelled of coffee and dry-gin. I felt warm as he coddled me as though I was a little child of three years old. I was bemused and flabbergasted as I saw him began shedding tears, “what is your name?” he asked and sneezed thrice.

“My name is Owenaco. I am a Yoruba by tribe. Ogun is my state of origin. Together with my parents we lived here in Lagos. It was my dad that bought the house bided for sale at Segun estate where we now lived.” I explained only to catch more painful sight of him. His eyes turn reddish and heavy with tears. I could perceive betrayal. He was heart-broken and humiliated, “by who and how?” remained an obsessing question in my mind. I wondered if I could ever be of help, “but how?” became another recurring question.

“My son I am sorry not being man enough to bear and control my tears. Owenaco the world is full of wolfs in sheep in clothing. There are wicked and devilish people under the sun. No-matter how hard the good ones tried to have the world lavished with love and have it graced with morality. The bad devilish ones hiding under the shadow tirelessly promote and propagate clouds of darkness in the world, they lie in secret places and wages war against the Just. But it is certain and truthful that irrespective of the severity of the darkness, a tiny projected ray of light, destroys it,” he said. “Whenever I thought of this, I remained hopeful that the race has not come to an end. I have a very good friend,” he began the story I was passionate to listen to with an erected eye brow and alerted ear, I paid attention to him.

“We were like five and six. Going by my illustration, if I were five, then six was the servant of Satan without my knowing it we shared our plans and prospect of life together. We were very close and does things together just like twins. It happened that God who see’s the mind of His creatures favoured me and I was privileged and traveled out of the country. I was in China for a period of fifteen years working with the White, under life threatening cold weather. On the year I was to come back to Nigeria I wrote a letter to my friend. He made arrangement for my comfort. When I finally arrived Nigeria there was a warm reunion with my friend. That night was indeed warm and memorable; we reviewed our past stories as teenagers. It was here I informed him of my intention of getting married and also to make substantial investment before going back to China. He jump in happiness and encouraged me. I was deeply touched in the heart as he was not yet married, but unbiased he supported my desire. Moved by this I instructed him to search for a girl he would marry for we shall be weeding on the same day. He complained of not having enough money for that now and I told him to leave all the expenses to me that his major job should be searching out his missing rib. So it was, we weeded in the Catholic Church on a blissful rainy Saturday at St. Augustine parish, Lagos state in the year 1967. It was indeed a talk of the town many expatriates’ dignitaries were seen all over. Three days after our weeding I called my friend and gave him hundred dollars to take good care of himself and his dear wife.

WATCH OUT FOR STORY 3

MARTINS FRANCIS I