My uncle Leopold was never considered as part of the extended family. He was simply regarded as an outcast. To me, he was an ordinary man. But to my mother, he was the worst beast in human form. Any other name was sweet music to her ear, except the name Leopold. My uncle lived by himself in an old wooden house which was the birth place of my grand mother. One glance at it told the unsuspecting visitor that lumber was scarce and workmen were few. It was as if NEMO knew nothing of its very existence . To the rest of the village, it was a tremendous eye sore. But to my uncle , it was his hotel when on leave from Her Majestys Prison. From an early age, we were told to stay as far as possible from that building. We as children were never allowed to visit him. In fact, any area beyond the hibiscus fence was simply out of bounds. On the other hand, my uncle knew his boundaries very well. He never came to our house. The only contact he made with us was whenever he stretched over the fence to beg for matches or a pinch of salt or even some cooking oil. To be quite frank, he was much less than a dog and was threated likewise. Uncle Leopold was exactly sixty three years old. He was a convicted felon who had spent forty six of those years behind the walls of Her Majestys Prisons. From all accounts, prison was the place where he felt most comfortable . Whenever he came out, it was just for a short holiday. There seems to have been some compelling force which hustled him back . I believe that he committed the unpardonable sin at age seventeen . It is said that he was a sweeper at an established church in the village . One Friday afternoon, he went to clean the church and miraculously discovered where the collection was kept. Uncle Leopold did not hesitate to let God know whose money it was . He showed God and the rest of the church how money should be spent. It is often said, that the longest journey begins with a single step. Uncle Leopold simply went on the rampage. It was from one prison term to the next. He was now a kleptomaniac and stealing had now become a disease. I remember one time, the police came to search his house. I cried when I saw the things he stole. They included a small piece of washing soap, a condom, a little draining of cooking oil in a bottle and an old wash rag . As I looked at my uncle wearing the handcuffs, the wrath of god descended upon me. In my little mind, I felt as if I could have broken the police transport wind shield with a stone. But, I was too small to act. I stood for a while and a thousand thoughts came to my mind. I thought of the church, the money .They were struggling to repair the building when my uncle took every thing. He was paying the price. God was punishing him
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 01:42:03 +0000
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