#SundayNightTales THE FAITH ANGLE (2) #21 Oleh street was a long block of one bedroom apartments built facing each other in a square pattern. The compound was fenced round by a low un-plastered cement wall. Two flats were self contained while the rest were single rooms with occupants sharing toilet facilities. The toilet was a pit latrine located at the back of the compound. It was separated from the rest of the buildings by a tiny clump of bush and plantain trees. The shared bathroom; a small aluminium roofed enclave fenced around by cement wall stood behind the toilet. Ejiro pushed open the creaky black gate and walked into the compound. It was calm and peaceful as always the case on Sunday mornings. Majority of the residents were either in church or were sleeping off the Saturday night hangover. He walked straight to his door; a frail looking wooden door protected by iron protectors. He removed the string of keys from with pocket and fumbled with the lock which was a bit faulty. The wall of the house was unpainted and the lower part was covered by a thick mass of green moss. Ejiro didn’t care about beautification or decoration of the house. This house was the cheapest he could afford in this part of Warri when he came in three years ago. His room was small, drab looking and poorly illuminated. His few possessions were strewn around the corners of the room. A threadbare curtain covered the only window in the room. A pale green rubber carpet covered the floor. A depressed mattress laid on the floor, a rumpled “Ghana must go” bag filled with clothes stood at a corner, a small transistor radio with a broken pole was on a side stool. Two worn out pairs of palm sandals & a black cover shoe laid close to the door. His cutlery was inside a basket placed on top of the wooden shelf. Three wallpapers showing a Manchester united team lifting a trophy were plastered on the wall. There was no electricity as usual. Oleh street was one of the parts of Warri where electricity supply was a rarity, everyone depended on small tiger generators for power supply. The bible verse quoted by Pastor Smart came back into Ejiro’s mind. “If you have faith like a mustard seed, you can say unto this mountain be thou removed and be thou cast into the sea and without doubt in your heart you shall have whatsoever you say!” That verse struck him as being remarkable. If only he could have faith and believe in God, his dismal circumstances could change. He looked at the tract he was given in church, “Faith cometh by hearing and hearing the word of God, Romans 10:17” was boldly written on the front page. Ejiro didn’t remember the last time he prayed or read the bible. The life of a Warri hustler was not compatible with religion. There were a lot things a hustler did to make ends meet; the underhand dealings, betrayals, dirty deals, backstabbing and occasional criminal acts. Now that he was a born again Christian, he would have to adjust his lifestyle and start reading the bible for his faith to grow. Footsteps sounded at the door, a sharp knock landed on the door and it was pushed open. A man walked into the room. He was a dark complexioned man of medium height. He was wearing a white singlet on top of a black jean trouser, his face was bearded and there was a black sunshade covering his eyes. The most remarkable thing about him was the dreadlocks hairstyle on his head. “Watagwan man, wey yuh a fi guh?” The man was known as Rasta man. Rasta man was Ejiro’s next door neighbor, an interesting character. No one really knew where Rasta man came from or how old he was. His life was shrouded in secrecy and he refused to let out information about himself leading to speculations in the compound that he was from Ethiopia. Rasta man spoke mainly Jamaican Patois language and Queens English with impeccable diction. He rarely spoke in pidgin. Rastaman proclaimed himself to be a Rastafarian, a follower of Haile Selassie. Rasta man was known to periodically shut himself inside his room for days listening to nothing else than Bob marley tracks and ranting against the government. Rasta man was jobless and was always broke. “I went to church” Ejiro replied to the amusement of Rasta man who let out a dry laughter. “Mi shock to di bone mi broda. Jah have mercy, Yuh a go worship Jah inna Babylon temple?” “Bros i no sabi wetin that one mean. I been go church today” “I&I no need no Babylon system. Jah live inna mi heart, Hail Selassie!” Rasta man declared thumping his chest. “Rasta man what do you want?” Ejiro asked in an exasperated tone. Rasta man never came around unless he wanted something. “Gimme a lightha mi wan lite and blaze up muoan, just wanna feel irie inna Babylon style, i tell ya!” It was a familiar request. Rasta man always dashed in to borrow matches or a lighter to light up his wraps of weed anytime he wanted to go into his smoking and music sessions. He called it Skanking and positive vibration. Ejiro tossed a match box at him. Rasta man grabbed it and scurried away. ****************** Sunday evenings at No 12 Ejema street is always cool and full of indoor activities. The residents would be in their homes, entertaining guests and visitors or watching movies. The compound had two families and a host of single men and women. There was the Okolo family with their three hyperactive and stubborn kids. There was Dagogo aka Hard man a notable tout and drug dealer. He was the head of area boys in the community. He always spoke in a husky voice tone. Dagogo’s breath always reeked of stale cigarettes. A deep gash under his left eye showed that he narrowly escaped losing one of his eyes in a knife fight. There was Sunny boy who was rumoured to be involved in oil bunkering business. People couldn’t fathom how a man with no visible means of income could be so rich as to drive a Toyota Camry and live large. Jemima and Prisca two high class girls shared a room. They claimed to be undergraduates of Delta state university Abraka but everyone knew that in reality they were call girls who plied their trade in the night at Enerhen Junction and sometimes travelled out to service clients in nearby towns and cities. There was Bobooski, Saint Jude, Akpoveme, Grace and the dubious Tega family. *************** Ejiro sat on his mattress that Sunday evening. It was a humdrum evening for him. His evening plans were severely hindered by his poverty. If he had money he would have gone to Koobies bar to watch the Manchester United versus Aston villa game. He was still smarting from the humiliation he got from Uncle Ceejay the owner and operator of Koobies bar the last time he went there to watch a game. It was the Champions league final and no sane young man in the neighbourhood would want to miss the Champions league final. Uncle Ceejay had thrown him out of the bar because he couldn’t afford the N100 viewing fee. His plea to watch the game on credit fell on deaf ears as the money loving man refused to shift grounds. Ejiro had refused to leave the hall, a small fight broke out and Uncle Ceejay who had many supporters threw him out. His poverty was sobering, the sneers and insults that was directed at him was enough to break the heart of a Warri boy. He was forced to watch the game outside by peeping through a crack in the window. Now that he was born again, he had to focus on building his faith for a change in his life. Ejiro took up the small New Testament Gideons bible and opened it. It was logical to start reading from the first book of Matthew. He squinted at the tiny prints and began to read slowly… “Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob begat Judas and his brethren. And Judas begat Phares and Zara of Tharma, and Phares begat Erom, and Esrom begat Aram. And Aram begat Abinadab; and Aminadab begat Naasson; and Naasson begat Salmon……” Ejiro threw down the bible in despair. It made no sense to him. It was an endless cycle of someone begating someone else. He would attend the bible study on Monday evening maybe they would explain the bible to him there. Maybe he would meet Rose……oh Rose, the beautiful girl in the evangelism unit. He wanted to see her again. He dropped the bible and stood up. He needed to go out for an evening stroll to clear his head but he had to take his bath first. Ejiro grabbed the blue bucket that was on the floor outside the room. He draped a white towel around his neck and moved along the narrow corridor that terminated at the backyard. He walked passed the clump of bush that led to the shared bathroom. The bathroom was a roofed structure with cement walls. Ejiro slipped on the ground where green algae and molds were growing luxuriantly and muttered a little swear word as he regained his balance. He searched the wooden frame set up to place soap dishes and sponges to see if anybody had left him a tiny bar of soap to bath with. Luckily he found one. *************** Monday morning signaled the beginning of the week’s hustle in the city. The few lucky ones who had jobs dashed off to their work places. Civil servants, casual workers, company workers, okada riders and taxi riders. The unemployed ones either stayed put in their homes or hit the streets to while away the time. Erijo woke up to the sound of a quarrel in the compound. “Commot for hia! Una no dey shame? Dis early morning wey responsible men dey go work, una dey sit here dey block road with una yeye game. Make una go find handiwork!” The voice of a pissed off Mrs Okolo rose up in the air. Her vitriol was directed at Saint Jude and Boboski. She was on her way out to work in Devines Bakeries, a local bakery that manufactured bread in the city. The two young men were sitting on low stools at the corridor obstructing her passage. They sat with their knees touching each, a drafts board was well balanced on their knees. They were engaged in the draft game moving their seeds and plotting their game winning strategies. “Na which kind kasala be this? You bin see us for your dream last nite? Shior!” Saint Jude a man in his early thirties responded. His white singlet hung on his bony frame like a flag on a pole. “No mind the winsh. Papa Okolo no give am chop moni, na im make she come dey para this morning” his companion said with a sly smile. They both laughed out loud. The infuriated lady spat at them to register her disgust and walked away. Ejiro sat up from the bed, the hunger pangs was returning. He will have to buy breakfast at Mama Kevwe’s bar. It was better than cooking indomie which won’t sustain him throughout the day. ************* Mama Kevwes bar was a big rectangular structure constructed with wooden planks and roofed with rusty looking aluminium sheets. The restaurant catered for the food needs of the low income earners in the neighbourhood. It was the local watering hole and a good place for socialization. The menu included Egusi soup with eba at the rate of N70 per serving, Banga soup with starch at N150, White rice and fish pepper-soup, Jollof rice, Beer and the popular Sapele water; a local brand of gin. The customers sat on long wooden benches placed beneath the wooden tables. They ate their food served in small plates while chasing away numerous flies that perched on the tables with one hand. They talked and discussed at the top of their voices. Mama Kevwe was a slightly obese middle aged woman who ruled over the restaurant with a firm hand. She was respected for her fairness and honesty. She sometimes was called upon to settle disputes among the customers. Mama Kevwe was assisted by four female staff the most popular of whom was Yellow Sisi, a young girl aptly nicknamed because of her fair complexion. The male customers sometimes made advances at the female waiters who were experienced in the art of banter, they always responded by hurling insults and abuses at the men who laughed good naturedly. “Migwuo” Ejiro greeted mama Kevwe as he stood in front of the counter to make his order. “Vrendo. How you dey?” “I dey bam bam” Ejiro responded and turned to Yellow sisi. Yellow sisi abeg give me the usual He chose a seat close to the side window table and looked around. Rasta man was devouring a steaming plate of rice two tables away. Watagwan mi broda. Mi feed mi flesh and bones witta grub. Jah have mercy pon the system Nothing do you, carry go Ejiro hailed back. “Rasta man why you no dey talk wetin pesin fit hear, wetin be all this yarns you dey drop?’ A well muscled man wearing a fez cap with the front of the cap shifted backwards queried Rasta man at the top of his voice. “Mi broda, no fear if you cian chat patwa, ita di luv inna yuh heart that makes yuh a rasta”Rasta man replied with a grin. The man shrugged his shoulder turned his attention to Ejiro. Ejiro hafana? how ministry dey go? You no do me well at all. Oya nack me one beer make I take hold bodi Oga e get as e be o, ministry neva move to permanent site Yellow sisi quickly cut it. Ejiro no mind that yeye man, no buy am any drink “See as im dry like okporoko, e neva pay for de ones wey im don drink finish. E still dey owe last week own sef! Mama Kevwe you don see how this girl dey sharp mouth dey cast pesin like this? Infact I fit vex come buy all the drinks wey dey dis bar! I fit even come pay im bride price join. She no know say Ejiro na my paddy? Shuo! The man said giving a hissing sound to show his feigned annoyance. Ejiro focused his attention on his plate. The steaming plate of banga soup and two wraps of eba were delicious. His itinerary for the day was well planned. After finishing the meal, he would move to Central Park to hustle, loading passengers for buses, then later head off to Goodnews Cyber café to see if they had any job opening for him. In the evening he would go to Christ Love Arena for bible study. He would meet certainly sister Rose there. He was entering into another phase of life as a spirit filled born again Christian living by faith. ************** mynaijastories/faith-angle-2/
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 19:23:46 +0000
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