Motunrayo Emiola

Moturayo Emiola

“I’m afraid”
She said to me, holding back her tears. She was restraining that because of me : I could sense that.

    Though I have been the only son who'd given her tough times : at the level of vocations, yet she took more delights in confiding in me than in my brothers.

   “Nothing would happen to you, Mum” I promised.

   I was girding myself with borrowed courage – the courage I didn’t have, lent it for her. I could sense the despair, sadness, the confusion of it all was overwhelming. But she didn’t seem to believe my words, she was indeed tired of staying in her house, she was afraid, yes, twas written all over her. Then, I began to think : is this how ones faith diminish? Is this how the boiling torrent of her undaunted faith cool off?

    I remembered, yes, back then. When the trial was at the apex, when an evil arrow was pointed at my brother and I. Yes,my brother was dead, yes, tough I was unconscious too : I had taken two drips. He – my brother – had taken seven, yet, he gave up his ghost. But, I was aghast, stupefied, and flabbergasted when she ordered the doctor not to cover her son with the death cloth : that stupid-fair-like-snow covering. What a faith!

     “My son is not dead” she said, controlling the tears escaping her pupils and the betraying retina. She pleaded the doctor to live him uncovered, then journeyed into the land of prayer, pulling off bricks, trees and falling cedar militating against her vehicle : vowing not to eat until her miracles comes.

      Wow! I was discharged, I was taken aback, I couldn’t believe it, it came, her sought miracle came  after four days. Yes, the second Lazarus, my brother jeered back to life. He coughed first, my mother was beside him, you could imagine,at the dreaded hour of the midnight. Her faith was stanced as rock mingled with Sequoia. Her unwavering faith was like clouds hung together to form the longest lawn, which to us is known as sky.

      Her faith, yes, that faith, where is it now? Is the source of the faith dried now? Is the filler of the bottle worked out and resigned? Com'on who does that?

    It was all over, that faith could not bear her on its wings anymore, that faith was already withdrawn or perhaps, ones faith has its own span as ones life : would live with you for 47 years and at the rest of 3years, before your death, would stray to the giver.

    Then, she started recounting the plight of her marriage, as if I wasn’t a partaker of the fucking shits! Twas annoying. When she finished all, I hated myself, my father, and Polly everyone. I should have summon that big guy to come and answer some questions  I have for him. But I couldn’t , he lives on high beyond those choice less clouds, inside the scorching sun?

   “ I must go” she swore.
   “ I cannot continue living here, maybe for a short period “ She continued.
   “ I’m afraid I may die” She shocked me.

   “Far be it, you cannot “, promised again.
    “ You’re far from death”, didn’t know where those words came from.
     “You’ll be fine”
     “ Just stay here “ I conditioned her.

    But no, she had zippered her heart with the scales of nothing-shall-persuade-me-not-to-go kind of orientation. And now she’d left to embrace the death she was running from.

    I saw it coming? Yes, I did! If I wouldn’t tell lies, I saw it coming! Though the insinuation were blur but the implications were very vivid, conspicuous, bogus and dexterously obvious. Bear with me with my vocabulary, I’ve just got to let them out as they assembled for their turn.

     It happened that I had a dream, yes? No! Twasn't a dream, twas a vision. ‘Cos it came to pass, twas glaring and annoyingly fascinating? The message of the vision came as good news which everyone would give unalloyed attention to, but the implication of it in reality was shockingly harsh and unfair.

     Twas the voice of the big guy I heard.
     “ I want to take one of you”
       Those were his words. Just a sentence! You could imagine what just a sentence, seven words (perhaps his perfection) has turned my family into today. It has turned everything over, sadness mingled with lean joy, both struggled while one survived the conquest barely.

       Twas me he told the words, I was coming out of the church. I don’t even know the church in reality, I’ve not seen it face-to-face. Later, yes, twas glaring, I then saw my mother in the dream – Motunrayo Emiola. She came to me and told me:

       “ He said he want to take one of us”,
        She affirmed his words. Sincerely, I read a total distinct meaning to it. I didn’t know this is where the big guy is arriving at. I hated him for this : for putting me in the darkness of it all. But, well, I forgave him, because, we still have a lot to discuss.

         Waking up on the 15th of November 2018, two days after her death, my father called us in the morning, sat beside me on the mat and the let the killing words escaped his glottis like a whisper which was actually a bomb when they were out : cos they exploded my emotions and desecrated my feelings.

         First, I didn’t know how to make meaning out of the shit. I was just staring at him as though I should : my thoughts were just blank, couldn’t think of anything.

        “What is the meaning of this rubbish” Was all I could coin.

          Then, I began to reminisce on how she’d suffered a lot for the sake of her children. I couldn’t sit back at home : I didn’t know why. I just dressed awkwardly and picked my way – after delivering the message father sent me. I just felt I needed a walk : just a walk. But after I got into it, I started from my house, rounded the streets, then edged toward Agemowo – A one and half hour walk. Closer to Agemowo, a student of mine  waved at me from the bus, well, I waved him back. I didn’t want to stay home, I hate sympathy. I hate someone telling me
       “ Sorry, it’s enough”.
          It resurrects the odd feelings, hitting me with the bludgeon of sadness bought by the occurrence – her death.

        Returning home, something popped into my head, before that, I was thinking people would see me walking beside the highway - in a journey like  Connecticut to Newyork divided into two – and apprehend me thinking me for a kidnapper  and then share from my plight, but none saw me. Though they did with their eyes but locked their minds' eyes. What popped into my head was the product of the big guy : I was thinking of where to go, I didn’t want to stay in that house, “that day”, “forever?”. Then he said “Go to school”. I hastened my soles, got home, threw myself into a cardigan, a trouser with a zebra palm. Through with dressing up, I heard people asking me where I was going, but who cares? My father was like, where are you going, coupled with other lean comments added by those present there.

             “Leave me alone”
               Was all I could say. I didn’t know what courage I had to day such, even irrespective of the D/S present.  I was blinded by the grieve. Twas overwhelming. You don’t wanna witness such, do you? Of course , no one wishes anyone thus, but they said

             “Death is inevitable”
.             I don’t think I agree with that. Enoch, Elijah and Yahushua would agree with me.

             Someone like a mother came after me, held my two arms, asked after where I was going. I told her I could not stay in there. The pressure was high, she held me tight and wouldn’t let me go, then out of rage – sorry about that – I let loosed and began to run away. A bike waited on me and took me to Oko-Afo where I boarded an house bus. Not everyone on a bus are just the way they seem, many are sailing far on the ocean  of thoughts, in a water-would-enter kind of boat, ship, or whatever. The conductor almost pressed patience out of me with a stupid question. Well, I controlled myself,  cos he didn’t kill her – the big guy did.

           Getting off the bus, I entered a class, let loosed the rapped thoughts that had been striving to fly around – not away. I began to think about how she’d proven to be a mother indeed. Fasted for her children to eat. Prayed for her children to live. I bet you, that woman could pray all through nights, she could fast all through days, she went to several mountains , several prayer meetings, converted many souls, drawn many souls to Yahushua, drawn all her children to Yahuah tight. I pray she enjoy heaven, since she couldn’t earth. Amen.

           “Take care of your brother and sister, assign them psalms as the spirit leads you”
            Her last words to me when I gave her a call.

              Imagine this,  I could not cry, I didn’t cry, my own mother died and I didn’t cry. Am I not evil, Cruel and heartless? What kind of heart do I have? I should have wailed, informed heaven and earth, mountains and dales, valleys and hills, rivers and oceans, nature and animals but no tears escaped my pupils. How mean am I ? The situation, occurrence was so high that I couldn’t express my pain and regret with tears, but deep down within me, I was torn.

              I swore that I would not bear the surname ‘Adeyemi' any longer – well, I have. But my children wouldn’t, my wife wouldn’t, the calamities that befell my mother was owed to those hags – tons of her plights. She’d told me often time how she’d been warned by them – the hags. She told us – her children! Ah! What a loss.

             I was pressed and have to leave where I was, I saw a woman who happened to be my friend and tried to lend her charger. Immediately she saw me, she asked if I was sick. I didn’t know that the thoughts had eaten my posture that I became thus conspicuous. I answered that I’m sick. Aren’t I ? Sick in emotions of the loss of my mother.

            With adherence, I promises not to tell anyone of her death – not any of my friends, not even my Bestie, Titi. Even when I went to Mabel’s hostel to get a #50 note for adding to my t-fare : I left home unprepared. Esther was like, this is not Joshua enough, she demanded to know if all is well, as well as Mabel and Dupe. But I wasn’t ready to tell anyone the fucking shit! What would I say? Would I say : “My mother is dead” or “She kicked the bucket?”, Such euphemism could not make those thoughts soothing, it hurt it more, thus, I chose to be mute.

          No, I wasn’t sad because she died : I said earlier that Yahuah showed me that he wanted to take one of us – though it caught me unawares. I was and still sad because what I promised her failed.

          “ You will not die, no body will feast on the fruit of your labour, you shall eat them yourself, carry your grandson in your palm and give them eulogies”.
            Those were my promises. Did they come to pass ? She had done her work for someone else to gain. She’d planted the grain, weeded it in rain and sun, pruned it in summer and winter, but she didn’t harvest, let alone eat from it. That is exactly the sword piercing my happiness. How could the big guy allowed that? Not even an accolade for what she’d done, even in his vineyard? Com'on who does that?

             Yes, we know, she built house, not even house, houses and shops, but who reaps the proceedings and produce of the assets? She loved to invest on assets than liability, but her marriage did not favor her – Her first child learnt that from her: investing on assets.

              Returning home, I was used. I couldn’t eat anything throughout that day, everyone I saw were just annoying. The condolences fueled the ember of the annoyance. I shouted at my sister when she called me to come and eat ; food the owner of the house can no longer eat? Didn’t know how and why I did that, she was trying to care, perhaps, filling the vacuum her death had dug.

             I couldn’t sleep ; throughout the day at school, I was just sleeping and thinking. I was expecting to see her in my dream, to hold me and tell me that my father was just being a clown and was playing prank on me. But nay, she didn’t come : she seemed to have forgotten us.

            Then I refreshed the thoughts and began blaming myself. Was it because  she would die I failed to call her regularly when she was sick? Was Yahuah trying to make me miss her before her death? Gosh!
            I began to think about those periods I would return from school, say to her,
             “Hey nigga, how ‘re you doing? “
              And she would smile and say
             “ Enu e ni ko da”.
              I remembered those periods I would arrive from school, open her structured table pick ball of tomatoes and peppers for noodles I bought. She would be like,
                “ Oya put them down, you won’t even ask if I’ve sold part of them, you’ll just arrive and pick whatever you like. Sora re oo”.
                 I would just smile and say
                  “ E o dupe pe mo n je ninu e. Don’t you know who I am?”.
                   I’ve heard her retorted
                  “ Who are you?”
                   I would reply
                   “ I’m a  levite and even you’re supposed to pay me your tithes”
                     She would frown,
                    “ Even I am a levite, open your church first before demanding people's tithes, don’t start with my shop”.
                    We would laugh it away and she would call me again,
                      “ Joshua, come and stay in the shop for me”
                      And I would be like,
                      “ Shey you can see now, are you not calling me now? Later you will be complaining not to take things from your shop “.
   
                  Oops! Who would I do all these with again? All metamorphosed into a phantom or mirage.

                  I drifted to sleep after all these and woke for people’s shaped lips of condolences to arrive. It’s painful that people wouldn’t appreciate you till you go. Many who would not say it to her face back then started commending her after her death.
                  “Why is my life like this?”
                   I remembered she’d started,
                   “ Those I do good to tend to pay me with evil”
                    She continued.
                   “ Maybe I should just stop doing good”
                    She almost gave up.

               But I wouldn’t her, I admonished her, though she relented a bit, but didn’t stop : she didn’t have the cruel heart to stop.

               “Mama taught my wife how to pray. She’d done a lot in my family.”
                “ I can remember what mama did when she took me to Ikeji and took my plights personally, praying for me as though it is for herself.”
                  To mention but few things people said about her ; I took that part of her – the second man's speech.

                 “ You people should just leave”
                  Was the only thought I could conceive.
                  “Why didn’t you all say it to her face?”.
                  Those who added to her worry, who owed her and would not pay,who claimed right on that, Yahuah await you all in judgement ; because you added to her worries and shortened her life – acted as part of the Brutus that stabbed her Caesar.
                 
                   I was and still proud of Emiola, many people said a lot of good things about her.

                 “ If we are to have a way keep, this Place would not contain people”
                    I remembered the man said.

                     What would people say about you too when you go?
                     “Die again?”
                      “May his soul rest in peace?”
                      “Well, we cannot curse his corpse”.
                     Choose one of those comments by your doings and actions today.

                      Few minutes later, everyone returned to their works as if nothing happened.

Note: Dedicated to my mother : Motunrayo Grace Emiola Adeyemi, who died 13thof November 2018, buried on 15thwhen the news got to us. This is written with regret on the 16th November 2018.

                              Thanks for Reading.
         You shall all live the lives of positive impacts.
                         18:11:16:10:53