PRAYING FOR A GHOST
I watched this woman from
where I sat at the back seat of an old passenger bus headed for Awka. She had a
rosary in hand, and she crushed each bead so hard that I thought it would
break. She prayed so fervently that I thought the angels might come down. It
was not long enough before she alighted at the entrance of a church, probably
to continue her prayer inside the church on a higher scale.
As the bus rolled on, I began to wonder: who was this woman
praying for. It was so obvious that the problem she was praying for must have
eaten deep into her marrows. She was not looking too old, but her hair was
whiter than snow, and she had wrinkles over her body; signs and wonders of
poverty.
Suddenly, it just hit my mind. Probably this woman was
crushing the beads of her rosary praying for a son, who is somewhere in the
bush getting high on weeds, or a daughter who is exercising her waist on the
laps of a man. Why won’t she fast and pray hard, when her future hope is
bleaching the remnants of his already white future.
As I watched that woman, I began to imagine: many mothers
are at home praying for their daughters’ virginity to still be intact, while
the daughters are at school teaching other girls “how to satisfy men in bed”.
Somewhere a father is praying for his sons to make money and become responsible
in life, while the sons are somewhere languishing with the money they receive
from home on weeds and girls. These parents are probably praying for ghosts.
Definitely, my parents are
somewhere praying vehemently for me to be a better person, but the problem
sometimes is that people believe in me, but I hardly believe in myself. I think
It is high time I started believing in myself, because only when I believe can
I move the walls of achievement.
Augustus Bill
©2014
TUN/0016//01/10/14
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