BEHIND THE FINE FACE
EPISODE 7
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I was still trying to understand if the “Grace” in context, was referring to a person or a thing when uncle T blurted, “What he didn’t tell you is that your days are numbered and that Grace is your death.”
“Huh?”
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“…the spiritual father told us to go home and be prayerful. He said that nothing is wrong with either of us and that he sees good things in my future…” were the only words from Bobby’s encounter with the “spiritual father” that kept ringing in my head, after uncle T went on to shed more light in what had been a very confusing utterance.
Uncle confirmed my assumption and went on to explain why the spiritual father couldn’t have been more explicit with words.
Uncle T confirmed Bobby’s suspicions. He confirmed to us that indeed, someone; something was standing right next to them the whole time, dishing out instructions, as to what they needed to hear.
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“That man (spiritual father) is strong. He is kind and honestly wishes to have been able to do more for you, but his hands were tied. Shortly after you left his hut, he got some serious visitors; visitors from realms higher than that which he operates in. He was warned to wash his hands off your case, hence, the way he discharged you, Bobby.” Uncle T, explained.
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From the onset, I knew that the situation with Bobby was a serious one, but never in my wildest of imaginations did I ever assume it could be this “grand”. I opened my mouth to ask a question; to ask for certain clarifications, but just before I could, Bobby cuts in.
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“What did they say I have done to ever deserve this, sir? Who did they say I have wronged?” Bobby asks, as rivulets of tears had now begun to roll down his cheeks. “I am willing to go and beg for my life back; I know I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t”.
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Uncle T heaved a deep sigh; shook his head and went on to “throw” the nuts he works with; nuts he’d seemingly been seeing everything he had been relaying to us.
Uncle T made certain incantations, and then shook his head again.
Uncle T looked at Bobby with a facial expression that clearly depicted pity. He stretched his hands forth, with the nuts in hand for Bobby to touch and afterward, instructed Bobby to wipe his face with his palms.
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“Indeed, you are a very good man, my son…” Uncle T began. “…but life has been very cruel to you. You have not done something that normally should have plunged you deep into this sort of mess but then, that is the irony of life, you know? There is a reason why we advise everyone, especially young people like you; young people who believe that they are adults and suddenly know more than everyone, to always exhaust every means to get to know certain basics about whatever; whoever, before they decide to take any significant step towards these directions in their lives. My son, this advice is so you; they don’t find themselves in this sort of situation, down the line.”
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At this point in Uncle T’s talk, I don’t know about Bobby, but I was more lost than comprehending anything he was saying. I kept my eyes fixated on his lips, though, as they plowed for words.
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“… My son, your affiliation with the wife has been the reason you’ve had to endure all this untold hardship, but don’t get it twisted, because Rachael is not the problem.” Uncle T said, sending Bobby’s mouth agape in disbelief and at the same time, leaving us both in utter confusion.
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Uncle T dropped this on us, and then shortly after, became overly animated again.
Uncle T sprung up from the small wooden stool he’d been sitting on, the whole time, and began to spin around, chanting words Bobby and I certainly knew nothing about. They weren’t incantations. They were more like a foreign tongue engaged in a conversation with someone; something that was, indeed, present; something uncle T alone could see.
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I was more impressed at the sight; at the strength of this man (Uncle T). I mean, for this man to still be able to do what he was doing; spin in this manner; his agility, I think it was very impressive.
Uncle T went on in that communion for well over ten minutes; ten minutes of seemingly talking and waiting for a response; ten minutes of what seemed to have started with small talks; small talks that quickly transitioned to a heated argument.
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Uncle T finally turned around, directing his attention towards Bobby and me, and then asked as casually as a question could ever be posed, “What is your favorite soup?”
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None of us knew who that question was posed at, and none of us waited to be sure.
Bobby and I chorused, “Okra soup.”
“Okra soup, yeah?” Uncle T asked, shaking his head with a very familiar facial expression; that of pity. “Hmm! And you really want to make it in life, free from energies that dent the spirit, abi?”
To be continued…
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Moshood Avidiime
