THROUGH BROKEN LENSES

Keeping in touch and reconnecting with childhood friends and acquaintances has not always been a sweet venture for me. Asides the fact that the conversation might at some point end up being awkward, it is also the possibility of one party sensing the other's preconceived notion about him playing out subtly while the conversation lasts.

A few months ago, I got in touch with a dear friend of mine from way back in primary school who currently resides in the United States. Back then, she used to be every teachers darling and from all indications, life was all nice and rosy for her. There, while we rebounded via Facebook chat, I couldn't help but think about what she thought of me. Not what life had come to be, but what kind of lens I was viewed with amidst the pretty smile that hung on my profile picture. Was I still that kid who loved to talk faster than a parrot or did I still come across to her as that failure who didn't stand a chance of getting promoted into sixth grade? How much of the old me had she willingly let go of?

It was Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish philosopher that said that "Life can only be understood backwards but must be lived forwards." Not many persons are ready to do away with the old you yet. Family would always want to remind you of how you budded before their very eyes and acquaintances want to suppress your growth with horrible relics from your past. Although, they really want to have a good look at you, they do that through broken lenses. 

However, gradually, one would begin to realize that this behaviour is nothing but man's natural tendency. A tendency that is very repellent to change.

I had dialouged with a sweet lady over the week who mentioned remarkably that life had a way of producing 'different editions of us.' My heart did a thousand suplexes when I heard that! Yes, life is very progressive with each progression birthing a different version of us better than we were yesterday. Although, I was not much of a wearisome kid growing up, but I sure knew I took some shameful decisions based on my plain of understanding then and with time, I have evolved and still am evolving. 

Life has taught us that we don't get to see the end of people and so there is really no gain in strolling occasionally into the archives of their pasts to read-out-loud outdated editions of them or viewing them from blurred perspectives, lest you run the risk of damaging your eye sight with myopia.

Thanks for reading and have a Merry Christmas

©Okiemute

HADIZA

She was not one of those that prayed for the war to end soon. She wanted it prolonged. Her tweets and Facebook posts said so for they were ladened with various shades of satirical remarks against the government. Her sarcasms also never lacked grace. They were always nicely baked and smoking hot, straight from Hate's oven. Her intention was to start an online war. To make her words fight battles her hands could not. Her name was Hadiza.

She was not your everyday girl and for a twenty five year old, she had ridiculous choices of pleasures. Her triangular day would often begin in the mosque beside the children's playground, continue in the community library and end at home. On cold nights, she would be caught hanging around cemeteries, under a full moon with a torch in hand, reading epitaphs and making memoirs by the graveside. Her collection of horror movies gave her a sense of sweet satisfaction and she admired them every morning as she would a shelf full of trophies. They were priceless. She was nobody's 'buddy', but kept a pet rodent in her living room so she wouldn't have to stink of solitude. 

The librarian took note of 'the Lady with flowing hijab' and her awkward demands. She was the damsel who didn't always read the latest because her requests were usually out of stock; almost 'extinct'. She was the belle who rarely talked but was sure to always reply a compliment with a radiant smile, revealing the space between her upper incisors. It was her way of saying to concerned folks that she was fine, still sane, still hanging in there. Her crazy mystique had people loving and dreading her at the same time. It was unexplainable.

As the war sustained, so did her hate. She knew she loved the rebels and so stood with them, for they were the real heroes. They hated what she hated- the government, the 21st century, the unbeliever, and injustice. When the rebels finally invaded the community and razed the library, she began to use the mosque and there she studied the Intifadas, Aristotelian logic and Jannah.

Yesterday, while the sun scourched the hell out of men, she drove a rickety car towards the community market where humans outnumbered the pigeons that littered the area. There, she laid to rest her grievances. For some minutes, the earth stood still when she punched that button with sweaty palms. The birds flew and so did her ligaments.

**Okiemute**

WHO KILLED GOD?

I was told of a man who called himself God. He had lived for what seemed like forever. Folks claim he made and controlled everything. So, seeing that everything and everyone were out of control, I set out on a quest to find the man and ask questions of Him. Why had He left His creation to suffer and wade in troubled waters? Maybe He was taking a break. Maybe He had died and left the yard under the supervision of incompetent caretakers. I was going to find out.

I got His address from a friend who believed in Him with every fibre of his being. Then, I went to His house to look for Him. I saw people talking to His pictures and statues as if He was present in the house. Some were singing His praises. Others were speaking in different languages. It was a whole circus. It was no surprise He was not there in their midst. The people had driven Him out of His house with all that noise. He hovered over the house and watched in disappointment at the caretakers who had taken advantage of His absence to make good livings for themselves. 

Apart from the racket coming from within the house, the fumes from the SUVs driven by the caretakers and the deafening sound of their private jets intensified the noise and distracted the guests who came to see Him in His house. And after their shenanigans, these people leave His house just to realize that they had been scammed. Their lives had actually gotten worse because they had spent all their capital on the caretakers and beautifying His house instead of investing in themselves. Then out of frustration, they take to the streets.

In the streets, the angry guests target the real caretakers. This is because folk tend to look for whom to blame for their poor choices. They attack the caretakers and haul insults at them just to see if they will react and give them a reason to justify their mischief. In an attempt to push the caretakers to the wall, people go to different extremes even beyond their own imaginations. They challenge Him to show himself but He doesn’t show himself to them. So, they get angry and hurl stones at His house. They write fake stories about Him and hope He responds or reacts. But all this time He remains out of sight and wouldn’t intervene. 

Even when the guests finally run out of caretakers to torment and turn against each other, He still stays in His hiding place. It then gets so bad that He decides it is too much for Him and He leaves them alone. The guests start uncovering the answers to the questions the caretakers dismissed as mysteries, and all of a sudden, they think they are now equals with Him. In His absence, they have found a replacement – themselves. They do not need Him anymore and then they go out on one last attempt to completely eliminate Him so that they will exonerate themselves of all personal responsibility to one another. In the process, they kill the idea of Him. To kill a man, you just need to kill him in the minds of people who know him. That is what the guests did to God since they couldn’t find Him.

 But the problem is, God is no man and so cannot be killed. I finally found Him in the places where the guests had relegated him to – the heart of a few folks is where He still dwells. Many of the guests will still try to kill the folks who harbor Him in their hearts. But they are too many of them to kill all at once. 

By the time I completed my search, I found out that some people had never even heard of this man. Some people have become too arrogant and narcissistic that they think they are actually worth more than their actual value. Now they grow bigger and their egos start to collide, but since they have killed the man who unified them all under one umbrella of mutual love and respect, there is no one to make sense of the debacle in which they found themselves. Since they have destroyed his mansion, there is no more beacon of light to show the way. The house used to be a safe haven but now that the angry men have been left to roam, there was nowhere to run to.

Now they are screaming for Him to come back. But how do you resurrect a dead man whom you killed because you didn’t believe he could resurrect his own son? 

***Gatszky***