By Muizah Hameed (via Facebook)

THE UNHEARD CONVERSATION

'Forgive us, oh Lord, for the bounties, laid before us,which we've closed our eyes to'

Around this time last year, couldn't remember what made me stay at home for about a month or thereabout. I found myself a special friend. A very special one.

Momma's shop is situated close to a central masjid, and as thus, it is only normal to have the less privileged coming in and out of our area. The likes of the blind, the deaf, the dumb, the deaf and dumb, the crippled, just think of it, were so much, some had even found themselves, around the masjid, a 'home' or 'a place of rest' to get back in after the days 'work'.

Growing amidst them had given them some kind of familiarity and a felling of belonging when any of my family shows up, especially mum. For they know, if they are not getting anything, they will get Smiles, at the worst moments. Sometimes, a smile, a little conversation and some token. So, in some ways, when we show up, you see them beaming with smiles.

On a normal afternoon, when coming from The masjid, i saw an irregular face from the ones I have always seen. And if not for the placard hung around his neck, I never would have though he is a beggar. Exceedingly handsome, well built frame, perfect skin, dark as ebony , and above all, he has this down to earth smile. Yeah, he beat me to it.
I have always thought I am being gifted with a very wide and to an extent, beautiful smile, but when I saw this person's smile, beautiful is an understatement.

It's typical of me to greet them one by one, or at least when I am in a hurry or in one of those not very good mood, smile and wave, yet wait for at least a minute for them to reciprocate. As I was greeting them , I noticed him looking so much intently at me. His gaze was so powerful, that I dared not ignore. I reciprocated with the widest of my smile and left them 'discussing'. I headed back to Mum's shop, and on getting there found that this particular guy had followed me, when I found out, he made the gesture to explain to me that he had been following me. I smiled as he went to mum and they started conversing. (mum got to learn the basics in sign language through their constant day to day conversations).

The second day came and the normal 'routine' was done, and another day and another day. Not until a Saturday, when he came to Mum's shop, walked in, took my hand and placed it on his neck, the hotness I felt, if measured wouldn't be less than 39 degrees centigrade, he was sick and the at was the only way he could made me know, since I don't understand his language. I immediately beckoned on a friend of his who accompanied him, to help him shower at the masjid bathroom while I prepare his medicine.

In less than a minute, he came back all wet, with his clothing. I wanted to laugh, but then the pain and helplessness showed in him won't allow me to mock his naive mind that didn't tell him the need to remove his clothing before pouring it out.
I paid less attention to that and gave him the medicine to use. When he was done, I mad the sign that he should sleep, but because he was wet, he couldn't go to the masjid but slept at the front of Mum's shop, on the couch. While he was sleeping, I kept an eye on him and his temperature. During one of my checkups on him, I decided to look intently at him. Anyone who saw him sleeping would think he is just a normal person like us. The innocence, the helplessness was written on him, even when asleep, and especially with the posture he slept with.

After three good hours, he woke up, to my hand touching his neck, and smiled. Alhamdulillah, he was much better. I made the sign that he should find something to eat and go 'home'. For a week, after that, I didn't see him, I looked for him in every deaf and dumb I see, and at a moment, I was scared. 'Has the drug over reacted?, why is he not here!?, what could have gone wrong with him?' Were thoughts roaming in my mind. I was restless, and unfortunately, I had no one to ask of him from, I didn't know how to.

Just when I was at the peak of my worries about him, he showed up, bouncing and showing off his new clothes, taking my hand to his neck and shrugging his shoulders like a little boy who won a fight with his counterpart. My joy knew no bounds. I was exceedingly happy and I showed him with my gestures. And that was how we became friends.

Everyday, after dhur, he will come around to tell me everything I don't understand but had no choice than to nod my head in acceptance of all he had to. 'say'.
One day, he saw me writing and made a gesture that he would love to write .how stupid of me not to have thought he could write and converse through that, I thought. i gave him my pen and jitter and when he did write, I felt so lost that I concluded that his incomprehensible sign conversation would be a better way for us to communicate. Sincerely, a nursery one student won't draw what he wrote. They were just lines connecting to each other, with no beginning nor visible end. But then, he was happy, it probably was the first time he did something like that, cos he tore that page and kept it safely in his inner pocket where he keeps most of his valuables.

To me, that day was a big lesson. He had nothing tangible to write, yet he was overwhelmed at the opportunity to and was of course thankful. Henceforth., I took it upon me to teach him to. Write, we started with the alphabets, and with it, I spelt my name for him, he wrote it many times, and eventually kept it like the very first one. I asked him to write his name, but it was all futile, I had no way to tell him I want to know his name, for he could only write the letters he knows not their meaning, and I didn't see the necessity to learn how to ask him that in his own language.

One day, the very last day I set my eyes on him, he came earlier than dhur and kept talking and talking till it was time for dhur, we went to pray and still got back to our conversation, he stayed till like some minutes to asr after telling me all he could without me understanding. He waved me a long bye and smiled so hard, it made a mark in my heart. Days later, a friend of his, who could write came to tell me, he had gone back to his home town to see his family. Unconsciously, I let out a tear, I felt I lost someone, a very good friend, a companion who probably was telling me some deep things I unfortunately did not understand.

The thought of never gonna meet or see him again, got me worried, though for a while, for when I eventually came back to school, I found new friends to mingle with,but his memories lingers and are still fresh in my heart.

And just this morning, like I do once in a while, the memories came back to me and I had the following to ask myself.
What if I am like him, what if I am pregnant with words I can't give birth to, what if I have not been immensely blessed with voice and literacy, what if?

wow....this is really deep.....

Touvhing