Story By Ugoo Anyaeche


Last week was very hectic for me and the new
week has approached with no respite forthcoming.
At present I have an assignment that requires me
to do a house-to-house visitation of a densely
populated community. I always set out in the
morning and return in the evening. And just like
the early missionaries, the journey is always by
foot.


Sometimes I would enter a compound solemnly,
hitting the tip of my umbrella on the ground in a
theatrical gait, but before you knew it I had
rushed out, panting and sweating. Most times
accompanied with a loud cry to God for safety.
Perhaps one Alsatian or Rottweiler dog would have
been saying the grace after meal.


On entering the next house, I meet a

very mean
face starring at me in askance and demanding a
detailed explanation why he should disclose his
family's biodata in the name of a diocesan census.


However, due to the fact that my duty has as its
prerequisites a very high sense of tolerance and
maturity, I often greet these occasions with smiles
and evasion. Something I will always live to
remember.


So it happened that on one of the occasions I
experienced a total, nay radical conversion.


I got into this rather small compound with three
different houses, all uncompleted. The houses lay in
linear progression by the right. The two extreme
buildings were attached to the fence in such a
perilous pattern I felt to be so detestable.


In front of the first building, one fair woman was
rinsing the cloths she had watched and spreading
them on a hanger nearby. She was passionately
humming a Jude Nnam composition. A Catholic
faithful no doubt.



I went straight for the headcount I came for. And
as I came closer she stooped to pick up another
cloth. In the process, some charming balloons were
also made visible. Meanwhile, little did I know I was
about encountering one Ignatius of Antioch who
would usher me into a deep retrospection for the
rest of the week.


It was the woman's four-year old son, Chikamso.


Chikamso quickly swayed the door blind exposing his
succulent cheeks and glowing eyes. He looked
astounded. At once he dashed into the sitting room
calling on his younger sister.
"Somtoo! Somtoo! Come and see Jesus!"


He reappeared almost immediately holding Somtoo
by the hand. He looked at his sister, who equally
seemed amazed, and pointed at me saying, "look at
Jesus".



For the rest of the day and week I pondered on
this. I'm pretty sure the banal impulse here would
be juxtaposing my garment of salvation with Jesus's
attire on Children's Bible. But it goes beyond that.


Perhaps I must have aroused some overwhelming
aura of sanctity. Maybe the children saw what the
elders did not see. Be that as it may, it took me
hours of reflections to be convinced that actually I
represent Christ. Not just literally but in reality.

It's obvious the onus lies on me to model my life to
be in conformity with that of my master - Jesus
Christ.

Ugoo is a Theology student and potential Catholic priest, He has few stories that will interest you..

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