“What keeps the earth in place? Do you do a pre-trip inspection each day as soon as you open your eyes from sleep? Nay, it’s that which we take for granted, that which we treat with utmost contempt that truly matters the most.” R.E Dzhis

Yet again, I’ve been named on a law suit, in a different country, to be before a judge who will most likely remember me even though she knows nothing about me just yet. To the few who know me, they can acknowledge that this is true of me. I don’t go looking for conflicts, but please don’t look at getting into conflicts with me. I’d rather appeal when I can, which is rarely because I don’t control time, but by courtesy of my childhood, if you choose to pick a fight with me, there is usually one result; it’s kill or be killed, no survivors are allowed. I say this because even though it’s 0251 hundred hours, there’s someone who’s gasping at what they just read.

Let me attempt to make it less frightening. Growing up on the streets of one of the, arguably, roughest cities in West Africa, and attending a reputable public high school (until my class turned it into a school that people still whisper about today.) We were bad, and I mean bad and ugly. So bad that our peers and below, in sister schools who had never even been to Warri, heard about us and cringed at the stories they heard. Most were actually worse than what they heard. But I digress. I usually walked to and from school, and that entailed walking through the back of people’s houses, cutting across overgrown lots, keeping a reasonable space from outdoor restrooms with a shit of zinc acting as the door, and being very present in case you came across a couple doing adult things or navigating through a melee.

So, if I ran afoul of someone on my way to school, there was no avoiding that person on my way back. I believe that I’ve shared the tale of a mother who was thumping her son for his lack of interest in going to school, and used me (I was 12 years) as her reference point of acquiring knowledge so he could be a better version of his dad, although, if memory serves me well, I wouldn’t wager a cent on the probable fact that neither of them knew him. Summarily, I encountered him and his friends as they ‘waylaid’ me. Waylaid would most likely be a semblance of the synonym, ‘ambushed’. There was the choice of getting a beat down or a throw down (I’d have to take off my uniform because my mother banned us from fighting at home, so having a plausible reason for bloodstained clothing was not an option). It was kill or be killed, meaning that after the slugfest, you either acquired a new friend or you would create a feud that would involve anyone related to you. Most assuredly, the latter wasn’t a good option.

So, you can take the boy off the street, but you can’t take the street off the boy! I’m still working on myself, no scratch that, God’s still working on me. Despite the fact that I’m on the peak of celebrating half a century, I was once that preteen/teenager who was ready to brawl before the word, ‘brawl’ was completely verbalized. Now, the brawling is done in courts or related facilities, and I am teaching myself and my kids about “letting go, and letting God”. He’s the One who says, “Vengeance is mine.” and so I know enough to ask Him to stay my hand because He’s undefeated and His judgement is swift with consequences that you can’t run away from. The good news is that I can resonate with Jonah, God always has the option of mercy, I don’t, naturally, but I’m a work in progress. His call to me is to reconcile men to Him, not judge them, or criticize them, or fix them, or tag them ‘persona non grata. I can’t be a Christian without walking alongside Him, in surrender and obedience.

It’s like deja vu, but in a different location. Similar players, but the same reason; being nice to someone who has no idea of their purpose in life. They actually have no inkling as to what death looks like. Then, you can understand the folly in the heart of a man/woman, death is staring them right in the face, but they’re so caught up in their premeditated role as well as the deafening chant of the crowd that’s pushing them on. They fail to realize that much wisdom is learned in the house of mourning, and that the path they’re on has just one destination, destruction. I was once capable of patiently waiting to avenge myself, but that me no longer exists, there’s much more fulfillment in changing the world by being kind to just one person at the minimum, whether it’s through listening to them vent, or writing this for someone to read, or even giving the last $3 in my wallet to the young lady with two scrawny kids in tow, yet another victim as evidenced by her badly bruised face, and wounds that are trying to heal.

Yes, I feel the scorching heat from the lightening strike, my seared skin, the torrent of nemories, the sad realization that I’ve been here before, but I also see the kindness of God because I’m still standing. I can’t lose because of Proverbs 12¹⁹. I am a winner in the long run, and every good gift comes from above, and He gives with no shadow of turning. Does it hurt? Absolutely! Can I redirect the lightening strike because it ought not to strike the same place multiple times? No, but I know The One who controls everything, and so I can choose to forgive, and let go. I have known quite a few people who died from their mistakes because they did not learn from them. However, what do you say to a 3-year old child who was born with a medical condition? You and I just have to pick ourselves up and keep pressing on, the morning is almost here. I want to thank Linda, Shawn, Didi, Hilda, and the few who have chosen to obey. The borrowed axe head will float, the scattered bread will be found, and soon, someday we will tell the story of how we overcame through blessing others as we have been blessed.

Adieu!

עד שניפגש שוב, מי ייתן ונוכחותו תהיה אמיתית עבורך!