As continued from Part One
I woke up in a small room with glimmering light blinding my bandaged eye. I look to my side and a young girl rushed outside saying, “He is awake.” I tried to wake up but a sharp piercing pain struck my side. Soon after, two people got into the room. I tried to make of who they were.
“Jenny?”
“Yes Tommy.”
“What are you doing here?”
“It is a long story, get some rest.”
She checks my drip and and holds my hand.
“How are you my son?” The second figure came close to me.
“Priest? Don’t report me to the police”
“I will not do anything to harm you. I believe it is not by chance that you came here. God wants you.”
“Where am I? Am I in custody already? What is my sister doing here with you? You married my sister? You sleeping with her now? Between me and you who needs God?”
I raved mad. I wanted to storm out of bed in anger but the pain wouldn’t let me. I fell off the bed and I felt my ribs crack like thorns in a furious fire. I cried in pain. Jenny stormed out and came with two other women who picked me up and put me back to bed.
“Tommy, when will you ever humble yourself and learn to understand people and situations without opening your wide mouth into every hand outstretched to you?”
“He has corrupted you too with his God, hasn’t he?”
“Tommy, listen to me. I am a changed person. With everything you left for me, I sold. I came here into the slums and ran a charity organization. I have rescued as much women and children from the ills that happen in these makeshifts. This old man is a long time priest to this church and he is the most caring person I have ever seen in life. So how do you want it? Do you want us to hand you over to the police or will you be quiet and let us help you?”
These words sank deep and for once I conceded in a fight I picked myself. In the next weeks I stayed indoors nursing my injuries. The women and children in the center were these beautiful souls who showed compassion and I loved everything they did. As they went about their chores every morning, they would pass by, serve breakfast and assure me that I was going to be alright. Children would come in the evening and pray to the Father that He may heal me and get better. They would give me stories from the Bible. Weary old men would pass by and talk much of the ills they did when they were my age but changed their ways of life when they got to know Jesus.
Jenny would also come to see me and would tell me how she received Jesus as her savior. I would look deep into her eyes and ask her if she was insane.
“Jenny, the God of poor people? Really?”
“Yes, the God of you and me Tommy.”
I became viral upon the mentioning of the word God and Jesus. I would chase kids off the house and spill the tea and porridge that the women brought. I would say ill words to the priest who came as frequently as possible to comfort me. I was a beast. I would resent my life asking the priest why his God did not let me die. I took long to recover. Sadly, the more the days went, the more painful my sickly being became. I thought that all my ribs were breaking apart. I still couldn’t move out of my bed. I hated myself and was guilty of all the ill that I had done before.
I for once thought about my life. I thought of where I would go if I recovered. I thought of my family, the chances I had and my pride. I asked myself why these people were too good to me despite my rogue self. I wondered why people would show me so much love despite my efforts to shun them away. Like a whisp with energy bursting a boulder open, I agreed that there is a deity who is in these people. I changed my mentality and decided to down my pride. I became friendlier to the children and I narrated them children stories which they loved. They would then tell me how their teacher kept teaching them about Jesus. On this particular day, the priest came to me and I asked him.
“Who is this Jesus? Why do you people talk about him so much? Why are you people so good to those who treat you bad? I wanna know who this Jesus is.”
“My son, this is the day that joy and happiness will fill my heart. This will be the first day of my life. The day I will feel renewed”
“How? You are old. You have wasted your life with the dust and rats in the church.”
“All my life I have wanted to minister to the ghetto youth. I have always yearned that one day in my lifetime someone from the hood will turn to Jesus and teach others about Him. I have wanted to show them that Christ changes lives. Listen my son, Jesus is the son of God. God is our ultimate being, the creator of the heavens and the earth, the one who created mankind and all the creatures in it. He is a trinity, God the father, the son and the holy spirit. God sent his only son that you and me may be saved.”
“Priest, saved from what?”
“Good question. Saved from yourself and the patterns of this world. So that you may have inner peace, eternal joy and happiness and satisfaction. If you reflect about your past you will realize that it has not been as swift.”
“I agree with you priest that my life has been crooked. I have done the worst. I was void of something. I was lacking. How do I get this filled?”
“Jesus is the answer. Think about it Tommy. Look around you, look at the poor souls that come to you daily with undying will. Look at the smiles that form on their faces. They don’t have much, they have no wealth nor people who can really hold their hand and tell them it’s okay but they have Jesus”
“How do I receive Him?”
“I will just pray with you.”
I received Jesus that day. I was crying like a little kid. Tears of despondency and pain ran down my cheeks. I felt guilty, guilty to someone I have never seen or touched. Someone that was an illusion before. The feeling in my heart was overwhelming. I felt a heavy load of burden get lifted away. The priest handed me an old KJV Bible and told me to read it daily. I remember what was written on the front cover, ‘David and Family; Bought on 3rd March 1937’ On the second page was another text. It seemed recent and bold, ‘Thank you God for I have completed my purpose.’ I asked him why he wrote that and he told me to flip to the next page which read, ‘Tommy, this is the first Bible I ever owned. I bought it as soon as my father, who was a slave, died and all the household responsibilities were left to me. I had to be bold to fend for my siblings and couldn’t do this alone. I had to do it with Christ. This will not be a smooth journey but garner all the willpower and faith that you can and read this book everyday. For 87 years I have not had a family, no wife or kids but worked to liberate the kids from the ghetto but today after many years, after thinking that God has forsaken me, He has given me you. Son, read this book, it is every armor you need to go to war with.’
I cried again and again, these words were sharp. I felt that God had kept the priest for all that while to save me through his guidance. I asked myself why me and not Baddy, why me and not any of the lot in the hood. Jenny came in that morning and she wept thanking God for me, thanking Him for my life and for liberating me. I heard her talking about qualifying the chosen and not calling the qualified. This set me to ponder but I never gave it much thought at first. We prayed and dined together that day.
In the next few days, I learnt how to pray and had read almost half of the Bible. It was interesting. I was making notes on a notebook Jenny gave me. I tremendously improved in my health and used to walk around the fields listening to the women and men singing in unison as they. We would have a session of praise and worship every evening and prayer would accompany the humbled souls that gave their all to God. Tears welled up my eyes every time I prayed and there was this feeling that grew strong every time I went before the Lord. At most times I would ask myself where I had been for all that long.
I remember waking up so energetically on a certain Tuesday. I felt refreshed and lively. I was completely healed and wanted to do anything tasking, just to feel useful. I rushed to look for the priest, he was always in church in the morning hours. He was not there. I looked all over for him but I never traced him. I got a kid to show me where he sleeps and he took me to the dungeon. I was puzzled why he had a makeshift bed in a dusty and cold dungeon. I found him shivering on his bed, his face looked pale and wrinkled than ever. “Go call for help!” I shouted to the kid. He gripped my hand, pulled me close and said,
“My son, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are chosen to be great amidst many who look at you and shake their heads in amazement. You are called to service, to help others and deliver them from the pain and the emptiness in their hearts through Jesus Christ. I have done my part, I have completed my journey and you are next in line. Know that… Knooooow thaaaat…. Knnnn…”
His hand loosened the grip on mine and his neck slowly fell on his side. It was then that Jenny and a few of the church residents came in breathing heavily. I sat on the floor puzzled, tears flowing down my cheeks. Jenny didn’t seem shocked. She called an ambulance that arrived in a split second and the body was taken to the morgue. She was mentally prepared for this. She came closer to my terrified self and told me to be strong. She took me to my room and told me that the room I used to live in was the priest’s. She told me that the priest was suffering from bronchitis and asthma and despite all, he risked his life to make me comfortable, to make me feel loved and to make sure I turned to Christ. She narrated of how they tried to persuade him to use the rooms of one of the able bodied men but he refused. She well explained how he used to encourage the men, women and children that I badly treated. Guilt made my heart sag down into an empty pit of darkens. This was the first time that I felt someone sacrificed their all for me.
Life moved on so fast. With the guilt in my heart, I went deep into the word. I prayed and fasted so that God may give me the meaning of life. Through Jenny, I was able to fully understand the word. One day, as I was out of my morning praying schedule, I decided to rush to the gift store to buy a notebook. The notebook that I was given by Jenny was full. The shelves were neatly ordered, the ambiance in the shop would make an introverted soul stand in glee and awe and jump in jubilation like a wild rat. It felt like home, just by the sight of titles of books, I was made whole, I asked myself where I have been all since. I would take a new Bible and just by the scent of it I would feel rejuvenated. I picked my notebook and went to the cashier. As I was paying, three masked men entered the shop shouting that we lie on the floor. One commanded the cashier to empty the till and as soon as he filled his sack up, I got curious to look up. It was Bird, Baddy was at the door getting cover.
“Look at what we have here.” He walked to me as he pulled his mask off.
He shot an old man three times on his chest and said, “I loathed you from the first time I saw you and today you will curse your birth.”
Baddy walked in as soon as he heard gunshots.
“What have you done? Are you insane?”
The man shot him on the leg.
“If it were not of you accommodating this rat on the word go my two brothers would not be dead.”
I trembled. Trails of sweat made their free uninterrupted journey through my body. Baddy cursed, limping as he tried to get away. It was then that the old woman at the cashier rang the alarm and Bird was not hesitant to shoot her on the forehead. I was the only living shopper in the room. He dug the gun on the rifts that form at the back of my neck and commanded me to get my jacket off. He got off his gloves and commanded me to wear them. He then wore my jacket and quickly put his mask on my head. He threw his sack of money and the gun on the floor and ducked behind the shelves.
As soon as he did that, sirens wailed through the air. I remembered the first time I shot the priest. The moment was so vivid that I felt responsible for the deaths of the two sad souls in the shop. My veins constricted into painful lumps around my head. My head was pounding like a rebounding gong, my thoughts were rushing and caving into my head like a sewer sinking into a small opening.
“Freeze! Drop your gun. Knees to the ground and place your hands where I can see them.”
These words faded to the fans of my ears. I knelt, dropped the gun and placed my hands on my head. They chained my hands and shoved my head down in the police car. I saw Bird strolling out with another police officer recording statements. They took me in. I faced trial. Jenny was armed with the most powerful lawyers and tried to convince the court that I was innocent but I pleaded guilty on all allegations.
“Why are you doing this, Tommy?” Jenny asked crying.
“I am just doing what my heart feels is right Jenny. It is time I pay for the evil that I have done.”
I was sentenced to life imprisonment and years of hard labor in the most ruthless prison in the country. The first breath in prison was refreshing, it felt like home. The guilt that was burning in my soul cooled in an instant. I felt as if I was here before. It felt like a homecoming ceremony; the prodigal son returning home after squandering all his property. Tattooed beasts zoomed the place as they looked into my eyes lusting for a new catch. I was not scared. I felt that I deserve anything that was to befall on me.
I was unchained and the prison gates opened. We were matched to our units through the corridors of terror and fear with illicit graffiti plastered all over them. We became fresh meat for the hungry wolves in the concentration. We were beaten like mad dogs. We were ushered to the basketball court and were told to fight. The prison guards and generals placed bets on us. I was fighting some skinny kid who just landed there the same day as me. Many had placed the bet on me as I was a bit muscular. As soon as the makeshift bell rang, a punch was thrown on my face and blood started dripping from my nose. It felt refreshing, I felt that the kid should hit me more since I deserved more than just a face dripping with blood. I let the kid hit me more and more until I fell to the ground. He won. The fellow inmates who had placed bets on me bet me up beyond recognition. I sank into the oblivion.
Someone was dragging my feet. This blurry figure of a tattooed monster appeared on my face. My ribs were burning in pain. I could not see, my face was full of lumps dried with blood. I wondered who was dragging me and to where. I suddenly felt water washing down my face and my body. Excruciating pain took the best of me and I yelled. The water was salty. I regained consciousness and sat down. I saw the last bit of my blood go down the drain. The guy was in crutches. My nose was broken. I could not look up. I tried to stand up but my left foot hurt so bad.
“Hey, Baddy, what you doing around that loser?”
“Will you mind your own business or you wanna make me mind yours?”
Watch out for Part 3.