Simi Joel

Category: Fiction

  • Jonathan Wake Up!

    I was wrapped tightly in her warm embrace, pressed against her soft bossom. This was bliss.

    ‘Jonathan…’ The name floated in my subconscious but I ignored its summon.

    ‘Jonathan…’ The call was louder, drawing me out slowly from the blissful depth of sleep.

    ‘Jonathan!’

    This time, the sharp call was accompanied by the sound of a door hitting the wall. I opened my eye slightly and looked towards the entrance to my room and saw my mom with a scowl on her face.

    ‘Jonathan get up now. It’s Monday!’ My heart sank, and my mind scrambled to produce a coherent response.

    ‘Uh…Okay.’ My voice was husky. ‘I want to pray’.

    My mother’s scowl grew deeper as she stared at me.

    ‘If you wanted to pray, you would have woken up earlier.’ I didn’t move an inch.

    ‘Mom…just let me pray.’

    She looked torn, most likely wondering if she should risk killing my spirituality. She still stood at the door, so I shut my eyes and started to move my lips. She left and I drifted once again.

    ‘Jonathan!’

    ‘O oo ooooh…’

    I reluctantly pulled off my cover cloth and lifted myself off the bed. Wham! My head collided with the hard edge of the head rest and sharp pain shot through my brain to my toes. I clutched my throbbing head and clenched my teeth to stop myself from screaming. I blinked rapidly to stop the sharp sting of tears in my eyes, and shook my head sadly. I was definitely awake now. That was more effective than my mother’s screams.

    *Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person dead or alive is simply a product of your imagination.

  • LAST SUPPER

    “Eeeee!” Her voice rang through the house. “What have you done?”

    Right then, my father barged in, the door slamming against the wall in full swing. Stumbling over over the stray stool in his path, he grabbed the edge of the kitchen slab to steady himself.

    “What ha…” He stopped short, stunned at the sight before him, and let out a long eerie whistle. Mother stood gazing like someone caught in a trance. Then, slowly, her face contorted into something like a bare-fanged masquerade, she raised her hands over her head and wailed,

    “My sweat o, my labour,” rounding it up in a screeching crescendo, “My blooood! My 11-year old sister, who had sneaked in, peeped around my father’s large frame. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the scene. For a moment they all stared in utter disbelief.

    Then a small smile crept onto my father’s face, though he dared not laugh. As he struggled to keep his expression stoic, my sister broke into maniacal laughter, nearly falling. It was infectious, for my father burst into laughter also. His baritone boomed, mixing with the shrill laugh of my sister.

    I stood defiantly, though trembling inwardly. I had been denied my evening meal, because I returned home soiled from playing football without permission. I resented the injustice, so ventured to claim my meal behind their backs.

    In front of me lay a puddle of soup, with pieces of meat and fish strewn all over the floor; evidence of my disastrous endeavour. Soup dripped from my chest, a stray leaf stuck in my collar.

    My 5-year old self sucked loudly on my fingers, desperate for the taste  to last. For with the smoldering look my mother sent my way, this might very well be my last supper. 

  • I TOUCHED A GODDESS

    I jerked awake, my muscles popping as my hands wrapped around the chair arms in a deadly grip. From the deep recess of my sub-conscious, I had heard a heavy rumble, and felt my seat vibrate.  I glanced around the silent room, disoriented for a minute.

    Shadrach stood in front of Ese’s table with his arms outstretched, as if in a movie paused midway for a toilet break. Ese stared pensively at the ceiling, her mouth agape in wonder. We all felt the presence overhead. Like an evil master and his minions, thunder roared furiously and the sinister cackle of lightning responded. We were shielded from the pouring rain, but not from the sound effects of the raging war of wind, water, light and thunder. Lightning cackled a second time and the lights went out.

    ‘I hope say that lightning no go kill person.’

    Shadrach’s voice broke the awe of the moment. My shoulders eased and I chuckled at his superstitious sentiment. He glared at me, but I shrugged off his concern. I wasn’t one to take such seriously. The rumble had subsided, though the rain still pelted the roof with scattered beats. Sleep tugged at my eyelids once again, its arms alluring to my weariness. I briefly registered Shadrach moving around the office to turn off appliances while I drifted away from consciousness into the peaceful embrace of rest.

    My eyes opened on the other side of reality and its sight was near diabolical. The path of lightning tore through the bright sky and struck the brown earth. At the point where the flashing streak kissed the ground stood a woman. She seemed like the source, yet an inseparable part of the light. The brightness of the sun formed a glowing aura around her.  She wore a long robe that fell in soft folds around her bare feet. Her hands were cast in bronze bracelets that sparkled in the light. Her neck was bare, leading seamlessly to her celestial face. All I could see now was her glowing blue eyes which held me in a daze. Her voice rang through the expanse, the silkiness caressing my frame. It carried authority and summoned me to draw close. Spelled, I moved towards her, slowly and shaking.

    ‘You’ve been deaf, oblivious to your calling and essence. You’ve been blind, to the problems you were created to solve. In your quest for instant gratification, you’ve become numb to the despair around you.’

    I stood before her now, the searing heat almost unbearable. She stretched her hands towards me and I felt like air was being sucked out of my body.

    ‘Okpia, you’ve been summoned by the witnesses. If only you had followed the path of love laid out from the beginning, you would have laid hold of the treasure you futilely search for.’

    ‘Am I to be punished then?’ I asked, keeling over in exhaustion from the heat.

    ‘Oh no, I am the goddess of mercy, here to deliver your inheritance to you, to save you from many more years of fruitless struggle.’

    My head shot up and I looked on her with hope. She bent her frame and held a box before me. My name was engraved on its lid.

    ‘Take it, for it is the reward for your journey here.’

    I reached out and traced the engraving. I bit my lips and lifted the lid.

    I trembled at the weight of wealth in her hands, awed by the glittering mix of jewels, stones and bundled notes.

    Such unbridled riches, oozing of forbidden scent. My chest felt heavy, and my throat clogged with the tears of unutterable words.

    ‘All for me?’

    ‘Okpia take it now.’ Her voice rang with sudden urgency. ‘Earthlings will rouse you soon’.

    I looked at her unearthly face once again and made my decision. With firm resolve, I reached for the bronzen handles but it was not to be.

    It that same instant, a gale of wind pulled me back and dragged me in the sand.

    ‘Noooooooo…’

    I clawed at the dirt, desperate to stop the fast disappearing woman…and the treasure.

    The magnetic pull sucked me through an orb and my eyes opened wide on the other side.

    My heart beat wildly and I wobbled as I tried to get on my feet. Then I felt a stinging slap on my bare arms..the slap of reality.

    ‘Osaze, 4’O clock don nak, may we dey go house’.

    Blasted Shadrach! His superstitions were messing with my head. I wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead. The stormy weather had been replaced by scorching heat.

    I squeezed my eyes, in an attempt to get rid of the sting of unsatisfied sleep, and sighed with disappointment. Back to earth, I grabbed my bag to go home and consoled myself silently.

    Life goes on…at least I touched a goddess.

  • Diary of a Christian Snob

    I sit dazed at what I just heard as myraids of thoughts come unfiltered into my head. I keep asking myself if it could be true, how possible this is. Denial tells me that I am dreaming. Yes I think I am dreaming and my body will soon awaken to reality, because this cannot happen in real life. Ewa cannot be dead.

    I clearly remember the day that I first talked to Ewa in class. We were in the second semester of our second year in the University. Though we were departmental mates, I had noticed her only from a distance. On that day, I came late to class and all the seats had been taken except the one beside Ewa which was at the rear of the classroom. Usually, I sat with two friends who I had formed a clique with, but that day, due to my tardiness, we couldn’t sit together. So, I walked into class, greeted the lecturer who didn’t acknowledge me and walked to sit beside Ewa. I greeted her, but she didn’t reply.

    As I settled down, I tried to understand what the lecturer was saying but I couldn’t so i asked Ewa. All she did was slide her notebook towards me. It was only half a page full so I started copying it. Her hand writing was neat and artistic just like Ewa herself. She was dark in complexion with big doll like eyes, long lashes, high cheek bones and a pointed nose. She wore a jean trouser and a lilac chiffon gown top. She was beautiful.

    I returned her notebook and tried to pay attention to the lecturer. When the class ended, i thanked Ewa again for lending me her note book. She just nodded and walked off.

    ‘She really is snobbish’ I thought. Though she hadn’t paid any attention to me, I had taken a weird liking to her. At subsequent classes I sat beside her though only few words were exchanged.

    I sudden shout pulls me out of my reverie, and I watch as my classmates who are settled in clusters exchange opinions about what could have killed Ewa. I hear words like ‘pregnant’, ‘abortion’, ‘Aristo’, ‘accident’ but i can’t place complete phrases. I am sitting at the same place I sat on the first day I talked with Ewa. Her absence feels to surreal so I draw up another memory of her. It was of the day I got her contact.

    She’d missed an impromptu test that held the previous day, because she was absent from class. I’d been worried about her, but when I asked my classmates for her contact, nobody had it except the class representative. This really got me thinking about how weird it was that she didn’t have a friend in the class.

    ‘Is she really unfriendly’ I’d thought. I concluded that day that because she kept to herself, nobody had reached out to her, and there I decided that I would become friends with her. The next day, I asked for her contact. She’d looked surprised, but she gave it to me. From then, I texted her at least every two days and sat by her in class. Bit by bit she started talking with me and I was amazed at how fun she was as a person.

    I’m again pulled away from my thoughts when I look up to see my two best friends walk into class. They scan the class till their eyes settle on me and they slowly make their way towards me. I really do not want company right now especially not from them. Finally they reach me and look at me with something akin to pity. They’ve just left the HODs office and have heard the full account of what happened to Ewa. I listen as they take turns narrating the story.

    I’m filled with guilt and regret, because Ewa had tried to talk to me but I didn’t listen, yet I was supposed to be her friend. My friends had raised eyebrows at my sudden association with Ewa when they’d noticed us getting close. They’d had stories to tell about her attitude and exploits with men and were ashamed so to speak of me who had a good girl image being associated with her. At first I didn’t listen to them because I had found out that Ewa had a humble background and had sought the way of ‘Aristo’ to cater for herself and her family. Although her parents had no idea where her money was coming from, they were proud that they had a child in the university. It was a miracle seeing as the first two children of her family were secondary school drop outs.

    All had been well till the first semester of our third year. Rumours started flying around that Ewa was pregnant. I didn’t believe this and she carried on like nothing was wrong, so, I didn’t ask her. Before long my friends started pressuring me to withdraw from her. I was tagged stubborn because I refused to heed them. I continued acting normal till the day that Ewa told me she was indeed pregnant. I was visiting at her house off campus and we had been joking and talking generally till she started talking seriously and told me amidst tears that she had taken in. I was shocked. Yes, I knew she was seeing men, although we hardly ever talked about it, because I was to shy to ask. I always assumed the indifferent position that it wasn’t my business.

    ‘She could handle herself as she’s been doing before she met me’.

    But on that day, she spoke freely with me about her struggles, about how she wished she could talk to someone her pain. That day I let her pour her heart out and though I didn’t know what words would sooth her, I encouraged her as best as I could. Did I ask her what she wanted to do next? No I didn’t. Instead, I told my friends all about it and all I heard from them was about how right they had been all along. She was bad for me. A really terrible influence, and if I wasn’t careful, rumours will be spread about me too. They were so convincing that I believed them. The next few times Ewa and I saw, I admit I was cold and withdrawn and each time she looked at me, pain shone from her eyes, but I couldn’t be bothered.

    My friends wouldn’t understand if I explain to them how guilty I feel. No one else but Ewa and I would know that on the morning of the day she died, she called me and I ignored her. Little did I know that Ewa was on her way to have her baby removed. Now I wish I laid pride aside and adorned love, compassion and understanding. Now, I battle guilt and condemnation. Oh! How I wish that I listened to the voice within me telling me not to think of myself as better but rather as privileged. Ewa might still be here if I did. I thought of her as a snob when I first met her, but now my finger points back at me as being worse.

    I have received love all of my life. Struggle or lack are not concepts I am familiar with. I hear stories of hurt and disgrace, but I have never known them intimately. Yet, I refused to extend the same gifts I have received to a friend in need. I am a Christian who has been given immeasurable gifts by a loving father. Leading a friend to the place that I stand is not a big deal. But, on second thoughts, it is a big deal. My refusal to do that has cost a dear friend her life. I rise dejectedly from my seat and murmur goodbye to my friends.

    As I walk out of my classroom, my heart is heavy, and with sorrow I talk to my father pleading for forgiveness and the same compassion I denied my friend. I pray for strength and provision for Ewa’s family. Never in my life have I felt this subdued. Yes, indeed this is a hard lesson. But I resolve never to repeat this mistake.

    If Jesus could accept the worship of publicly scorned woman and could dine with society rejects, who am I to exalt myself? I dare not forget that it is by His precious sacrifice that I am where I am today. I thought I was better than Ewa. I forgot that without Christ, I am nothing; a sacrifice that was made for all who are willing to receive. Yes! It was He who drew me near, washed away my filth and made me new.

    At this thought, my sorrow gives way to strong resolve. Ewa may be gone, and the knowledge of my mistake buried with her, but I would tow a new path. This message of Christ’s reconciliation will I spread without fear of ridicule because I know how precious this gift is. It is free and available to all.

    Signed -by Ewa’s Christian friend