A SHEPHERD'S LOVE....

                                              

The reflection from the pool shows a rotund sheep with thick white wool that would bring a fetching sum in any market in the world. The wool shines like white pearls as a result of hours of painstaking brushing and grooming.

This image is one that always makes my insides skip more than any premium grass would ever do, reason being that I have not always been like this. I used to be dirty, gaunt, haggard and perpetually hungry before becoming the property of Trinity Farms. The outrageous price that was paid to Lucy Farr’s ranch for me still boggles my mind till date. I was not worth that much and even now, I still don't come close to that price. The change of ownership gave my life a twist for the better.

In my new pastures, I do not want for anything; health, wealth, I have it all.  David Lord, the Chief Shepherd, makes sure I bed in lush meadows. The landscape of my present home has verdant hues that are pleasing to the eyes. The rolling hills on which I gambol are a spread of abundance. The grass grow in a profusion of prosperity. I have all that I need in this idyllic heaven.

The water source in my old place was more of an irate flood than a river. It was the watery grave of my ovine buddies. We would gladly suffer dehydration than risk a drink during the rains. My throat was parched most of the time. Here, the streams along which my Shepherd leads me are peaceful, quiet and still.  The tranquility is what affords me the opportunity to gaze at my beautiful reflection.

The combination of delicious and nutritious grass coupled with the cool water refreshes my life. My strength is always renewed. I am continually revitalized! Rarely do I ever succumb to the myriad of infections that lay waste to the animals in Lucy Farr's ranch. The Shepherd ensures my soul is promptly restored when my strength diminishes.

Life is fraught with dangers for a sheep. Predators seek me for lamb chops. The dangers of breaking a neck or a limb through falls into ravines and gullies constantly dog my heels. Like someone said, it is a jungle out there! However, my Shepherd guides me along the right paths. This is absolutely huge for me since all it takes for destruction is one step in the wrong direction.

Now I have to be honest, there is something intrinsically rebellious about me. I am flawed, greedy and selfish. Some people say I am not the most intelligent animal in the world. Despite all that I enjoy, a bit of me is still restless. I loved my freedom and hated being constantly corralled in.

Down in the valley below my home was a patch of green field with the most luscious looking grass I had ever seen in my life. The grass on the other side looked greener, fresher, and sweeter than the here. It was an emerald enticement that tortured my senses, made my mouth water even in my dreams. I knew I must have a taste of the green delight that continually called out to me. It was too much temptation!

One night I got the opportunity to indulge my longing when I was able to find a way out through a hole in the fence a careless staff did not close. Heart pumping with excitement at the prospect of tucking into my gastronomic dreams, I skipped down into the valley.

To my disappointment, I found out the soil was parched and arid. The grass was brown and brittle. I had been deceived by the play of light, misled by a mirage. With a heavy heart, I turned to make my way back to the mountain top. That was when I noticed that the valley was filled with menacing shadows. Out of the dark came the howling of a pack of wolves. Luminous eyes full of malevolence suddenly surrounded me. Every bit of wool on my body stood on end and I felt the frosty hands of fear creep up and chill my spine. Even though winter still had some time before making its grand appearance, I became very cold and started to shiver. In the shadows of the valley lurked death.

My pitiful bleats filled the valley as my predators slunk out of the shadows. Their snarling grins mocked me, daring me to escape. I started to run but was quickly surrounded by my enemies with my back to the mountain. In my trapped state, I saw one of the contract staff, a hired hand start to run down to help but when he saw the danger he ran for dear life.

It was at this point, that David Lord appeared on the dark horizon. He saw my plight and shouted “Skip, hold on, I am coming”! The shout distracted the wolves but it was still too late! The shortest way downhill was through a thicket of bramble with thorns as sharp as spears. Before he makes his way round, I would have become kebab in the mouth of the growling beasts.

To my surprise, he plunged right through the thorns, leaving bits of clothes, flesh and a trail of blood behind.  The closest wolf chose this moment to attack. As it lunged, its rank breath filled my senses.  When trying to clamp its jaws on my right leg, my Shepherd used the crook of his staff to violently pull me away.  However, I got some nasty gashes that nearly crippled me. He drew me to his side and used his rod to deliver a mighty blow that I'm sure cracked the beast’s skull. The raging fire of terror within me was put off by the cool waters of his presence.  I do not fear evil anymore, he is with me.

Then he went at the rest with terrible fury, hitting, swiping, knocking, lunging, and smashing. His rod and his staff saved and gave me comfort. Before my eyes, he became a lion prowling the Judea hills to my feral foes. I had never seen him this full of rage before, his wrath was something to behold. I realized that it was because they had hurt me, the apple of his eye.  The wolves fled into the shadows licking their wounds but we could still feel their hate-filled eyes on us. As usual, my Shepherd came prepared with his bag. He prepared food for me, a veritable sumptuous feast while the beasts watched.  He ministered to my wounds, thoroughly groomed, massaged and anointed me with sweet smelling oil to keep bugs and parasites away. Then my cup was filled with the sweet brew he makes especially for us lambs. David Lord kept filling the cup until it ran over. I drank to my fill telling myself that I am the most blessed lamb in the world!

I could not keep my eyes off him; torn up, bruised, lacerated and still attending to me. The thorns had done a dreadful number on him and there was neither form nor comeliness for him to be desired. Yet, not once did he make me feel it was my fault. Guilt drenched my soul like heavy rain.

He took me home and showed me all the goodness and unfailing loving kindness that Trinity farms had to offer even to an errant lamb like me. Due to my injuries, he took me out of the field and into his house, prepared a special place for me in his bedroom to dwell without end.

Our fellowship has grown over time and since I am devotedly his, I hear his voice loud and clear and follow him. One evening, after seeing the horrendous scars left by the thorns, I asked in a bleat why he put himself in harm’s way for me. He told me, but I still find his words unfathomable though they echo endlessly in the chambers of my heart....

“I am the good Shepherd; the good shepherd gives his life for his sheep.”

 © 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere

INCREDIBLE!!!

                                                       

             

Darkness swirled like clouds reminiscent of swarms of black locusts. Darkness crawled on the skin like the repulsive feet of fat maggots. Darkness overwhelmed the senses with the odour of putrefaction and corruption. It stuck like glue laced treacle, pulled with the force of sinking sands. Darkness, a stygian bog, a thick sea of ink drowned the land of Zowabia.

Zowabia was a blessed land. Within the veins of her core ran “black fire”, viscous gold that was used to produce energy. The whole world sought after it, hence the shores of the country was inundated by nations who brought gold in exchange for the precious substance. Zowabia became astoundingly prosperous.

As the land grew wealthy, it also became traitorous and turned its back on its Maker. The people forsook “The One who made the planets” and worshiped Mammon.  Mammon was one of the princes of “The Other”, whose chief function was to steal, kill and destroy. Since the gold kept poured in a torrential flow, no one cared. Like a deadly virus, greed and selfishness ravaged the populace.

Zowabians erected altars to Mammon in their homes, offices, markets, schools and especially ruling palaces. They paid homage to its gold coin image relentlessly with sacrifices of children, pregnant women, the young, and old, until the whole country was over-run with blood, mostly that of the innocent.

What Zowabians failed to realize was that, “The Other” ultimately consumes his most ardent worshipers.  The volume of bloodshed finally tipped the scales in Helfieno, the land of “The Other” and his princes. Finally it was time for Zowabia to be consumed. The king of fiends released his army.

They came like dark wind. Phantom horses dressed in hell’s gear with plumes of smoke and fire gushing from their nostrils. Their hounds strained on leashes baying for human souls. Their soldiers were wraiths of destruction. Hooves pounded thunderously, neighs sounded so deafeningly growls and snarls echoed relentlessly. Their arrows whistled and poured a feathered rain of death!  Terror was unleashed. Pandemonium reigned!

In the wake of the army of death came the above darkness, strange sicknesses (bizarre flu’s from birds and swine). A swathe of devastation laid the land bare. Kidnappings and famine became common. It was like the land had never known. The soldiers with hellish rage went from house to house. Where there used to be endless music and celebration, there was now only fear and horror. No one was safe!

We huddled in Bethel having communion. Worshipers of “The One Who Made The Planets”.  Zowabians call us freaks and banished us to Bethel because we cramped their style, they said. They called us goody two shoes because we did not partake in their sacrifices. It is absolutely impossible to serve "The One" and Mammon. The worshipers who did were the first people to be engulfed in the inferno hell’s army rained down.  They were tainted. In the temple, lights blaze, the only flames that can avail the darkness that saturated the land. They were not ordinary though; they were powered by fuel gotten from the celestial Zoe wells. They were living lights that confounded the darkness. They had existed from when the earth was no more than primordial watery soup.

Despite the lift our spirits got from the power of our shabach ritual, a frisson of concern still rippled in the pool of the congregation.  People were falling like flies all around the city and the menace was spreading fast. Evil was spreading like wildfire and no one was safe!

Manuel the Seer stepped into the ring of our circle carrying the ancient scrolls that never age. He looked up to the skies speaking Zionese, the language of heaven. A trance came upon him and his eyes became like fire seeing distant shores that could not be seen by human eyes. Arising from the spell of his visions, he consulted the scrolls.

"Salvation lies in the blood of a spotless white lamb. With that blood we will mark our homes and the scourge plaguing the countryside will pass over us". He said.

We all looked at one another. Where were we going to get a spotless white lamb from? The answer seemed to hit everyone at the same time and we all said Papa in unison, albeit in hushed tones.

Papa was the oldest man amongst us. He never married but had a small lamb that was like a son to him. The old man was one who served “The One” with blazing passion. One day he had a dream in which an angel touched the two black sheep he owned and made the laws of Mendelian useless during their mating. Snow came out of that divine experience and was the most beautiful lamb in the whole country. It was so fluffy, so beautiful, and so white that it hurt the eyes.  The animal followed Papa everywhere and was loved dearly in the clan. The children especially adored it to bits. If Snow, the lamb died, what would happen to Papa. The children would be brokenhearted, but what had to be done had to be done. We were all stunned into silence.

Slowly we all turned to look at the old man. Tears dripped from his eyes, endless rivers of anguish. "If it is to save the whole clan, you can have him" he uttered amidst sobs.

As he spoke, Snow gamboled into the middle of the ring and we all started weeping especially the little ones who understood. They ran, picked him up and clung to him like a drowning man to a branch.

The question that hung over us all was who would have enough heart to put the knife to the beloved lamb. Our looks circled the whole room and most put their faces down.

“I will do it! said Papa, in a strangled voice though maintaining his usual quiet dignity. I will make the sacrifice”. He collected the knife from Manuel and carried Snow into the circle where a golden bowl waited. Snow kept looking into its masters eyes like it were saying, “what did I do to become bereft of your love? Why have you forsaken me, Papa?”

We watched awe struck as the lamb’s throat was slit by its lover’s hand. Funny thing was that the animal did not utter a sound, not a baa, not a bleat.  Its blood flowed, a crimson flood that ran into the container. It was resigned to its masters will, gave up its life without a fight. As it quietly slid into the arms of death, I wondered whether Snow knew the written words that said “greater love has no man than , this that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

It was at this juncture that Demas the librarian rose with indignation. “Why do you clown around with an old man’s pet when danger is lurking like a mountain lion around us? This is all nonsense. We are wasting valuable time; this sacrifice will not amount to much! There has to be a better way and I am going to look for it. First things first, I am going to fortify my homestead in such a way no godforsaken killer can come in (He had just acquired the latest safety technology from the lands of the Orient).” With that he stormed out. He has always been the headstrong intellectual amongst us and if anything did not make sense to him, it was discarded rapidly. Manuel had always told him in the past, that the carnal mind could not access the mysteries of “The One”. Today we were too engrossed in surviving that we did not pay much attention to his usual antics.

The instruction was that Snow’s blood should be smeared around our houses. We hastily did this and locked ourselves inside our homes. Amazingly a drop of the lamb’s blood was enough for the whole community yet it surrendered all so lavishly!

They came at midnight as usual; the marauders of darkness.  The cries from different homes froze up the night and made it cold. The swish of slashing sickle and screams filled the air but the terror did not come near.  Sickles slashed jugulars, hooves crushed skulls and canine teeth ripped intestines. All over the city, thousands fell to the left and tens of thousands fell to the right of our boundaries but they could not come near us.

Then I heard blood curdling cries from my neighbour’s house and heard the maniacal laughter of the raiders. The house went up in flames, a colourful conflagration that was a testimony to the pestilence that ravaged the night.  My heart sank because I knew Demas and his family were gone, they would be coming for my home next.

They attacked and the blood on my lintels formed pillars of fire around me and mine that they could not breach. Even the spells from their magical rune tablets could not penetrate the ring around me. They came in one way and a hurricane rushed out of the blood paintings and scattered them into the seven winds.  The boldest of the demons came again but their steeds screeched in fear and the faces of the riders melted in horror. They dissolved into ashes and were no more. We were preserved!

All my life, I had never seen such manifestation! It was absolutely incredible! There was mighty, wonder working power in the blood of the lamb!

                                         

When I see the blood, I will pass over you!

© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere

SCARRED DESTINY PART 3

                                   

...anyway the entire ramble was a necessary digression from the story of my life.

 It is funny how different the same things look from another perspective. From where I am presently, I see things so differently. The veil has been removed and all is crystal clear. My hearing is also quite acute. Here, everything no matter how originally colourful, is distilled into black and white…..

The sounds of pestle on mortar that filled me with feverish expectation many years ago were predictive of what was to come (check part 1). They were reminiscent of the beats of native war drums that are ignorantly mistaken for the call to a village party. The pounding was a premonition of the battering I was going to receive, the punches that were going to have me reeling, the blows that would make me wish for death and the kicks on a tummy swollen with my first son. But all was lost on me that fateful day. It was ages ago but the memories are as fresh as the events of the past second. The softening of the yam was a tell tale of how my emotions and self esteem were going to be pummeled into mush until I became a human husk. An incomplete husk, having lost a couple of teeth, suffered a broken arm and multiple lacerations in a decade of hellish living.

The pepper that made my taste buds sing songs of rapturous delight were a divination of the hurt I was going to go through. The spices were a foretelling of the kind of torment that made Dante’s seem like a day in a massage parlour. I suffered, but the worst part of my agony was that I kept mum. I could not let any one take a peek into my soul to see what was going on. I was too embarrassed because I had been warned. Most people especially Amaka had told me not to touch my husband with a barge pole but mulish recalcitrance was what I offered to their heartfelt pleas.

 A wry smile slits the thoughtful deadpan expression of my face when I remembered how my obduracy made me tell everyone who cared to go take a wash in the nearest ocean because I had found “love”. How stupid I was to have thought that Deberre was my destiny.  The foolishness of youth is a death trap like I know now but its too late to turn the hands of time. My father used to say that dry fish could never be bent. My own fish is so dry that it has crumpled to dust akin to ancient papyrus scrolls found in a mummy’s tomb.

I lived in a vicious circle that would not let up. He lost his job along the way and it gave me a vindictive thrill to see him cut down to an even shorter size by the shock of it all. There is something about losing a job that emasculates the male Homo sapiens. But the downside of it was that the economic downturn affected me badly too. He took out the loss on me like I was the witch that cast the evil spell. He had made me quit my job after we got married since his ego could not stomach me working. It was enjoyable initially. Being waited on hands and foot by a retinue of house helps was fun coupled with not going to work. I eventually sent them packing because they took up the extra work of being concubines too especially during my pregnancies and post delivery. My husband usually laid claim to any woman that crossed his territory like a strutting cock.

To make matters worse, I stupidly got pregnant. I know the methods of child spacing were not as rife then as they are now but common sense should have told me to keep my womb locked to his fishy smelling, tadpole shaped bullets. But my in-laws harassed me like angry hornets until I gave in. Why did they keep poking their noses into the number of offspring we had? Is that not supposed to be solely the business of my hubby and I? Why would anyone want to keep having kids who would end up suffering? I would have thought the beautiful thing about having a child is the companionship, the nurturing of the bond that persists after the umbilical bond has been slashed. However, my people give birth and leave their children with their parents until the little ones felt they (the real parents) are visiting relatives. What is it about the African woman that makes her think giving birth is attached to her pride? I knew someone who had four girls and wanted a boy so she got pregnant again. She went about begging for help to pay her antenatal fees. Since I was part of the brainless throng that did not look before leaping, I commiserated with her, encouraged her that it was well and God was going to provide. Religious Nigerian cliches, like God did not give us brains to think. If you want to have a baby and cannot afford the basic tests needed to see you and the baby through the delivery, how would you and your progeny feed after parturition? How will the child receive an education? Why would anyone have so many children that dispersing them like seeds being scattered by explosive mechanism to kinsmen all over the globe would be the only way they could school or feed? More often than not these children are not treated well, which to me is another form of slave trade though with less horrific consequences. This is one of the reasons the word reparation makes me mad. Africa should deal with its issues before it starts pointing fingers. My people have a saying that when you point a finger at someone, the other four are pointing back at you. The statement is quite apt and I am so disgusted with myself that I joined that free breeding train.

But like they say, hindsight is 20/20 vision especially in this place but useless. However, I digress once again as I am wont to these days, but back to my story………

Deberre finally got a break! A new contract that fetched him some good dough and brought some sanity into the insanity that had besieged my home. But more fool me If I thought that was going to last. Before the good feelings of the relief package could die down, it was time to commemorate the memorial service of his father who had died fifteen years earlier. What a fan fare it was, enough pomp to have ridiculed Solomon’s reception of the Queen of Sheba. Of course that wrecked our blooming finances especially since the contract was not renewed. In retrospect again, I wonder about my people, why do we not leave the dead to bury the dead? Why is it that we celebrate the dead at the expense of the living? Why is there such ostentatious display of opulence during burials when the living has no food to eat? Why do we borrow and steal to prove a point? Why can we not just be content with what we have? What is wrong with us?

Our state got worse than it used to be. I did not even have enough to register for antenatal care. To make it worse I was still in my clam mode and refused to let anyone in to what I was going through. The kind of show I put up when they came around was usually enough to win me an Oscar. They suspected things were bad but never knew how terrible.

I finally had to register with a roadside maternity home which I was just barely able to afford (most of the government hospitals were more licensed to kill than James Bond anyway). I wonder now why the Government allowed such to thrive like poisonous mushrooms in the country.

When labour finally came it was obstructed and there was no one to help. The Power holding Company of Nigeria is paradoxically a custodian of perpetual darkness (I am still amazed their offices are not subterranean, considering the implacable hatred they have for illumination). The power holders chose the inopportune time of my labour to strike. The inadequate illumination from the 40W bulb serving the whole room was snuffed out and there was also a dearth of fuel in the whole country.  The birth attendant who kept murmuring impotent platitudes only had the help of a kerosene lamp as raging pain tore through me. I was a dart board that had poisoned projectiles piercing it on every side. It was a storm of agony that made me wish for death. The contractions stretched me on a torture rack of anguish. I sobbed, cried, wept, until my tears dried up like an ancient well. My mouth became a desert and I could not even cry out for water. My blood swelled and flowed like the Nile at high tide. I felt something finally give within me and heard his faint cry. By then, my strength had ebbed into nothingness and I fell off the precipice I had been holding on to with the tenacity of a bulldog. Stygian darkness swallowed me whole…….

Now as I look down on everything, my children growing without me, my husband in the embrace of other wives who maltreat my kids, I feel so stupid. On the other hand, fortune finally favoured Theo. He is now involved in a union that is the “happily ever after” kind. His wife should have been me! Unfortunately I can’t do anything about that anymore. The hands of the clock cannot be turned because now I exist beyond time. The pain of my wrong choices still wounds me so deeply even though I am beyond living. My decision determined my destiny. It haunts so badly that I can never sleep. Intentionally, I chose the wrong side of Fates’ coin and no superhero can save me now. The flames of my consequences scorch my soul, the grief is more than words can capture. What I keep seeing are all the wonderful ways life would have turned out if my flipped coin had turned up the other way, instead I used it to pay the canoe-man who ferried me across the river of death. The sadness that engulfs me in the gloomy cell of my doom, the thoughts of what might have been if I had taken another road, the fact that like Esau I exchanged my destiny because of an untamed appetite…This is my hell ….

There is a way that seems right unto a man but the end thereof is the way of death.

THE END.

 © 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere