By Vusumzi Matomane
Adeola
“What time is it?” The lady had anticipated the same answer even from this individual. She had decided to do away with the ‘excuse-me’ formality and asked her question straight away. Not knowing: what time it was, how long she had been here, where she came from and where were the others and above all, what was was this place; frustrated her more.
“Why bother? It’s always the same time.” The boy answered briskly and was soon swallowed into the crowd down the gravel road. More confused and worried, after the encounter with the boy, unpleasant thoughts flooded her mind: ‘could it be that I’m dead, is this hell or Heavens, but where are the demons…or angels.’
Her imagination: of an angel, was a holistic-figure of tall stature with wide wings and dressed in white linen, and of a demon; an ugly-figure with horns and thorns and dressed in tattered rags. But in this strange land neither of the two figures was visible.
‘Maybe I’m lost, perhaps I should ask for directions instead.’
Her lively stride had now turned into a tortoise’s pace. Eventually, she came into a halt and by the roadside; knelt, closed eyes and started: “Dear God, I’m your child in need, wake me up from this terrible dream, please, get me out of this place. Amen.”
When she opened eyes and rose to her feet; she saw the same crowd going up and down the gravelled road. No miracle had happened for her. She was still trapped in the dream.
She came to observe that in this strange land, there was nothing she could relate to in her normal life on a normal day: traffic, shopping-malls, hotels, restaurants, cinemas, museums, art-galleries, fashion-boutiques, hair-saloons…
There was nothing, at all, of human civilization. The pastoralism and serenity spelt b-o-r-e-d-o-m for the city-oriented eye: the gravel road, dense forests and open-space, clear ponds, assortment of blooms, self-sowed fruits and vegetables…
‘So it must be heavens, after all.’
The scenario before the lady’s eyes was another imagination of hers about Heavens although there were a few, but major, details missing:
“Hullo, could you please show me the way to the Gates?”
“What gates?”
“The famous Gates, you know?”
“No. around here there are no gates, well, not any that I know of.”
“…the Golden Street? It should lead me straight to the Gates. You don’t know where that is?”
“No, you only have this gravel road.”
“What about a guy by the name of Gabriel?”
“What about him?”
“You haven’t seen him around?”
“The only guys I know here are Bantu, Nelson, Barrack, Abedi, Usain, Salif and Jabu. Maybe if you go around searching, you might find your man.”
The stranger, at the thought of being in Heaven; expected to see the whole crew of heroines, heroes, Samaritans, princesses, princes, icons, queens and kings: the celebrities of heavens.
Gaba was nowhere to be seen either. That, alone, struck the stranger so strangely; that the man with the green fingers, who had been so passionate about his roses, chrysanthemums, tulips, clovers, lavenders and herbs; was not part of the picture.
Mavis, also, who had never missed a single day of work for nine years, was excluded. She did not feature, not even in the background of the recent scenario.
“Actually, my sister, I’m looking for a house: a number-four in Monte Vista Avenue. I think—I think it’s my house, it’s just that I don’t seem to find my way to the block.” The stranger approached, now, from a different angle. The angle of sincerity mixed with desperation.
“I think you’re lost because…what is your name? I’m Nandi.” Nandi’s concern about the stranger was visible from her liquid-brown eyes.
“I—I only remember Mavis and my gardener…and a man. I think there’s a man; I just don’t seem to recall his name also,” came the reply.
“Let me call you Adeola. Tell you what; come with me, I’m visiting a friend of mine, Nambita.”
Down the gravel road; the two sisters went, with the stranger having assumed a new identity.
Copyright © Vusumzi Matomane 2009
[...to be continued...]
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I'm also becoming very concerned about the impacts (and surely; they are negative) of global-warming on our planet.
ReplyDeleteIt crossed my mind (given the facts and statistics about the dramatic changes in weather, unexpected natural disasters that hit any city or village; anytime, and so-on...) that one day Planet Earth will be gone--and we will only have ourselves to blame.
It was that thought that encouraged my hand to pick the pen and craft a Novel out of this broad and serious issue.
'Craft': because I am an Artist. I have to do it in an Artistic and entertaining-manner (it has also to be thought-provoking)...So I have to 'craft' it.
And "Adeola" is the beginning of my craft towards my attempt of producing a classic and one of greatest stories to have ever come from the African continent.
[I cannot post all Chapters on this Blog. I guess we gonna have to sit and wait until Soul Mate comes out].