Reminiscing what I'm missing

This morning, i wake with my eyes red and my will sore. I had stayed up late into the night, keeping the PlayStation company, whilst denying my eyes of its well deserved closure and the rest of my mortal flesh its needed rest. Its barely two minutes since the rest of my family filed out in disarray, all headed towards the car and Church. Luckily for me, they took all the noise in the house along with them, leaving me with my ever fond companion; silence.
I always thrive in solitariness and quietness, my brain couldn't be any more happier when left in the physical company of anyone else other than myself, it is in such lonely hours that my imagination roams freely like a nomad in search of pastures, it is in such moments of solitude that my will to create spreads its colourful wings and soars above my every other emotion, except of course the multi-faceted reactions reminiscing arouses in the depths of my tear duct, oh! how i love to cry. I'm sure, if you checked your calendar right away, it may not display today as being Sunday, but Sunday nonetheless it is, fact-fully not just a mere Sunday, but a cold Sunday morning, with dew drizzling and a dim blanket of moody cloud trying all its best
to keep the sun at bay, oh! How its efforts reminds me of the cold war, when both blocs navigated circumspectly around the potholes of each other, fighting, yet taking prestige in appearing to be in a state of comatose, oh! what a sham. So, this quiet Sunday morning, in-between my will to attend church and my preference to remain seated on the soft comfort of my bed, i find the will to write, or to put more correctly, i find solace in sharing my thoughts. How i dearly miss Sundays in School, Sunday school and all. If i were a herdsman, i never really would buy into the modern day idea of a settled lifestyle, instead i'd embrace in all its entirety and risk, the concept of being nomadic. So rather queerly, my inability to be a herdsman did not however deter me from expressing my nomadic tendencies in other manners, which happens to be the primary reason why i worshipped in several different churches over my four year stay in Unilag. Of all these Churches however, this gloomy Sunday morning, i miss two more dearly. The bus transit to and fro Unilag and Joshua-ville, with all those manicured fingers and well knot ties sitting all around me in sophisticated silence, every single one of us, busying themselves with their phones to the detriment of the person seated beside them, oh! What a queer lot! But i miss them. J-ville and its choir, their desire to always leave the congregation lost with its incessant rendition of uncommon melodies, i miss. Pastor, with the fervency in his voice when he pounds on the microphone with his oratorical vengeance, i miss. Those seasoned messages about wealth and good health, with the terms and conditions ending in the fact that you must be born again, oh! I miss. Although i never loved the quietness that pervaded the atmosphere whenever it was time for prayers, yet even that i miss today. All those short skirts and low necklines, mascara and eye-shadow, Peruvian hair and Ghana weaves, oh! How abominable it is for a sinner to speak in tongues. The journey back home always began with one embarking on one of the buses, which in turn meant beating every other person to getting a seat, the ensuing struggle; not funny. Elbows strategically positioned so any erring face would unabashedly ram into it, while you, unapologetically and pretentiously gentlemanly continue to wade your way through the mammoth crowded door into the coaster bus, just to realise that the first ten people who were there before you had reserved the remaining twenty something seats with their bags and jotters (no one came with Bible anyways, such things are now found as apps on our phones). Then comes that moment of confusion, of doubt, of bile, anger and then a conflagration, you see ten people in a thirty-four capacity bus, yet they tell you all the spaces are occupied, you make a fist, bloodshot eyes, erupting volcano, it seems someone wants to lose a tooth? brother just so fast, you've lost your salvation, or didn't that alter call you answered mean a thing to you? Jesus understands! You suppress that inner voice; the Holy Spirit, reminding you that you must make sacrifices; for Christ sake! whatever happened to fighting for my right! Well, it worked, you wrestled against flesh and blood and you won, the girl with a red weave and now a scared face, lifts Her purse from 'your' seat, your muscles relax in satisfaction, who said a coarse voice wasn't altogether useful? even Christ fought in the temple; brother, you twisted the Scriptures. At Unilag gate you alight and walk to Biobaku hall, with pangs of guilt tugging at your heart, my Brother, was it worth it? Reading this story from beginning till end.

Its your friend Onyeoziri Favour, back after a long break. Welcome me with your comments.