The road to Damascus -page 8

It’s Friday night. Tired of being indoors with annoying roommates so I step outside to catch some fresh air, and suddenly remember the little park on the campus of a university behind my hostel.

Lovers and benches. Singles like me are certainly not welcome into such spaces, yet I impose myself. In a far corner of the park were a church choral group rehearsing.

There is everything in this park. Lovers kissing, sometimes caressing things they shouldn’t be touching in public, a prayer group chanting, a club meeting on how to make money after graduation …and lonely people who come for the company of passersby and the trees rustling in the winds.

I’m thinking of the late night calls I receive of late from a coursemate. Was it a sign? Didn’t want to make any rush moves. She seemed to like my company. We spend more times together, and I noticed she insists I be around her. Sometimes too, it’s just a gold digger in need of a jerk to hang around. How was I supposed to know the difference ? Perhaps it was too early to draw conclusions.

She was a fine girl, no doubt. But she looks wild, like the kind that rule their homes in place of their men. Or maybe I was reading too much into her? Maybe some fear in me was serving as lens to see what wasn’t. Taking one’s time was certainly a good move, everything lurking in the dark will soon step forward and identify itself.

I shift my thoughts to Sunday. Haven’t been frequent to services of late. Perhaps, I should just drift from church to church to see which one fits. There’s a girl that’s been asking me to visit her church. Wanted to. But she didn’t fellowship with that branch on Sundays since she goes home to her parents on weekends. What’s the point of visiting a church when the person who gave the invitation was absent? Besides, I was hoping something might develop through our interactions.

Sometimes, I feel my life is at a standstill, and the many efforts I put into it only get it moving for a short distance, waiting for fresh waves of massive inputs. Too many things to think about. Very little to be done under the circumstances.

Needed money. Needed love. Needed friends. Good friends. Needed connections. Needed fame. But not the kind that made me dumb. Needed something prestigious, some public recognition for something, though I didn’t know what. All I knew was that my life would be great. But what fuel was going to cook this fame, I had no idea.