Temporary escape

The tourist site we were to visit was changed at the last minute, a day before the D-day.

Naturally, our youth leader was furious.

He was making the final announcements in church on Sunday afternoon when suddenly the changed destination was mentioned by a woman in the congregation, confirmed by the mother of the assistant youth leader. It was his assistant who knew about the change, made the changes without informing his superior because he knew his mother was a key figure in our local church. She would defend her son from the youth leader who was a no-nonsense person.

I was behind the drums (for I was an instrumentalist in our local church), shy to look at the fury on our youth leader’s face, for he was deliberately taking in slow breaths in order  to not say something foul to the culprits.

Doing the Lord’s work was certainly not for the weak. When someone acts immature and irresponsible, you’re torn between disciplining them or being merciful, knowing that your many sins have been forgiven by the Lord.

And so that was how the joy that made us go through fire and rain to get money to pay for the excursion was deflated. The original place was supposed to be on a cruise liner taking us through certain coastal towns. Now, the new place was no match, but we were paying the same fee. The excuse for this scam was that the liner was fully booked. We didn’t apply early.

On the day of the excursion, one rickety bus whose air conditioner was malfunctioning stood lamely on our church premises. Its capacity was way less than the number that had signed up and we were crammed into the bus like canned fish. It appeared a deliberate spiritual exercise of cultivating patience and tolerance for bullshit in us. But we embarked on the journey all the same.

I noticed our youth leader was quiet all through the journey despite the singing and clapping in the bus.

The destination was really not worth it. We had to board a canoe to cross to an island. It was my first time. And scarry. But the experience was unforgettable.

There was this gentle pressure in the water that held us up, as if the water was constantly contemplating whether to drop us to the bottom or hold us. And its dilemma had a telling effect on our comfort in that canoe.

We finnaly arrived and had to wait for the rest of the team to join us, with the foods and drinks we brought. I and my friends were constantly comparing the current excursion to previous ones. The difference was profane and insane.

There were other groups too that day at the site. Workers. Club members. Students.

But they were not that many. It seems it wasn’t a place that was at the top of anyone’s list.

Some of our members were playing a football they had brought along. Others played draughts. Some of the ladies were skipping ropes. There wasn’t much to see there. Just water and faces, and the wind.

I was in the water, the shallow point, practicing swimming skills I never learnt.

Then I felt some sensation in my genitals. The water seemed to fondle my genitals, leaving this sweet sensations as I waded through the water. It felt good and sinful at the same time. Not knowing what to make of it, I stepped out of the water. That little estuary wouldn’t be a shortcut to the hell I have always wanted to avoid.

By this time, they were serving us lunch. I went for my jollof rice after fighting my way through long queues. When I finished eating, I was given a plate for our youth leader.

“They said I should bring this to you.” I told him, holding the plate.

It seems he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he was still angry.

I repeated the sentence. He turned. He was lying on a wooden rocking chair and seemed asleep.

He looked at the food for a while and sighed.

“Put it on the table.”

I placed it on a little table beside him and left.

There was nothing fun about that excursion. The worst in our recollections.

But for many of us sick and tired of house chores and controlling parents, it was our golden opportunity to escape from Sobibor, temporarily.

What do you see # 343- June 1, 2026