So, as you know me, you probably know I love Easter, much more than I do Christmas, probably because I received the life of Christ in that season, or maybe I just… Never mind. Lol.
I shared a story on my Whatsapp status yesterday. It’s an Easter retelling that I first wrote in April 2020. I want to share it with you too. Enjoy. ❤️
It was Him! It was Him!
The one with those eyes that haunted me in my dreams these two days incessantly. Those eyes that almost drove me mad. It was Him I saw again this morning.
Naturally, it takes a lot for me to step out of the house for public displays but this one was one I wanted to watch; this man had been gathering dust for the past few weeks, I mean, earlier this week there was a procession in his honour and today I hear he’s dragged on the streets.
These kind of processions are my favorite: the ones involving these self-absorbed, hypocritical, holier-than-thou, religious scumbags and take my word for it, I’ve met this type several times. Or rather, this type have met me, paying heavily to feed their lust and treating me like filth as soon as it is satisfied. This type I know like the back of my palm.
It shocked me to my marrow when my babe, Damaris (code name of course), chairlady “men are scum” gang called me some days back and was weeping. She was signing off the business. She’d found Love, she claimed.
“Wetin be dis wan?” I wondered. (Of course we are both naija babes; she entered Samaria, took the city by storm and I stayed in Jerusalem–even in the “holy city” utility workers are much appreciated.)
Pissed, I ended the call abruptly. I hate nonsense talk.
So, today I heard that her “lover” was being dragged on the streets, and I stepped out to watch, to mock and jeer.
Mingling with the crowd the hatred was palpable and contagious.
What I did not have an answer to though was what he did, so I moved closer to the front to get the gist. Close enough that I was right behind him at one point, separated by four Roman soldiers.
Never had I seen anyone less desirable yet unexplainably appealing; his back a bleeding mess, his cloth torn, and he could barely walk.
Yet he looked at me with kind eyes, eyes that saw into my soul, eyes that laid me bare. I felt ~naked~ , exposed! So I spat.
How dare he make me feel vulnerable?
I spat again, my spittle a perfect aim on his right eye. I wish it blinded him.
Feeling fulfilled I hissed and turned back, hurriedly leaving the street.
Hard guy, hard guy, I wiped a tear that escaped my eye, closed them tightly and cursed. How could one look melt me like butter?
That night and the next I sought sleep in futility. Thirteen times each night I woke to the most impossible thing—I was weeping like a baby. Something had broken inside me.
His eyes haunted me. How could a person’s eyes be the perfect blend of all colors in the rainbow?
What was he?
Werewolf? Daemon? Fae? Valkyrie? Vampire? Wizard?
And what spell did he cast over my soul that made me long for him so?
This morning at 3am I’d woken to go to his grave and sprinkle myrrh to appease His spirit so I could rest. I heard the earthquake from afar but I was determined to get there still. I met the soldiers scampering away from the tomb, undeterred I moved on.
The road was rather herculean but I made it across stopping short at the tomb. The earthquake had completed, and in the quiet silence I wondered what nerves I had to be there…
I felt before I saw Him. This beautiful man. With the most loving gaze, this Jesus of Nazareth, who said to me, “I have called you by my name.” See, Love is a person. The same one that said to me “Come, drink of living water.” and says to you. “Come, yield and find rest for your soul.”
Emem ye ifure ke obufa ofion emi. (Have peace and serenity in the new month).