It was a very cold, hazy, harmattan evening; the
waning sun, pale in the darkening sky.
I sat there, morosely; totally piqued at
the whole, wide world.
I felt terrible that things were never the
way they were supposed to be.
I was furious at the people I knew for
being so disloyal and uncaring.
I was disgusted with those I did not know
because they were oblivious to my plight.
I was worried at the burdens of guilt,
sitting heavy upon my stooped shoulders.
I was affrighted at the bloody wars,
haunting poverty and the spectre of death.
I was doubtful of God’s love for the human
race.
I was caught betwixt Desperation and
Despair, the cruel twins.
I wondered maliciously, if God existed
anywhere in the terribly silent heavens.
I marvelled at the hopelessness of
mankind’s existence here.
I scoffed at his unrelenting hope for a
better life hereafter.
I despised the ‘haves’ for being satiated
in their cold luxury.
I detested the ‘have-nots’ for being
hopeful in their dejected state.
I was displeased with the fathers for
pleasurably populating the earth with trouble-makers.
I was annoyed with the mothers for the
sorrows they withstood, gently.
I raged at the oppression of the poor,
widows, orphans and the handicapped.
I was so piqued that I was about to blow
off my top once and for all.
Then I chanced to look towards my right
side. Startled, I was. Seated on the bench by my side
Was a little boy, aged about ten, as dusk
swiftly embraced the lonely park.
He was a stranger. I did not know when he
had come to sit by my side.
He was gazing upon me with a warm kind of
love and pity in his liquid brown eyes.
Immediately, I observed three sorry things
about him, quickly.
He was horribly mangled by polio.
He was so frail and pale-looking.
He was so full of effervescing life and pulsing
joy that it was painful to behold.
“Monsieur.
Why are you carrying about so much fire of
hate and self-pity in your bosom?
When you only have to raise the jaded curtains
from which you behold the world
To lighten and liven your world with the
lamp of inexhaustible joy?
Look at me. My whole family was on the
verge of despair.
But my unquenchable zeal, my indefatigable
joy impresses them
So much that rather than mourn all they can
do is celebrate with me.
Leukaemia. PAINFULL. Even though I say it!
A precious friend who has taught me to appreciate
life’s little mercies more.
Polio. FRUSTRATING. Yes it is!
A dear brother who has led me to know the
affection of heaven’s keen desires.
And here you sit, ranting at the whole
world for being unfair and wicked?
Seeing that you are sound of mind. Sound of
limb. Sound of hope.
Well, you need to see it from my
perspective now.”
Yes. I had to. I tried not to. But I did.
His eyes were gentle but ...
FORCEFULLY. He kept looking at me with
those all-knowing,
All-seeing, soul-searching eyes of his.
“Come, let us pray awhile, good sir.”
My toes and fingers curled with the intensity
of the shame.
My mind reeled drunkenly. I bowed my head
in self-disgust.
He grasped my strong, work-roughened hands
with his frail ones
Not allowing me to sink again into the miry
bog of self-indulgence
And he prayed simply. He simply prayed. Heaven
seemed to be straining at his
Quiet words, as Nature around us in the
park did. Attentive.
I never knew Heaven was that close till I
saw a plain, uncluttered heart
Utter the child-like but powerful words of redemption:
“Dear Lord of Life, Creator and the Source
of all Mercies and Goodness-
Grant that Your Wonderful Light may illuminate
the dark recesses
Of Your dear son’s aggrieved soul.
That Your Truthful Light radiate Your Love
and Peace into the confused heart
Of Your beloved son. That he might learn to
enter and walk in that Perfect Rest
Of Your Seventh Day Excellence. Now, may the
bliss of all that it takes to know You
Totally suffuse his very essence until he
becomes You
And You become him: Eternal. Amen.” I
echoed the Amen.
I held onto his frail hands like a vice. He
was gazing into my eyes
A tender smile playing around his lips - illuminating
his pale, but peaceful face.
I felt as if a storm was being chased
around within me;
A monstrous Goliath haunted by a little
David and his shepherd’s sling.
And I fell to the ground, screaming,
drawing him along with me
Holding on to those frail fingers in a
vice-like grip.
His grip was surprisingly strong for
someone so feeble-looking.
He kept looking into my eyes until I felt
as if a great weight
Was suddenly lifted from my palpitating heart
And a great yoke was removed from my stooping
shoulders. I wept.
I do not mean the gentle kind of weeping. I
mean
The soul-dredging, heart-wrenching, mind-numbing,
healing kind.
“You will be all right from now on. You’ll
see. I’ll check on you later.”
He said, gently drawing his fingers from my
hard grip, patting my shoulder
As he rose.
“Don’t go! Don’t GO!” I made as if to
detain him. He shook his head
Eluded my grasp, with a smile and moved
away, saying: “I’ll see you around.”
As I rose to follow him, so many questions,
buzzing around my head
I felt someone tapping my shoulder from
behind and I looked back in annoyance
I opened my eyes and met myself on the park
bench.
It was getting quite dark now. The cool breeze
was ruffling the flowers and the trees gently
I felt the breeze serenading my very soul.
I could not dredge up hatred and despair
Any more. I was practically floating in relief.
It had been a dream all along. The old man
who had tapped me on the shoulder
Was the park warden. He looked at me, not
unkindly.
“You were muttering and gesticulating in
your sleep and I guessed it was a bad dream.”
He squinted up at the clouds.
“The rain seems to be gathering its cloudy forces
so rapidly.
It’s going to be a heavy one. Besides, it
was getting quite dark, and
You need to go home now. It must have been
a very hard day for you at work, not so?”
He looked at me closely. I avoided his
eyes.
“Are you all right?” He asked, concern in
his hoarse voice.
“Where...where is the...the boy?” I
muttered stupidly.
“The boy? Which boy?” He was genuinely puzzled.
It all poured out of me in a stutter.
“He was so frail and pale looking! He was
ravaged by polio. So full of light and life!”
The old man’s face suddenly lighted up.
“Ah, so you too have seen the little
Comforter of Cristol Park! How blessed you are!”
I was confused. “Little Comforter of
Cristol Park? Who is he and where is he?”
The old Warden sat beside me and narrated a
strange and thrilling tale to me.
“His father is the Vicar at St Paul’s
Cathedral, yonder”
He pointed a gnarled finger at the looming
tower in the distance.
“Everyone in this neighbourhood knew him
quite well for he was the only son
Of the good Vicar and his lovely wife. Much
beloved by the parishioners.
He was a cheerful, kind little fellow whose
light of joy
Could never be quenched by any depression
or situation. He took joy and comfort
Everywhere he went. People wanted to be
around him, everywhere.
Unfortunately, from childhood, his body was
ravaged by the polio disease.
He was also diagnosed with leukaemia at the
age of seven. He spent a greater part
Of his time at the hospital when his mates
were in school or at play.
However, all these had no effect on his
natural force and his joie de vivre.
He comforted people, counselled those much
older than him
And
led many people to Christ than you can ever imagine.
Till the end, he was an enigma, even to his
own parents!
He died before his ninth birthday. His Dad
said he passed on with a radiant light
Pulsing on his face. He promised to keep in
touch. No one understood.
All that was three years ago. Now, once
every quarter, it has been observed
People - sick, unhappy, depressed, suicidal
and at life’s crossroads
Who have come to relax at this park have
reported seeing him in their dream
If they dare to sleep off, lulled by the
soothing breeze and serenity of the park.
As they ponder their lives and adverse situations.
Invariably, they always receive their
healing, get solutions to diehard problems –
And of course, the salvation of their souls.
The snag is that although he comes here
once every quarter
No one knows the particular day of the
month he would come
Or the time of the day it would be. So the
place is never thronged with people
Seeking for solution. He wouldn’t put in an
appearance if they do!
It seems that the right person always gets
to see him at the right time.”
He winked conspiratorially at me.
“When he was alive, little Peter used to
spend time ministering to needy people
In this park when he came here to relax.
This was his favourite bench.
He caressed the bench on which I was seated,
musingly.
“Apparently, he has been keeping in touch
as he promised.” The man grinned.
“It all jells,” I muttered in bewilderment.
He prayed for me and I feel ... so free!”
I touched my chest and my shoulder, dazed.
Tears were coursing down my face
Unbidden, unchecked. It was a marvel.
So much pain, yet so much love and so much
selflessness.
Where were we, the spiritually handicapped,
in the whole set up?
“That’s good, ole Tommy boy for sure!”
chimed the old man in glee.
He wagged his forefinger at me. “Now, you
go and give testimony in his Dad’s church.
It gives them peace to know that his sweet
spirit is still doing the good deeds
He was always known for around here.
So long, dear fellow.” He sauntered away,
whistling happily
Obviously, to continue with his duties.
Now, don’t you go asking me when and where
this strange incident happened
For I will definitely not tell you.
However, all I can, indeed, tell you is that
one good, old fellow
Told the story to me. And here I am,
telling it to you too!
© Olujimi Jiboye March
2014