I looked up from my squatting position at our verandah and saw Nnachi, our machine operator coming – alone. I had a feeling something was amiss; dad was not with him and it is almost dark. As a kid, I had come to know Nnachi, our machine operator as someone who never takes the initiative; he always takes it from dad. But then, I had felt he was doing it either out of respect, or because dad was his boss.
Dad ran a concrete block business. On that fateful day, they had gone to make a delivery to a customer. Because neither dad nor Nnachi could drive, Oga Dave, dad’s friend, volunteered to help; the company’s driver, Theo, as usual had failed to come to work. And dad, who has always been compassionate even at the detriment of us, his children, never thought of firing him. Curiously, hours after they had gone, they were yet to return.
So when Nnachi was approaching alone, I felt a need to know why dad was not with him. And typical of him, he just sauntered right into our parlour, drew mum to a corner, and told her everything. He did not even bother to leave out the gory details
Their vehicle had lost control on their way and dad, seated at the outermost at the passenger’s side, jumped out. Oga Dave eventually gained control of the vehicle and by the time they rushed back to where dad had jumped, he had already bled a lot and could barely walk. Because they were on a highway and it was almost nightfall, they had difficulty convincing an oncoming vehicle to stop. After about an hour, they succeeded. And all the while dad’s cry of anguish could be heard calling out to them to help him. At the hospital, they had to face another round of delay at the casualty ward and before anything could be done, dad had lost a lot of blood. He finally gave up the ghost.
“So madam, that’s what I’ve come to tell you. Oga don die,” I’d overheard Nnachi telling mum, tears streaming down his cheek. For an instant I saw, or I thought I saw, mum not certain whether to raise her two hands and scream or lower them to console our operator. But I saw her perform just one act – untie one end of her wrapper and wipe off the tears that had gradually converged around her eyes. She then left our whimpering operator and walked into her room.
I do not need a wrapper or any piece of clothing to wipe my own tears – there were no tears. I just sat there stunned and numbed by the piece of news I’d just overheard. I took another look at Nnachi’s tearful face, where he was leaning against a wall, his body just rubbing his shadow, to make sure everything was real. Dad, dead? Incredible. He just left some hours ago. How could it be he would never come back? I tried to persuade myself everything was alright. And as if to assure me everything was alright, the tears still did not flow.
Exactly one month later, the red, soft, muddy soil of my village hit dad’s coffin with a thud. “From earth we came, thence we shall return,” echoed the priest, clutching a wooden-handle shovel in his left hand and a bible in the other. To the right of the priest were my siblings, the eldest standing closest to him.
I scanned the crowd gathered at the graveside for mum. I saw her. A flowing, black gown, swaying gently under the hot noon breeze, barely covering her feet. Perched on her head was a black head tie cut from the same material as the black gown. Flanked on either side of her were her sisters and other female relatives. I looked at her face and tried to follow her gaze, which was riveted inside the dug grave. I tried to guess what could be going on in her mind. Then suddenly, she looked up and our eyes locked. Her eyes looked bloodshot, tears were continually streaming down her cheeks, snaking through her upper lips and falling, like a gentle rain, onto the upper portion of her gown. For the second time in less than a month I was stunned. I had never seen mum like this. At that split moment, I realized what dad actually meant to her and it dawned on me she’d never see him again. Then my tears came, at first in drops, and then in torrents. The sudden realization that the entire episode of the past one month had been real tore my heart into shreds. Like mum, I would never see dad again. Ever.
I let out a yell.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A Day At The Temple
A loud music blaring ‘Maharaj Ji gives you peace’ informs anyone in the neighbourhood that Olufemi Ashram, the worshipping centre for Sat Guru Maharaj Ji devotees in Festac Town, is a few metres away. And not just the lyrics from the song, the self acclaimed perfect master is actually there in flesh that sunny Saturday morning to confer peace to whoever is willing to seek him out.
And then there are a handful of devotees lurking around the centre ready to pounce on anyone who, intentionally or not, tried to flout any of their plethora of do’s and don’ts – remove your foot wears and caps (for the men), and women should cover their heads. Also, trouser-decking ladies are advised to stay away; and for the records, blue items and handsets are not allowed into Olufemi Ashram.
And so there I am, waiting for the press conference to begin. The ashram’s disc jockey has just inserted another record into the machine and another thunderous voice jumps out of his music machine – ‘Sat Guru Maharaj Ji, the camel of life is here on earth. Let the lesser gods shut up.’ The disc jockey proceeds to translate the music into dance steps, he is immediately joined by a plump woman and together they move in well choreographed modes.
I look at my watch and it says noon. The gold rimmed wall clock on the wall says 1 p.m. I motion to a young devotee nearby and ask what his time says and he replies 1 p.m. Then he explains that Maharaj Ji’s time is one hour ahead of Nigerian time. I ask why and before he explains, an older man appears from inside the building and motions for him to come.
The reporter beside me (from Radio Nigeria) asks if they (Maharaj Ji devotees) believe in God and I look at her with a blank expression. Then I observe the environment in search of a clue. The whole place seems to be wrapped in red – curtains, table cloths, balloons. Most of the devotees also seem to wear a tinge of red in their outfits. A large portrait of the heavily bearded Maharaj Ji sits on a table at an altar in front of us flanked by two flower vases; the vases also have red marks on them. Flowers of various colours – red also among – litters the table, the flowers looked like they were picked the day before.
At strategic locations within the small compound are wooden suggestion boxes with different wordings – ‘Direct Service Box’, Sat Guru Na Gode’, Sat Guru Modupe’, Take A Step Now’, among others. Two jeeps are parked outside the compound, a Nissan and an Infiniti, with plate numbers ‘Sat Guru 1’. Beside the Infiniti is a large banner of Maharaj Ji with the wordings ‘My Divine Knowledge is the Power to see God Alive…’
A young boy in a red cloth walks in through the red-yellow-green-white ribbon curtains at the gate. The bold inscriptions ‘Guru is my lover. Don’t be jealous’ at the front and back of his dirty polo are clearly visible. The music has just switched to ‘Happy Birthday Maharaj Ji. You are a wonderful lord’, and he nods his head to it. Close to his heels are two lizards, one through the gate and the other through a crack in the wall. They look left and right, nod their heads – apparently to the loud music – dash straight to the altar and disappear behind the red curtain.
I look at my watch again; I’d stayed three hours and still no sign of Guru. Virtually all the reporters invited have arrived. I beckon to another devotee and inquire if the conference is still slated for the day. He advises me to be patient.
One hour later, my fourth hour at the venue, a trumpet blows outside; inside the hall, all his devotees went down on their knees. I look up just in time to see Sat Guru Maharaj Ji in all his glory. His steps are dainty and measured as he emerges from a corner door at the end of the hall and walks towards his seat, a shiny yellow upholstery with red coloured love and star symbols. The media co-ordinator apologises for the delay, “I want to sincerely apologise for the delay, especially for the physical reasons. The spiritual ones are beyond us and there is nothing we can do about them,” says the middle-aged man.
Then we make our rounds of introductions. I keep an eye on Guru. He is listening to our introductions and at the same time casting a sweeping glance across his congregation. The wire from the black microphone pinned to his red garment snakes through the podium and ends up behind a large speaker box.
And then there is stone silence. The Guru clears his throat and lowers his head to read his press briefing.
Finally, the proceedings began...
...Outside, a loud trumpet sounded and inside, the devotees went down on their knees. Then entered Maharaj Ji. The devotees remained kneeling until he took his seat.
With a cordless microphone attached near the left breast of his all red attire, the Guru began to address the gentlemen of the press, and of course, his congregation.
“I will like to express my deepest gratitude to all present for being able to sail through all the tempestuous terrains of life to be alive to attend this press conference today…,” he read from a copy of his prepared speech, his low voice seeping into all the nook and crannies of the graveyard silent room.
For the umpteenth time, I cast a sweeping glance over the congregation. All their five senses were riveted towards the man at the altar; none paused to meet my glance.
The small room was already cramped with people. So those who could not get a seating space had to make do with the chairs outside and a loudspeaker, though they still strained their necks through the door to see whatever the Guru is doing.
In the middle of the altar hung a large framed photo of the Guru with a little fire burning before it.
To the left of Maharaj Ji were the gentlemen of the press, about ten of us and to his right were the devotees, seated in numbed silence and straining to catch everything the man at the podium was saying.
Maharaj Ji comes across like someone who, though regarded as a divine being by his devotees, prefers to relate to them in worldly manners. What with his frequent reverting to pidgin in the midst of his speech and the devotees vigorous nodding of their heads to whatever he says.
As he was reading and I was taking notes of the questions to ask, a million thoughts were flashing through my mind. What if I ask a question that irks him and he dispatches a tongue of flame to gobble me up. Although I had taken precautions before coming - I had given my neighbour a detailed description of where I was going and to call for reinforcement if I hadn’t returned by seven.
All those thoughts and precautions turned out, however, to be hollow imaginations. The Guru is as peaceful as a dove, as the devotees made me to understand and my questions - well he answered them. Though he has an ingenious way which, though the question may not be answered, but it does seem like it’s been answered.
The conference ended two hours after it began as we matched outside for a group photograph with the Guru, I took one last look around the room and the last thing I saw was a wall calendar.
“Go round the world and you will find there is no better lover than Sat Guru Maharaj Ji…. Because I am the gateway to heaven on earth. Use or call me every second and you will find Eternal Peace of Mind, Divine Protection, Infinite Strength and the Grace to overcome all challenges. Trust me, I am ordained by God Almighty.” - Maharaj Ji.
And then there are a handful of devotees lurking around the centre ready to pounce on anyone who, intentionally or not, tried to flout any of their plethora of do’s and don’ts – remove your foot wears and caps (for the men), and women should cover their heads. Also, trouser-decking ladies are advised to stay away; and for the records, blue items and handsets are not allowed into Olufemi Ashram.
And so there I am, waiting for the press conference to begin. The ashram’s disc jockey has just inserted another record into the machine and another thunderous voice jumps out of his music machine – ‘Sat Guru Maharaj Ji, the camel of life is here on earth. Let the lesser gods shut up.’ The disc jockey proceeds to translate the music into dance steps, he is immediately joined by a plump woman and together they move in well choreographed modes.
I look at my watch and it says noon. The gold rimmed wall clock on the wall says 1 p.m. I motion to a young devotee nearby and ask what his time says and he replies 1 p.m. Then he explains that Maharaj Ji’s time is one hour ahead of Nigerian time. I ask why and before he explains, an older man appears from inside the building and motions for him to come.
The reporter beside me (from Radio Nigeria) asks if they (Maharaj Ji devotees) believe in God and I look at her with a blank expression. Then I observe the environment in search of a clue. The whole place seems to be wrapped in red – curtains, table cloths, balloons. Most of the devotees also seem to wear a tinge of red in their outfits. A large portrait of the heavily bearded Maharaj Ji sits on a table at an altar in front of us flanked by two flower vases; the vases also have red marks on them. Flowers of various colours – red also among – litters the table, the flowers looked like they were picked the day before.
At strategic locations within the small compound are wooden suggestion boxes with different wordings – ‘Direct Service Box’, Sat Guru Na Gode’, Sat Guru Modupe’, Take A Step Now’, among others. Two jeeps are parked outside the compound, a Nissan and an Infiniti, with plate numbers ‘Sat Guru 1’. Beside the Infiniti is a large banner of Maharaj Ji with the wordings ‘My Divine Knowledge is the Power to see God Alive…’
A young boy in a red cloth walks in through the red-yellow-green-white ribbon curtains at the gate. The bold inscriptions ‘Guru is my lover. Don’t be jealous’ at the front and back of his dirty polo are clearly visible. The music has just switched to ‘Happy Birthday Maharaj Ji. You are a wonderful lord’, and he nods his head to it. Close to his heels are two lizards, one through the gate and the other through a crack in the wall. They look left and right, nod their heads – apparently to the loud music – dash straight to the altar and disappear behind the red curtain.
I look at my watch again; I’d stayed three hours and still no sign of Guru. Virtually all the reporters invited have arrived. I beckon to another devotee and inquire if the conference is still slated for the day. He advises me to be patient.
One hour later, my fourth hour at the venue, a trumpet blows outside; inside the hall, all his devotees went down on their knees. I look up just in time to see Sat Guru Maharaj Ji in all his glory. His steps are dainty and measured as he emerges from a corner door at the end of the hall and walks towards his seat, a shiny yellow upholstery with red coloured love and star symbols. The media co-ordinator apologises for the delay, “I want to sincerely apologise for the delay, especially for the physical reasons. The spiritual ones are beyond us and there is nothing we can do about them,” says the middle-aged man.
Then we make our rounds of introductions. I keep an eye on Guru. He is listening to our introductions and at the same time casting a sweeping glance across his congregation. The wire from the black microphone pinned to his red garment snakes through the podium and ends up behind a large speaker box.
And then there is stone silence. The Guru clears his throat and lowers his head to read his press briefing.
Finally, the proceedings began...
...Outside, a loud trumpet sounded and inside, the devotees went down on their knees. Then entered Maharaj Ji. The devotees remained kneeling until he took his seat.
With a cordless microphone attached near the left breast of his all red attire, the Guru began to address the gentlemen of the press, and of course, his congregation.
“I will like to express my deepest gratitude to all present for being able to sail through all the tempestuous terrains of life to be alive to attend this press conference today…,” he read from a copy of his prepared speech, his low voice seeping into all the nook and crannies of the graveyard silent room.
For the umpteenth time, I cast a sweeping glance over the congregation. All their five senses were riveted towards the man at the altar; none paused to meet my glance.
The small room was already cramped with people. So those who could not get a seating space had to make do with the chairs outside and a loudspeaker, though they still strained their necks through the door to see whatever the Guru is doing.
In the middle of the altar hung a large framed photo of the Guru with a little fire burning before it.
To the left of Maharaj Ji were the gentlemen of the press, about ten of us and to his right were the devotees, seated in numbed silence and straining to catch everything the man at the podium was saying.
Maharaj Ji comes across like someone who, though regarded as a divine being by his devotees, prefers to relate to them in worldly manners. What with his frequent reverting to pidgin in the midst of his speech and the devotees vigorous nodding of their heads to whatever he says.
As he was reading and I was taking notes of the questions to ask, a million thoughts were flashing through my mind. What if I ask a question that irks him and he dispatches a tongue of flame to gobble me up. Although I had taken precautions before coming - I had given my neighbour a detailed description of where I was going and to call for reinforcement if I hadn’t returned by seven.
All those thoughts and precautions turned out, however, to be hollow imaginations. The Guru is as peaceful as a dove, as the devotees made me to understand and my questions - well he answered them. Though he has an ingenious way which, though the question may not be answered, but it does seem like it’s been answered.
The conference ended two hours after it began as we matched outside for a group photograph with the Guru, I took one last look around the room and the last thing I saw was a wall calendar.
“Go round the world and you will find there is no better lover than Sat Guru Maharaj Ji…. Because I am the gateway to heaven on earth. Use or call me every second and you will find Eternal Peace of Mind, Divine Protection, Infinite Strength and the Grace to overcome all challenges. Trust me, I am ordained by God Almighty.” - Maharaj Ji.
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