Joy to Joy

Chapter Twenty

I retire to my bed that night tiredness without touching my schoolbooks. In my dream, strange sounds are coming from the kitchen. I still continue to approach the open door with an upright chest until someone searching our dustbin with their bare hands stops me at my steps.

The single lightbulb illuminating the kitchen flickers on his face.

"Wha - what are you doing?" Slowly, he turns to me.

"What are you looking for?" His face brightens when he turns to me. In both hands was stale rice I scrapped out while awake.

"I am looking for something to eat," A smile on Osas's face melts as he begins to wail.

It is when my eyes open, and I am staring at the ceiling of my room.

It was all just a dream.

I cover my head with my blanket and try returning to sleep to avoid the sunlight seeping from the windows. My heart thumps as I remember the tears that trail off Osas's face.

Not feeling drowsy anymore, I leave my room for the dining room to get my school books. That is when I see mom sitting at the table.

She is busy humming and dancing with her hands to some tunes on her phone to spot me.

Is she cooking at this time?

"Good morning, mom. I am surprised to see you here this early." I draw out a seat. "What are you even listening too? Music?"

"No, I am listening to Buhari's speech. That is why I am so happy."

I laugh, sending the sarcasm in her voice. Peering over the phone screen, there are people in there, with microphones in their hands as they sing in unison.

"Are you listening to a church choir?"

"Yes."

"It is making you smile. I like that." I tell her.

"I feel like what I am listening to resonates with me and my problems."

"Okay-o. It is good to see that you are finally yourself again."

"Joy," Mom calls me, and I am to see her.

"I want to go to Benin."

"Why?"

"We haven't heard from your brother Osas yet, but don't worry. There is nothing God cannot fix." Mom sighs. "I can see you are already worried."

"No I am not. Just need to digest everything you said," I leave the dining room with my palm on my head. What is going on?

....

Since today is the last Sunday of the month, the teens' church will have "Variety Sunday." That is when they allow us teenagers to lead the service and discuss our experiences like dating, failing in academic work, family issues, and more.

We would write them down in terms of questions on tiny papers for other teens to try and answer.

But today, that is not the case.

"After sharing the Grace, let us head to the adult church. A musician is coming to perform soon." Teens around me start to whisper, and even I start to see the possibility of it being a secular musician.

"It is a gospel musician, by the way. Just reminding you that we are in church."

I smile at this. Of course.

As we share the Grace, I hear a familiar song from one of my mom's favourite CDs that she blasts many times in her car. I am pushed out of the teens' building by a wave of teens rushing past me as they try to enter the adult church earlier than the rest.

I start speedwalking while I search for Brian's annoying head in the slowly dispersing crowd. Yesterday's argument made me feel strange. I should not be looking for Brian because all I have in common with him is the home lesson. Yet, my eyes dart around to find him in the crowd.

"Oh, sorry." I wave at people I bump into before standing at an entrance door. Mom usually waits for me after service, near the row designated for the choir. I would have to apologize to many people before I get there because the place is with many people.

And that is when I see him. Brian is bending down as he dances like he is packing sand but with his hands. That is when the musician starts a new song.

"One, two, three, four."

Suddenly, the unfamiliar man squats and starts to clap his hands.

"Can I get somebody to scream!" The musician says.

It was not just one person but a good number of the church's population, young and old. The drum starts to beat harder as many people continue to dance.

Although the air conditioner was on, the air's extra warm as many jumped across the hall like the choir. I fold my hands and watch Brian move like a child having a sugar rush before the man on stage rushes off the altar by walking over two sets of stairs and flying off the rest. I have heard the song many times to know its climax is near.

Watching everyone shout for joy brings a smile to my face. It is good to see others happy in the house of God. My shoulders slump when I remember my admission.

"Joy!" I hear my name and turn to where my mom is, but she is still engaged in the praise session.

I gaze at the altar, and Brain is waving at me there. I want to roll my eyes and look around like he is invisible, but he is wearing a bright smile that I do not think will fade because of some disrespect.

Moving between bodies, I am at his left side within minutes. I wait, but he does not say anything but continues moving.

That is when I see none of his dance moves are real. They are just him moving certain parts by instinct, and I mimic that.

When he realizes this and smiles at me, I stop moving as the sound goes still for a moment.

"Somebody scream!" The gospel singer climbs back to the altar.

"Argh!" Brian's voice is on the loudest volume I have ever heard out of him. Grinning, I also start to scream.

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