(Last Sunday...)
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"Good morning, Sister!" Uju greets Sister Gertrude, as she takes her seat beside aunty Amara and uncle Femi on the second pew, just behind the three Reverend Sisters in front. The mass is about to begin. And the choristers are already preparing to intone the entrance hymn.
"Uju, my dear!... How are you?" Sister Gertrude replies, with a smile so radiant that it brightens every inch of Uju's being. Uju has always loved Reverend Sisters. Their kindness, humility and grace have been sources of great joy and inspiration to her. Truth be told, at some point in her life, she wanted to become a Nun; but now, things have changed. Amongst all the Nuns at St. Aloysius, Sister Gertrude is one of a kind. Uju is developing an uncanny ability to detect genuine kindness; or at least, she likes to think that she is. And after carefully observing this holy woman both from afar and up close, she has noticed that her goodness is as pure as water from a heavenly spring. My my! If saints could be canonized alive; Sister Gertrude would be a more than worthy candidate. The sight of her alone brings a strange kind of warmth to Uju's soul. And oh, her smile! Her smile is so serene, so warm and so true, flanked by the tiny tribal incisions on her chocolate cheeks. It always makes Uju feel safe, comforted and hopeful; hopeful that even in such a sour world, true love and kindness still exist and still dwell amongst us. Oh, how wonderful it is! How truly gracious it is; to vividly see God's image in one's fellow human. People like these make life seem even more worth living. They give hope to those who strive for perfection; perfection in faith; perfection in love; perfection in charity but still have a long way to go. They help to encourage those who may have already lost hope in the possibility of loving like Christ. Such a heartfelt smile from a genuine person is just what Uju needs right now to rejuvenate her being. Sister Gertrude reminds her of Nne, her grandmother; God rest her soul. What a saint Nne was! She was a strict woman; but a saint, nonetheless."I am very fine, Sister. Ohh, your Habit looks so beautiful!"
"Thank you so much, my dear..." Sister Gertrude replies warmly. "...It is a new one." she adds in a slight whisper, afterwhich she chuckles coyly. Uju also chuckles in response; her face almost glistening from the brilliant reflection of light from the chandelier above.
Thereafter, everybody slowly rises from their seats, as the procession reaches the threshold of the church. While they slowly approach the altar, fragrant wafts of incense begin to trail into Uju's nostrils. She then breathes it all in with gentle grace, as though cleansing her very soul with its sacred fumes. Uju loves the smell of incense."Praise to The Lord, The Almighty, The King of creaaation!!!..." Aunty Amara's voice supersedes all others in the church, as she sings along with the choir; her hymnal in hand. Her voice is not half bad though. But with each progressive line, it almost begins to sound more like noise than music. Uncle Femi on the other hand, just keeps mumbling passively to the tune, as usual.
Femi usually sits behind at the mid-section of the church, while this second pew is aunty Amara's perpetual spot, with her handbag and Uju planted by her side. She always makes sure to arrive on time, so that no one else sits there before her. However, today is the day of their family harvest thanksgiving, so she and her husband are seated together and dressed in the same lilac lace fabric, with her thick purple aṣọ oke towering over her head and a piece of it tied elegantly around her waist.
On Sundays, Tobi always attends mass and Sunday school in the children's church with his peers. However, he loathes Sunday school. According to him, most of his peers act too emotionally and intellectually retarded for his tastes. And he already knows many of the nursery rhymes and stories the teachers force them to sing and listen to, every Sunday. He would rather be in the main church instead, and attend mass with the adults. But aunty Amara never allows it. She always insists that he socializes more often with people his age. He is an only child, after all.
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In the Loving Arms of Servitude
Ficción GeneralA compelling story of an introverted teenager who in more ways than one is ostensibly beyond her years. Losing her grandmother and being left at the mercy of a capricious Nigerian society, young Obianuju is made to endure the ferocious fire of moder...