This chapter is dedicated to the writer of the first book I read here on Wattpad, Deey_jah, the first book being All For What?.
Religious conflict is one of Nigeria's great problems. Every Nigerian knows that, at least the teens, youths and adults.
As a young girl I grew up without this knowledge or rather without accepting this knowledge. The occupants of the estate we resided in I was young had more Muslims than Christians and more than a few children. These children would wear their Hijabs to the park, the shopping complex, the medical center, and the mini market in the estate. I grew up knowing that they had to wear it and accepted everything about them.
The rich Hausa children I knew lived in the next street.
Halimat, Zainab and Mohammed were my good friends. I would go over to their house to play once in a while and I would watch with fascination as they prayed, their little foots and their parents large ones sticking out of their crouching form when they bowed with their foreheads to the ground. They prayed in another room near the living room but I was able to see them because the door was never shut. Till date our different religions has not made our friendship waver.
The basis for hating a Christian or a Muslim or any other religious person is not always justified. People hate for hating sale at times thereby giving no room for the accommodation of love an understanding. If this can be changed, Nigeria will be a religious-crisis free nation. Of course.🌻
There was yet another Muslim celebration- that is, Eid Mubarak- and I was at a friend's house. I wore the beautiful satin gown that Wuraola the friend whose house I was in to celebrate the festive period with had gifted me. It is a peach colored gown with Wuraola, my Muslim friend from secondary school was serving me small chops on the sturdy mahogany table when my phone rang. The caller was my lecturer at school who was calling as regards the assignment she had given us, I being the class Rep was to pass across a message to my course mates. Family and friends of Wuraola were trooping in by the minute in their colorful Hijabs and I took to playing with the little children that were around me. Later in the day, Wura's grandfather, Alhaji as he was called by everyone, arrived. He was a jovial man who had hardly aged. Alhaji had spent most of his life abroad and had the graceful tongue of a learned Englishman. He amused me every time I saw him, never for once did he lack stories and jokes to tell, be it about his time abroad or about what had happened so far to him here in Nigeria.
Wura indeed is lucky to have him as not just anyone but as her grandfather.
Alhaji recognized me instantly the moment I greeted him with my two knees to the ground. "Ah! Naomi, Ómó mi". I shifted the baby I was carrying at the time from my left hip to the right while I exchanged pleasantries with him. He has the sharpest memory, I tell you.
Today, he was dressed in the popular Yoruba attire, Agbada and he stood tall in it. This reminded me of the time Wura's elder brother, Wariz, stood beside Alhaji trying to know who was taller. Wariz had rejoiced at the fact that he was taller than his grandfather but Alhaji had said "In my days, I used to be so tall that at every house I would bend at the entrance, oh yes! I was called longman by my friends. Old age has done this to me, it has stopped my once wide back. If not for that do you think you would stand beside me to find out who's taller only to find out that you're the only? Kruk". We had smiled at this.
Another thing about Alhaji is that he spoke more than two languages. He can speak French, English, Yoruba and Hausa fluently. To his family he spoke English, it is only when he is angry or wants to add a proverb to what he said in English or to buttress a point.
The day ended well and I was grateful to my hosts. There was nothing intimidating , irritating and annoying about the way the family treated me, a Christian. Alhaji had even congratulated me when Wura told him of my activities, including the PUHAs formation.
My relationship with Juwon had taken another turn. I no longer saw him as the uncle of one of my fellow hearing aiders but now saw him as a man who had me attracted to him. Unbeknownst to him of course. I kept it to myself, the fact that what I felt for him was now different from what I used to feel, I kept it to myself. At this point his NYSC programme was almost concluded and I couldn't wait to see him again.
The PLWHA association was now internationally known. A parent of one of my fellow hearing aiders who happened to be a production manager at a popular newspaper company had written about the association and it's work and this had brought it to the limelight.
Some months after the newspaper report I was called to receive an award of merit at Abuja. Everything moved so fast, I often mused. I buttressed this Things work at their own pace, just put in your best effort and leave the rest for God anytime I was asked the reason for the rapid and successful growth of the association.
My father, this evening told me that Jude would be coming home with his fiancee so that they could get their wedding preparations underway. I was overjoyed. Finally I would see my brother again, and not just that, I would see him married soon.
I played my now favorite song This God is too good and put it on repeat till I slept off.•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
This chapter is really short, but the truth is I'm currently having writers block and I wrote what came to mind. Forgive me. The next chapter will be longer.
And yayyyyyyyyyyy! We're gradually coming to the end of this book, three or more chapters left. Thank you for reading this book. ❤😳
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