IN THEIR SHOES

It is crazy you might say
But I decided for one day
To undertake a simple task
“Of what?” you might ask
The overrated honour 
of becoming a Pastor

Straight to the Church office I went
My back certainly not bent
On my table lay a gift
Not for mean men if you catch my drift
It read “Pastor please accept this swatch
for the times in prayer you keep watch.”

With no hesitation, I slipped it on
Relishing my award for a job well done.
Thinking the work is bursting with favour
While pastors make a charade of labour
I rubbed my palms with great expectation
Extremely eager for the next visitation.

The strangest of cases chose to stop by
Circumstances of their lives all awry.
“Help me” was the lingua franca
of these ones that wanted an answer.
Staring at my eyes like opticians
Presuming this was the home of magicians. 

The last was an unsettled couple
whose challenging issues we managed to topple
Thankful for taking their problems under the knife,
Husband turned and whispered to wife
“That watch is sure beautiful for a fact.
I hope our building fund is still intact.”


Feeling famished, I took a stop at a restaurant 
The waitress I assumed thought me important.
Circling and circling around my area,
I felt like the Waldof Astoria.
She finally spat out with great rancor
“I thought you were a Pastor!”

“Young lady what is my crime?”
My utter confusion at its prime
She snatched a bottle from under my seat
My heart accelerated its beat
In her hand was a big bottle of stout
As onlookers began to pout

Back home in my bed trying to sleep 
My mobile phone began to beep
“Pastor! My wife is having a C. S.
This I’m sure you know is no joke business!
Could you keep praying over the receiver?
I need her to safely deliver. ”

The last attempt to lay my head
Which by now was as heavy as lead
Turned to be of not much great use
As there was no good enough excuse
Or merchantable exhaustion story 
For missing “Morning Glory”

I concluded this was madness
Terminating my slot with gladness
To undertake that extreme task
“Of what?” you might ask
The underrated honour 
of becoming a Pastor 

Written by Chioma Diru

Taye's thots

Taye sighed as he got down from the cab and handed two five hundred naira notes to the driver. It was his first day in school and indeed in the area as a whole.

Everyone passing by looked at him strangely. Apparently it was quite easy to spot a new guy in this school. Not necessarily because everyone knew everyone’s face but mainly because of the way the new guys always stared at the beautiful Princess Moremi statue that was just after the school gate.

He decided to brace himself and move on. It was not the first time he was ever receiving stares from all centres. All he had to do was deal with them as he had always done before- lock up.
 
Armed with his only companion-his school bag, he started walking towards the one-storey building that was most likely to be the admissions office. He did not want to ask any questions that would confirm what everyone else was thinking. But did it matter anyway? They were still going to find out when he started asking other stupid questions that new students are somewhat compelled to ask.

He went straight to the first table he sighted from the door of the building without looking left or right. He was feeling odd enough for one day already. The young lady in a pink shirt and smartly packed hair looked up at him with an expressionless face.
“May I help you?”
 It sounded like a line she recited to about a hundred people every day.
“Good afternoon. I’m actually new. I was told to report here on arrival.”
“A new what? Cleaner or gardener?”
Now, that was below the belt but he decided to play cool.
“I’m a new student.”
“Learn to be more specific next time.”
“Alright BRAT!”,Taye said within himself.
“Where’s your admission slip?”
“It’s right here.” He dipped his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and handed it over to her.”

She held the slip up like it had been retrieved from a dunghill.
“Next time you learn to keep things where other people who end up handling them would not be embarrassed to know where they have been okay?”

Now this lady was becoming a real jerk. But he still had to be calm.
“Sorry about that”, he managed to mutter.

She pushed her seat backwards and got up to open the file cabinet that was behind her revealing the white skirt she had on. Taye’s eyes opened wide.
“Eh, excuse me”
“Yes?” she replied without facing him.
“Your em, you are em,”
“Make it snappy I don’t have all day.”
“You are stained.”

He could almost see her air of arrogance visibly evaporate. She was rooted to the ground and gripping the cabinet like she was holding the last piece of reed at the edge of a rocky mountain. A nasty statement that would suit the scenario cropped up in his head but suddenly all the disgust he had grown for this girl in the last few minutes transformed to pity.

He turned around to know the number of people that were witnessing this embarrassing event. That was when he realised that they had been the only two people in the office except for an elderly man who appeared to be engrossed in a newspaper which totally blocked his view of the helpless damsel’s table. He went to the other side of the table and stood right behind her.

“Okay, I think I can help you. Are you ready to cooperate?”

She nodded helplessly almost whimpering.

“Good. I have a black scarf in my bag.”
He considered explaining what he was doing with a scarf then it occurred to him that this girl was now one hundred percent desperate and zero percent curious.

“I’ll lend it to you on one condition.”
“Anything please!”
“You wash it thoroughly, iron and empty your best bottle of perfume on it. That is not to say that can undo the sacrilege that would be done to it but it’s the best I can do. Deal?”

She nodded frantically. Taye unzipped his bag and gave the scarf to her rather; she grabbed it and tied it across her waist with the speed of lightning.
“Thank you very much!” she said as she grabbed her handbag to escape.    
“Hold it, hold it.”
 She paused like an obedient pupil.
“How about my clearance? You do realise you have to do that before you leave.”
“Please my place is not far from here. I promise to be back soon.”
“Soon isn’t good enough. I have quite a lot of places to go to.”
“An hour.”
“What?”
“Okay, forty minutes!”
“Thirty.”
“Please!”

Now he was beginning to enjoy this. The high and lofty one being brought down on her nose pleading for mercy but he decided to let it go.
“Alright.”
“Thanks!” and she sped of like Mary Onyali’s life depended on it

Written by Chioma Diru