As I drove to the farm today, I could hear my heart pumping more blood than normal. The rhythmic ‘gbim, gbim’ made me self conscious.
Was this adrenaline? My mind darted to the information I had received days ago that my parishioner was kidnapped, along with the two boys he had taken to the farm. ‘Why go there now?’ I chided my thoughts.
‘Don’t worry. Kidnapping isn’t your portion’, a tiny voice inside my head said with finality. I made the sign of the cross and steadied my breathing. ‘But who’s portion is it?’ Another voice retorted inside my head. I tried to focus on my driving. These negative thoughts weren’t helping.
Even though news filtered in yesterday morning that my parishioner had been released from the kidnapper’s den, it had taken the financial intervention of the members of his ethnic group to get him out.
Picture this – a hardworking farmer takes two workers to his farm to work. He ends up emptying the savings of his tribe union. Now he’s indepted. He can’t continue work in his farm at the moment, cos he’s traumatised and broke. Without continuing this work, he might never be able to pay those he’s now owing.
I sighed. The Nigerian situation keeps getting worse by the day.
I raised the hood of my sweater higher and looked reassuringly at the cutlass nestled by my side as u made the final turn into the lonely farm road.
Life must go on!
© Oselumhense Anetor, 2024
