Watch. And Pray.

Luckily for Yoofi, he was not around yesterday when Atta wedded Ewurasi. He had represented his church at the week-long Church Leaders’ Summit which had taken place outside the region. For more reasons than having been busy, he had not slept well throughout that week. He kept thinking about the wedding. The mere thought of how Atta would have kissed Ewurasi at the bishop’s permission intrigued him. The thought sent a blunt hot skewer through his heart.

When he finally returned from the summit three hours before the Sunday morning service, he could not, as he usually did, pray at dawn. At the thought of prayer, he wondered whether, among other things, he would have prayed about and for Ewurasi, the woman of his life. (Jesus was the man of his life.) But Yoofi would not let his mind rest on this. He only reminded himself that this was the first Sunday service Atta and Ewurasi would also attend. As a couple.

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He freshened up as quickly as he could, gulped down a glass of water, grabbed his Bible, notepad, pen and a face towel. Soon he was in a shared taxi, church bound.

He did not know why that day’s sermon was given by a guest preacher. He also did not know when he started sleeping through the service. He only remembered he was enthused about the title of the sermon: ‘How to Watch and Pray.’ Yoofi was not sad that the sermon did not promise to benefit the newly-weds. Having just begun the long journey of what marriage is said to be, Yoofi thought the couple rather needed a sermon with a caption like ‘Marriage 101’. He was glad he would benefit, perhaps, all alone, from the sermon.

But Yoofi have always had some bitter memories about the watching that goes with prayer…

*     *     *

Yoofi’s primary school shared the same compound with an Anglican church. Just like he and Ewurasi used to be, the school and the chapel were inseparable. Yoofi, like the other pupils, revered the chapel not just because they only went inside on very special occasions. There were the surreal echoes and the rather blunt allure of the visual aesthetics inside the chapel. These and other inexplicable, non-tangible things in and about the chapel also affected the pupils in so many nameless ways that they could not but be solemn while inside the chapel.

Each entrance to the chapel had a pair of large wooden doors with etched carvings caked in varnish. The pews and brass utensils gleamed. A crystal crucifix stood large and almost loud, in the foreground, inside the wall. The tops of the windows were edged with coloured glass. The stained glass windows. They told stories. On the pulpit was a beautiful brass eagle with unfurled wings. The priest put his Bible there when delivering a sermon. There were many paintings of Jesus on the walls. One of them strongly confirmed something in Yoofi. The one in which Jesus leaned in anguish over a rock. In what can only be prayer.

 

Yoofi had always loved to pray, since childhood. Or since since.

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In front of the chapel was a statue of a man on a cross. The statue was raw and real, like life. Feeling sorry for the man, Yoofi and most good children used to leave quartered toffees, fried or boiled corn or flour, and syrupy or sugar-coated petty foods at the foot of the statue. Others left yellowed erasers, pencil-butts, pen barrels, toothless sharpeners and once in a while, long-dead wrist watches, melting balloons and worn-out fancy wallets.

Yoofi always prayed that someday, some elderly person would come help the man get down the cross! For the man had been in that painful posture since since.

It was Ash Wednesday. Guided by the teachers outside, the pupils filed into the chapel through the main entrance to receive the sign of the cross on their foreheads. Only one teacher, Mr. Ayivor, was inside the chapel. He stood at the junction of the aisle and the entrance through which the pupils filed out of the chapel. With furrowed forehead and folded arms, he watched the priest, with a childish concentration. This was strange of Mr. Ayivor because by the standard of pupils, he was a bad teacher. In fact, the worst in the school. So it was not so strange that despite his sudden piety, a lithe cane dangled against his tall lanky frame.

Little by dragged little, it was getting to Yoofi’s turn to receive the mark of ash crucifix. Time and again, a boy behind Yoofi would tap him on the shoulder, to remind him to move on with the queue. Yoofi was praying. Deeply. Again, for the man on the cross outside the chapel. Each time he opened his eyes and moved forward, he regretted glancing at Mr. Ayivor. He tried not to ‘eye’ as he closed his eyes again to resume the prayer. The last time Yoofi had opened his eyes and undone his hands in prayer, only one person was ahead of him.

He was still lost in prayer when he felt the firm finger of the priest tenderly plaster a cross on his forehead with the smooth, cold wetness of ash. First, Yoofi felt a spring swell and then gush up from somewhere, deep inside of him — as in, his being. Much quicker than a blink, the same spring quickly swept up and down him, tickling him at places he never knew had always been part of him — as in, his body. It was this deep and physical. Then he (thought he) saw lustrous sparks of waves and colours firing up and wide, in front the lids of his closed eyes. The sparks waxed and whirled into whiteness, nothingness.

Yoofi’s prayers were finally answered…

A sharp knuckle knock on the skull, and Yoofi was once more in our part of the world. Yoofi’s eyes flared open. They first met and locked on Mr. Ayivor’s, which were red and unmerciful. Mr. Ayivor’s lean, sunken cheeks and tightly knitted lips betrayed his clenched teeth and beveled jawbone. His fist was still raised and vibrating, ready to launch another knock. Yoofi wiped the only tear drop his recently solemn eyes could manage. He hurriedly gathered himself to walk out of the chapel, but he found himself lurching as well. In the process, he kicked Mr. Ayivor’s cane out of place. Accidentally.

*     *     *

Watch and pray. What a title for a sermon! Yoofi yawned and stretched and did not realise so. He smiled as another closely related incident oozed out of the recesses of his mind…

*     *     *

The first time Yoofi got involved in Gbo ni mawo* and Bo ‘taashi**, it was both of them at the same time, with two other pupils.

Yoofi had come to school only to find out that the previous day, each pupil had been asked to bring a broom to school. He had been absent. To avoid getting caned, he bought a meager broom from the old woman whose store was a block or so away from the school. The money he was left with was barely enough to buy food at break time. That day too in class, Yoofi of all pupils did not finish the Composition Exercise on time, so he went late for break.

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During the last few minutes to break over, Kpakpo Nyɛ managed to scrape some banku from the big black cauldron for him. One fist-size of banku, two shriveled pieces of wele, and three ladles of okro soup and Yoofi had a decent meal. He carried his food to the table. All the benches were fully occupied. But Bismarck shifted. The space created could only accommodate one buttock. Yoofi’s

As usual, Yoofi closed his eyes to pray over his food.

A series of hefty knocks crashed on Yoofi’s head. He slipped off the bench. Before he opened his eyes, someone said ‘Gbo ni mawo!’ It was Osei who had rained the knocks on him. Kuuku had seized Yoofi’s food. All the other pupils laughed at Yoofi, and laughed about Bismarck and Kuuku’s smart moves. Some pupils sprawled on the ground laughing. Others stood laughing, spraying fine saliva and bits of recently eaten food on those whose throes of laughter had pinned them to the ground.

*     *     *

The applause and cheers at the end of the sermon roused him. The preacher man calmly waited till all was quiet. Then he recited a prayer:

Father, we pray You help us to pray even as You teach us to watch. Oh Lord, grant us the grace to finish the race, the strength to endure to the end. Oh Lord, help us not sleep. But to be awake, to remain vigilant. Help us, dear Lord, to watch, even as we pray. This we ask in the name of Jesus the Christ. Amen.
The congregation thundered another ‘Amen’.  A few daring ones continued with another prolonged cheer. A few others joined in. Soon, it was hard to tell whether the cheer-turned-chants were meant for the preacher man or the presence of the newest couple, Atta and Ewurasi.
None of these amused Yoofi. Or he decided not to be tickled. Two things pained him.
1. He wondered if the preacher man had seen him sleeping and had intentionally tailored his prayer as an insinuation.
2. Even worse, it pained Yoofi that he ultimately missed the opportunity to learn about the watching aspect of prayer. As if this ignorance had not already cost him…

*     *     *

It had come as a big blow to Yoofi when it was first announced at church that Atta and Ewurasi would be getting married in three weeks. Yoofi wondered why Ewurasi never told him about it, personally, ahead of time. If not as a brother, at least, just as a friend. Yoofi could also not get the calculation right. When had the two become friends, started dating, going steady and getting committed, when all that while, he and Ewurasi were inseparable? And oh, everyone in church knew, and openly talked about how he and her were simply made and cut and meant for each other. Most importantly, Yoofi had been praying about Ewurasi since since.

Perhaps, Prayer was all what he did. Either he always failed at Watching or he would not even know what it is.

And when he thought about it all, he realized Ewurasi had meant something by all those little, sometimes silly, gestures…

Yoofi always saw Ewurasi off after each church service, right to her house gate. Many times, he turned around and found her still standing, watching his back as he went. He only smiled and waved her another goodbye.

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Yoofi and Ewurasi did hold hands, sometimes. But thrice their hands accidentally brushed each other’s. Something not exactly funny about this made Ewurasi tremble with a sudden quiver in her breathing. Carnality hung thick and fat in the air between them. Ewurasi’s face fell with a shame that did not seem to belong to her. Yoofi cleared his throat, with careful, measured intent. His lips flattened and widened until they lost every semblance of a curve. His cheeks thinned over the beautiful roundedness of his jaw bones. Yoofi cleared his throat again, relaxed the flesh on his face and soon, the carnality, the block of tension sublimed.

Yoofi and Ewurasi shared many things — sometimes, very personal things. Twice, he gave Ewurasi his handkerchief. Ewurasi washed, ironed, perfumed it and returned it to him. Yoofi only raised his brows at what he probably thought was a forced, awkward surprise. A contrived smile and a blunt ‘Thank you’, and he walked away.

Yoofi and Ewurasi talked a lot together. Once she had told a joke about how some Christian brother tried proposing to a sister:

‘Sister, I really really want to be there with you’, said the brother, boldly.

‘Where is there?’

‘There. I mean there…’ he simply reiterated.

Suddenly, she feared the brother would think her un-spiritual to have forgotten all about it. Nervous, she quickened her pace. But not without saving her reputation, her spirituality:

‘Oh, sorry! You mean the upcoming revival. Sure, it will be mega, powerful. And I’ll be there. So yes, I will see you. There.’

In the end, Ewurasi was hurt, more than for just sharing this joke. She had her reasons. And Yoofi did not find the joke funny, he could not see where its crust was. He also had his reasons. Ewurasi felt the joke was out of place, she felt like the sister in the joke. And she could not tell if Yoofi (too) thought her un-spiritual, simply silly, slyly suggestive or all of these. And more.

As for Yoofi, the joke scratched a delicate part of him about his inaction — or was it silence?

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For he called Ewurasi many sweet names and walked and talked with her many more times. He told Ewurasi his dreams — his wishes and revelations and everything in between — but Yoofi never said to Ewurasi the three magic words, together, and in the correct order:

I, love and you.

 


Glossary (Ga):

*Gbo ni mawo (Die-and-let-me-take) is a prank two children agree to play on each other.  Before starting to eat anything at any time, one have to the other to be excused. Otherwise, one’s food will have to be surrendered to the other, on the latter being the first to say ‘Gbo ni mawo’.

**Bo ‘taashi (May loosely be translated, ‘It’s your turn to sit.’) is another mutual prank. Here, one always have to say ‘Bo ‘taashi’ before sitting. Otherwise, the other gives knocks the one on the head.

 


This story:

A version was first published online by Writers Project of Ghana, as part of a series of short stories by Ghanaian writers. Described as an unconventional love story, it later appeared at Afreada.

 


 

Love, 

AishaWrites.

Accra: 10th October, 2016.

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