Tag: friendship

Campfire Stories: Kindling for Enduring Friendships

Posted on by Jonathan

Under the clear night sky with countless stars, the campfire crackled with joy and elation at the camp. It brought our now-getting-cold evening retreat back to life on the riverbanks of the Lelesan near Eldoret, Kenya. 

The images of that night still flash vividly in my mind. It was those moments when you feel like time should stop for a while so that you can enjoy every tick without it moving. I had just turned 23 then and had just finished school. I was filled with the spirit of adventure, and this triggered an urge that would later lead to the best camping moment of my life. 

Sharing the spirit with me were my two buddies, Tony and Joshua. Having a common goal, that is to go camping somewhere far away from the monotonous home environment, we embarked on a journey that would later lead us to Lelesan Park. The park is a very beautiful spot that is really nice for decompressing and reconnecting with nature with a stunningly gorgeous popular cliffside lodge overlooking the Kenyan landscape.

We gathered around the fire after a long day of swimming and fishing in the river. Our hands extended towards the fire, palms out and fingers stretched, as if we were pushing the fire away. Of course, in reality, it was a technique to help our bodies conduct the heat very fast, which was sorely needed as the temperature had quickly dropped as the sun fell.

At the same time, Tony was busy roasting the fish we had caught during the day. Several other people joined us, strangers and friends alike. At this point, one of the campers broke the silence. He suggested we introduce ourselves, now that everyone was at ease with each other and getting along. The invisible bonds among us seemed to be strengthening so quickly that we had reached a point of storytelling without even noticing.

Joshua was the first to go. He cleared his voice dramatically in a bid to capture our attention. “Alright, everyone, gather around. I’ve got a story that will send a cold shiver down your spine.” 

On hearing this, Tony began to complain, “Really, man? I’d rather not ruin the night with your scary stories.”

Joshua was known as the friend who loved watching horror movies and enjoyed every minute of the terror. This was something that Tony and I found very fascinating, as we could not even stand a scene of a horror movie. Despite our hesitance, the majority of the group was fine with whatever chaos Joshua could come up with, so Joshua was free to begin.

Joshua leaned forward, his face struck by the flickering flames. “It was a night much like this one back in my village. There was a funeral taking place, and so, as the culture and tradition dictate, the members of the village and friends always came to have a night vigil. It’s basically to keep the bereaved company as they awaited burying their kin the following day. Now, midnight came, and everything was moving on just normally until immediately before dawn…

“Then, a scream was heard from one of the corners of the compound. It was so sharp that it superseded the noises that came from chatting and dancing, as it is a tradition to give the deceased a ‘last dance.’ Everybody went dumb, staring at the direction of the scream. It was a bush walking towards where the crowd had gathered. Everyone stood to their feet and froze for a minute…

“What happened next would remain a story that would always be said to question the courage of the members of the community. Everybody scrambled to hide so as not to be caught by this mysterious walking bush. They said that that was the spirit of the deceased that was not happy with how his last moments were being celebrated.” Joshua ended this story, leaving us asking many questions that he said he could not answer. 

Indeed, it was a scary story because in its wake, no one wanted to listen to any other story of the sort for the rest of the night. 

“You guys remember back in high school when we broke into the school farm to steal melons?” Tony started drawing us away from the previous scary story of a walking bush. “I remember Joshua was the first to shift the blame after we were caught by the security guards. He was so terrified to a point he was almost pissing in his pants.” 

This did not seem to sit well with Joshua. While I cannot remember word-for-word what he said exactly, the story he decided to bite Tony back with was so brutal that Tony decided to leave the campfire. Joshua reminded him of when, during a school event, we decided to mingle with other students after the function was over, especially those from girls’ schools. Joshua thought he could win over one of the girls who seemed to have captured every boy’s attention, but when he approached her, it was as if the girl had planned to single him out and snub him. The humiliation that came with the action made Joshua swear never to approach any girl again.

Despite Tony’s abrupt departure, the banter went on. Each of us piling on, embellishing the story with details that may or may not have happened. That’s how campfire stories work — half truth, half legend, all heart. Other memories unraveling and coming back to life. The nostalgia felt like the moments happened yesterday and not years back. The rest of the night faded into more stories, pranks, and memories that felt like they belonged in a movie. 

An image of a campsite surrounded by trees, with the stars shining above.
(Image courtesy of Jonathan Forage via Unsplash)

At one point, we all went silent, listening to the crackle of the fire and a distant hooting owl. It was one of those rare pauses when you realize that you’re just right where you need to be with the right group of people who know you well.

We did not see Joshua leave, nor did we realize that he was not at the campsite until he let out a loud yell. It sounded as if he was in grave danger, and this made us panic so badly. We gathered courage and walked slowly and cautiously to where the noise had come from. 

We found Joshua sweating profusely and in shock. We had no idea what was happening until he pointed towards a bush. I have never been shocked like that in my life. You won’t believe it if I tell you the bush was moving much like it had legs. It was unbelievable, just like some voodoo spell. 

Nobody thought this could be a prank until we were almost fainting, did Joshua jump up laughing at us. The whole time, he had connived with one of the campers who had joined us for the campfire to pull a prank on the rest of us. A plan that went well, because if you could see the terror in our faces, you could just know that we were traumatized by the event.

By morning, the campfire was just ashes, and we were feeling bleary and covered in mosquito bites. Packing up the tents was a mess, and Tony somehow lost a shoe in the river due to the night’s fracas, but we were still laughing, still trading jabs about who’d been the most scared of the bush. 

Those nights around the fire, swapping stories and pulling pranks, became the kind of memories we’d carry forever, the kind you pull out years later when someone says, “Remember that time we went camping?”

As we drove back to reality, I looked out the window and thought about how those stories — half-true, half-made-up — were what tied us together. They were our history, our glue, the kind of thing you can’t plan or force. Just a bunch of idiots around a campfire, living for the moment, making memories that would go past the flames.

Window Sweets

Posted on by Jonathan

Coletta Feek was the sole proprietor of the small chocolate shop, Magnifeek Sweets. Her shop remained her entire life and the only thing she had ever actively worked towards. The relationships, and broken days, that she had experienced were, in her eyes, treasures directly resulting from her shop’s success. She had had a honeyed childhood, soul-searching adolescence, and desired nothing. Although her own life experiences were often dressed in ganaches and gossamer doilies, the young woman truly believed that she had felt the kaleidoscope of human emotions already, all due to the wide display window of her shop.

The pane was worn and thin, fogging around the edges where the glass had warped as Magnifeek Chocolates had been everything from a florist to a pharmacy before Coletta had purchased the property. Since the window itself looked rather tired, she did everything she could to make what it housed vibrant. She set false evergreen boughs, dressed in holiday lights, around the edges of the glass and a rich burgundy velvet pooled on the tiered platforms that contained confections of nearly every color and shape. 

Chocolate seashells, a seaswept reminder of her grandmother, sat on pewter plates she polished regularly. Stained glass window cookies glistened next to succulent roulades and mousse cakes dressed in candied rind and mint leaves. Bouquets of chocolate lollipops stunned in vases she had never used for flowers, while her shop’s signature chocolate mice with ribbon tails scurried among the treats, adding the whimsy she hoped her customers would appreciate as much as she always had. 

Coletta’s most precious part of owning her shop was watching passersby linger, if only briefly, at her shop window, because, for a moment, she could see them as they truly were. She had witnessed families, with children who pressed their small faces against the pane, begging their loved ones to enter the chocolate shop. Lovers of every age had sought out the sweets to enjoy together under streetlights as the rumble of traffic hid their whispers from the rest of the world. And, every once in a while, a widower would come to the shop for a sweet bit of respite, remembering who he had held close as a younger man when kisses were still sugar.

The chocolatier had been privy to the lives of her customers for as long as she could remember, which meant that she had also observed the darker shades of hope outside her shop’s window.

…

In particular, she recalled a middle-aged man who lingered a few steps behind the same attractive couple. His hair was red, with a bit of starlight at its edges, and she recollected the patch of silver in his beard, shaped like a roof shingle. The man never spoke to the couple, but he followed them as wearily as if tethered to them. The couple rarely seemed to notice his presence, and, no matter how many times they crossed the shop’s window, they were never speaking to the man whose shadow was interwoven with their own. Coletta once dropped a chocolate mouse when the redheaded man reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the couple and fixed his cool eyes upon her. She stared down at the ruined sweet, crumbled on the ground in front of her,  picked up the pieces and combed the ribbon tail gently between her fingers.

…

The couple continued to walk by Magnifeek Sweets, stopping in for a small box of truffles to share with one another, and, eventually, their affection enveloped even Coletta. She heard the bell ring at the shop’s door. 

“Coletta! Kalev and I are here for some of your divine truffles!” 

“Hello, you two,” Coletta cooed. She always admired the warmth with which Madigan spoke to everyone, especially her Kalev. He was usually quiet, but always cordial with Coletta, while Mads asked her about new confections and the changes in the display window. 

“Coletta, you wouldn’t perchance take custom orders, would you?” 

“I haven’t previously, but I am open to the idea,” she responded while carefully packaging an assortment of truffles, adding two complimentary chocolate mice—one with a teal tail, the other with chartreuse—to the box. Mads had picked up the endearing habit of opening the ribbon-wrapped box as soon as Kalev and she were outside, looking incredulously through the display window at Coletta, then running back inside the shop to grab her hand and thank her for such a kindness.

“There are more than just window sweets here!” she would say, squeezing Coletta’s hand while Kalev tipped his hat to her through the window, still holding the open box of truffles. 

“You’re very welcome, Mads. Please take care of yourself, and see you soon…” Coletta’s voice trailed off as she recognized the red haired man, sitting on a bench across from the shop, staring with those languishing eyes, at Kalev and Mads. As the duo cheerfully wandered off, the man rose and began trailing them once more.

Coletta had come to relish in those moments of quiet friendship between Kalev, Mads, and herself, but she hadn’t the courage to bring up the bearded man and his concerning surveillance of the couple. Instead, she placed her energy into the curious custom order she had received from the lovers. They had asked for some small chocolates, all embossed with the figure of an imposing hound. The couple had never spoken of owning any animals. Coletta had even spied Mads retreating from a stray mutt that had startled her by accident some time ago. But, the order was an easy one. She crafted the chocolates and filled them with peach preserves and pistachio praline, as Kalev had mentioned the order was a gift. As always, she boxed the chocolates up, including a few extra chocolate mice for good measure. While she placed the finishing touches on her display’s delights, sampling a few to gauge their quality (an indulgent ritual of hers), the red haired man was suddenly standing in her shop. The door’s bell had not rung. “Miss Feek, is it?” His voice was high, akin to a young man’s. “Ye-yes?” Coletta corrected herself immediately, years of customer service conditioning her tongue to mouth certain saccharine salutations. “Please excuse my verbal lapse. Welcome, and how may I assist you, sir?” The man did not stir, and he continued looking, almost through, Coletta. The two stood there in silence for a few moments, until the chocolate in Coletta’s hand began to melt.

“Please pardon my intrusion. I have noticed your stares when I am near, especially when Kalev and Madigan are present?” Coletta caught her breath– he knows their names. She steeled herself, wiping her fingers clean with a damp cloth. “They are friends of mine, and I cannot help but notice you have a rather… keen interest in them.” The man’s eyes appeared less exhausted now. “Well, I see you understand more than chocolate,” he muttered quietly. “You see,” his voice rose slightly, “I have a genuine fondness for both of your friends. We knew each other well, some time ago, but those two probably do not remember me.” “Is that so? Why don’t you speak to them then, instead of following them around like a lost puppy?” Customer service be damned, Coletta thought to herself. The man smirked. “That’s a fair point, Miss. In any case, I simply stopped by to thank you for your kindness to them. I shan’t be much more trouble to Kalev and Madigan, and I assure you that I shall not darken your shop’s doorway again–” “Sir, I apologize for my slip of the tongue. You think it would be sweeter with all the sugar surrounding me. Please, take this, and you are welcome here at any time.” She held out two of the extra chocolates with the hound emblazoned on them, nestled on a square of wax paper. The man grabbed the token gingerly, folding the paper gently around the chocolates. “Another kindness, I see.” He looked at Coletta directly once more, and she darted her eyes towards his gloved hand, holding the small parcel. “Tell me,” he said more gently now, “What made you want to be a confectioner?” Coletta, who began looking out her display window fondly, answered with a certainty that years of pride had instilled. “I want to make this world something we want to cling onto, even on desperate days.” She looked up, hoping to gauge the redheaded man’s reaction to her answer. However, he was already walking by her store’s wide window, never looking back.

…

Madigan and Kalev adored the chocolates Coletta had crafted, and Mads embraced Coletta gratefully. “They’re perfect! Thank you so much, Coletta!” she said serenely. “Yes, they are your best ones yet,” Kalev chimed in calmly. “You two are exceptionally kind. May I ask what these chocolates are for? Kalev, you informed me that they are a gift if I recall?” “Precisely. It is the anniversary of my family’s dog trainer’s passing, and we wished to bring a special gift to his resting place this year. It was my sweet’s idea–” Mads interrupted her heart, “Kalev, I just knew Coletta would work her magic! I still remember how kind Mr. Tihar was when we were children– we should celebrate his memory always.” “I agree, my love. Mr. Tihar was like a father to me years ago, and he always had a fondness for sweets. I am certain he would have loved your shop, if he were still alive.” 

…

After Mads had embraced her a few more times, the couple departed, and Coletta was left in the stillness of her beloved shop, with chocolate mice staring back at her knowingly. She smiled, ever-so-slightly, and whispered, “It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Tihar. I hope you enjoy the chocolates.”

Encounter with a Hongkonger at a Hostel in Taiwan

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On the rooftop terrace, we talked about traveling; things like finding stylish and affordable accommodation through online searches, riding bicycles around small towns usually missed by annoying crowds of tourists, and avoiding expensive metropolises with barren cultural lives.

We gossiped about other people but revealed nothing about ourselves. Each trip is an escape from one’s identity.

We complained about real estate speculation in our cities despite the economic recession, which is actually a long and sophisticated process of cross-border money laundering by people fleeing their homelands. We discussed immigration and shifts of citizenship during regime handovers, pandemic outbreaks, and wars far away or impending.

Having witnessed the same cruelty of history respectively, are we sharing the same fate after all?

“Did you hear about the big movement in Hong Kong in 2019?”

“Yes, I did.”

Two hundred meters away, a train clanked by, drowning out our words. The hostel’s fish flags fluttered in the whispering wind. A bird leaped from a broken beam of an abandoned house, flying away from the commotion. In forty minutes, the sun would set where the train had gone. Tomorrow, we would depart with the same train to where the sun was setting.

It was the moment closest to a taboo topic, an unnamed incident from several years ago, in our conversation during each of our journeys from the silenced past to an uncertain destiny.

Her

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“You are so talented and smart. The dexterity in your work is astonishing. You, my dear, are going to be a star.” These were my mother’s words to me as she held my face in her hands, her eyes glistening with the hopes and dreams she held for me.

As I gazed at a distant view, I reminisced on how life has shown me its ugly nature. I watched people who formed my universe slowly dissipate into nothingness, their backs turned to me as they left. As time passed, I forgot myself in the whirlwind of events that made up my life. 

A hard knock on the door helped me escape from my thoughts. 

“Miss, it’s time.”

“You can do this,” I said to myself, feeling nauseous with every breath. The weight on my heart increased and I could feel my palms get sweaty with each second. I wanted to run and not face the same reality I have been living in for the last six years. 

I slowly walked towards the stage and took my position in the background, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. I stood still and waited for my part. It finally came.

“Hmm,” I said. Yes, that was my part. That phrase which I worked until my tongue felt numb. I tried not to be too slow, fast, unnatural, or gruff. I needed to just be perfect.

“Cut!” the director screamed. “You there!” he said with a harsh tone I was all too familiar with. 

“Me?” I said while feeling the heat on my cheeks from embarrassment.

“No, me dummy,” he said sarcastically. He started walking towards me briskly causing me to take careless steps backwards and stumble. He towered over me as he spoke, “What was with that tone, why are you so stiff? There are millions of people who are desperate for what you have and that is the attitude you show?”

“Sorry sir, let me try again. I promise I will do better if…” 

My voice was shaky and my vision blurred from my tears.

“Enough! You are out.” 

With that, he walked back to his seat.

“But sir, I can…”

“Did I mince my words? Security, get her out of my sight!” He glared at me with so much hate I felt a shiver run down my back. “This is what I get for taking in has-beens.” 

***

They dragged me to the front of the building and pushed me out the front door. My attempt to break my fall caused me to bruise my wrists. My hands throbbed with pain and the heat of the summer stung my back. 

I raised my head to meet the bewildered stares, the nods, and eventually slow departures after getting a good look at  my pain. 

I slowly stood up and walked away into the crowd. I have had enough for one day. 

***

I sauntered around until I felt exhaustion in my bones. Then I went home. I did not want to lay on my bed reminiscing on a bad day.

I walked into my apartment, turned on the light, and stared at the dimly lit room. It was the size of a cubicle with just enough space for a bed and anything I could salvage when I left him.

I slumped into my bed, and stared at my pained wrists which had become purple and swollen. I smiled as sleep embraced me into its warmth.

***

The loud chatter from my neighbors woke me from my slumber. The memory of events of the day before came flooding in along with the pain. I felt hot tears fall freely from my cheeks. I cried for a while, but crying never helped me so I got ready for the day.

***

There was a feeling that came with auditions, the preparation for rejection, and the hope of acceptance. I sat at a coffee shop while going through my script. The coffee tasted as bland as colored water, making me regret every cent I spent on it. The street view, however, made it almost worth it.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Yes,” I said, without bothering to raise my head from my script.

“But I want to.”

“Look kid, skedaddle, okay?” I tore my eyes from my script only to be astounded by her blue eyes that resembled the ocean floor. She smiled at me, revealing a gap in her teeth and adorable dimples. I smiled back at her contagious smile. She was a dazzling young child with curls and freckled cheeks. However, I saw something odd: her smile did not reach her sad eyes.

“Fine, sit, but only till your parents come.”

“They are not coming.” She said as she looked through the window at a distant view that I could not see. “Mum is dead and Dad is busy.”

“I am so sorry.” 

I pitied her because her pain felt familiar, because she felt like I did.

“No biggie.” She shrugged her shoulders and glanced at my script. “You act?” she said, trying to change the subject. 

“Yes, but you cannot go around telling people what you just told me okay?” I needed to stop her from letting this big mean world know her story, that was the mistake I had made.

“I have never told anyone, just you. I like you.” She smiled again and winked at me. It was awkward but I liked it.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked her.

“Nope, the drinks here are horrible. Even water tastes bad.” I laughed, which was something I haven’t done in a long while.

 “What do you want then?” 

“Nothing.”

“Okay, so why did you come to a coffee shop?”

“I like the view.”

“Makes sense,” I said and continued to look through my script. 

“I have to go.” 

“Already?” I said.

“Yep, it’s almost time for my tutor to arrive. I am home-schooled.” I watched her as she stood up and left, still thrown off by this meeting. A girl who spoke to me like we had known each other for ages.

***

Weeks passed and I walked past that coffee shop every day hoping to meet her. I didn’t even get her name.

My audition went as it typically would, a failure. As I was about to walk past the shop’s window, my eyes caught a glimpse of a girl with familiar freckles. My lips curled into a smile as I entered.

The bell jingled and she turned and stared at me, her entire face beclouded with intense sadness, once visible only in her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, feeling concerned.

Her lips quivered. “Everyone leaves me,” she said quietly but loud enough to make my heart break. Her voice had lost its sonorous essence

“What do you mean?” I asked while leaning closer.

“Exactly what I said!” 

Her eyes welled up with tears and she started to wipe her cheeks frantically.

“What do you mean, did something happen at home?”

She looked at me intently until I started to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. I shifted in my seat. 

“You remind me of her.”

“Who?” I asked puzzled

“My mum,” she bowed her head and stared at her feet as she spoke. “She died a year ago and left me.” 

“I am so sorry.” I placed my hands on her chin, raising her face to meet mine. I finally understood her pain. My heart sank. This was a familiar feeling. The feeling of not being enough. It had dragged me down to its dark alleys for years and mocked my inability to leave.

“Darling, your mum never abandoned you, she…”

“Yes, she did!” she interjected abruptly. “She knew I needed her but she still left. And dad seems to be busy with everything else but me.” She broke into loud sobs. I realized people were staring at us.

“Please stop crying.” Her wails were heart-wrenching, and I needed to do something about it.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Susan.” she said as she sobbed.

“Well, mine is Stella. See both our names start with the same letter, isn’t that interesting?” She stopped crying and said, “I guess so.”

“Susan, where is your dad right now?”

“He is at home.” 

“Well let’s take you home.” 

“No, I don’t want to go back.” She stood defiantly.

“You have to because I have something very interesting to say to him.”

“You do?” Her eyes widened and glistened as she spoke. “Okay.”

I think she already had an idea of what I wanted to do.

***

We left and started a long walk to her house. “I thought you lived close by, Susan.”

“The goal was to be as far from home as possible every time I left.” 

***

Her house was bigger than I had anticipated, causing me to gawk at its enormous size. We walked past the security guard who eyed me from head to toe suspiciously. “Good day, Sir,” I said to him.

 He replied with a grunt.

“Be nice, she is my guest,” Susan said.

We walked into the majestic house, situated in the heart of an impressive garden.

The inside of the house was as elegant as the outside. The exquisite chandelier drew my attention, glistening as it illuminated the house. The Victorian-style interior seemed to be designed for royalty itself. I was in awe, but had to focus. I came here for a reason.

“Dad! Dad!” Susan ran upstairs, calling him. I paced back and forth, hoping to overcome the ruckus inside my head. I was unsettled, nervous butterflies in my stomach. This feeling took me seven years back. 

***

“What do you mean I should quit?” I asked, puzzled. 

“I’ve said what I’ve said and that’s that,” he said in a stoic manner.

“I will not quit my job because of your small-minded attitude.”  

He chuckled. I have never experienced such coldness from him. 

That was the beginning of my torture. Days turned into months and then years, and the pain stayed. He saw my growth as competition and did everything he could to pull me down. When he started acting out, I did not understand and thought he was just being fussy. Until he showed me his true colors. He ensured he soiled my name, spreading every horrible rumor he could think of. And everyone believed him because he was my husband. I left when I had enough but I was too late.

***

The thumping sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairway woke me from my daymare. Susan raced down the stairs, almost missing a step, and came to stand next to me. Her father wore a scowl on his face, with a look that judged my every breath. The air changed as he took the last step down and walked towards me. I started to rethink my actions but knew it was too late. 

“What is your business with my daughter?” I flinched at his thundering voice as it reverberated through the house.

I cleared my throat. “I know it is not my place to do so, but I need to tell you that you have been brutally unfair to Susan and she has a lot to say to you.” I looked towards Susan and gestured at her to come forward and speak your heart.

She stared at me frightened. I smiled at her hoping to encourage. She took a step towards him, “Dad I would like to say that I do not like how you are always busy and the fact that you are leaving me alone for such a long time.”

His look softened as he approached her. 

“Darling, I never intended to leave you. I just need to take care of a few things, and then we can spend more time together.”

“I don’t like that. If you are going anywhere, I am going too.”

He smiled at her. “Okay, I will be better.” 

She smiled and hugged him.

I was envious of their love. I wish I had what they had, but I felt satisfaction watching them. I nonetheless saw my mistake. I had failed to confront my pain, failed to refuse to be a victim, accepted mediocrity, and lost the star my mother saw. My head throbbed and I knew I had enough.

“Why are you crying?”

I was glad to see them together, it was something I wish I had when I needed it. I felt satisfaction to see that Susan was not alone nor abandoned.

I touched my cheeks and felt moisture. “Oh, I umm…”

“You don’t need to explain Miss….”

“Stella. That is my name.”

“Thank you for your kind actions.”

“I think it’s time for me to go.” I turned and started to walk away quickly.

“Wait!” 

I stopped.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Stella?”

Susan ran to me and held my hand. “Will I get to see you again?”

“Of course, darling, same place.” I touched her cheeks and smiled.

I walked out of that house as a different person. I had enough and I had to do for myself what no one else could do for me. 

Live.

To My Only Friend Who is Gone on a Voyage of Death

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Many, at times, think we see a ray of hope to comfort our emotions and whittle down the volcanic cloud of our sadness. But unfortunately, our sense of love and compassion ends up overwhelming the strength to prevent tears. 

For to cry is not to mourn, but to weep is to truly mourn, as it is written that even our Lord wept. 

The beauty of death is that the life the deceased lived will become an amusing experience and sensation for us, to remind us that someday, we will end up as someone else’s amusing experience and sensation.

Do you know where the best cinema is? Found in the euphoria of memories of any event in the mind of a person who is nursing an ambition of good or bad memories of an event. The vividness of such memories is worth more than a setup of an Opera House or performance at a Pit-theater (just like the AwoVarsity Theatre).

Tonight, I am seated outside, on the veranda, hearing the stillest sounds of air, looking at the clouds being separated and fussed over.

Suddenly, the thoughts of my late friend, Hajj Ibn Abubakar struck me. The air around me grew a little cold, colder I should say even. My body let go of the goosebumps for a while as the air became a little wind that whispered a few words to me. They reminded me that no matter what, the goodwill of my late friend still connects with my inner bond whenever I remember him.

I searched my inner man to ask Hajj Ibn Abubakar some questions; then I remembered it was just the memories and his goodwill that spoke. Hajj is long gone to queue up again as one of the silent children from the constellation of stars.

Hajj, my very good friend, was quite older. Yet, he bonded with me; you’d never think he wasn’t my blood. But he became my blood through the nights and plights of the ‘streets’ so much he earned the name, ‘Emperor, the Cross leader of the Streets even to the Moon and Stars.”I called him ‘captain streets’ towards the end of our real life relationship.

It was at Ipetumodu that we met. I wore black all through, as you might say, from head to toe, with my black shirt having several fire symbols. He strolled into my “base” with three guys. Everyone greeted him with a little bowing while hailing him while I turned my back a little, pretending I was typing a message on my Nokia 6600. 

One of his boys, named Tunde, who later became a follower of one of the ideological groups on Awo Varsity campus but later became a member of a fascist reactionary fraternity, shouted, “Eh oh boy, Paale dey call you.”

I was shocked when I heard a thunderous slap on Tunde. Hajj said, “You sabi who this oga bi? You see people wey young like this amidst these big chests, yet na only am wear full regalia, oh boi I don’t want war here.” 

I still didn’t flinch. I turned to him and sang one of my father’s favorite songs, which says, “Kosi agbara to da bi ti Jesu” that is, no power like that of Jesus. 

They all laughed, and Hajj said, “I am Hajj, son of Abubakar. I’m a trained intelligence officer, and I speak Hausa/Fulani, Igbo, Yoruba, Classical Arabic, French, English, and a little Spanish.”

At that point, I smiled, and I said to him, “My name is Aanuoluwapo; I’m from Ibadan.” I said nothing else to him. 

I beckoned him to come over, and he followed me to my room, which I shared with Ransome, Damilola, Lateef, Gaffar, and Sola. He saw my church’s calendar. He saw my father’s picture on it and asked me why I didn’t say that I was this Baba’s son. I replied that he didn’t ask me initially. 

But Hajj said, “Deny a thousand times, but your eyes and face have given you away. More so, you speak like him.” At that point, I was confused. Hajj further said, “See I know this true man of God, it was when my favorite sister got to his church in the 90s that her womb was opened. And I have never missed his church programs on tv and radio since. And anytime I get the chance to watch him in Lagos or Ibadan.”

I was silent, too quiet. Shock or surprise? 

Hajj then said, one thing I believe is this that today is a remarkable day, “Aanu, I believe you will be kind to me just as your father’s God was kind to my sister through your father. It was such a heavy statement and trust. I tried to mumble some words, only for me to say, ‘may God bless abundantly.” Then he said amen. 

I explained to him not to reveal anything about my true identity; in his words, he said, “Not even on my deathbed except you give me the order.” I laughed, and he saluted me. 

And that was how the beginning of this bond of friendship was struck on the blade of fraternal love and brotherhood. An inside joke between Hajj and myself sometimes was, “Inseparable son of a Christian Minister and son of an Islamic Cleric.”

I remember how he used to call me a creature of the night. I was never scared of walking at night. In fact, he used to be angry that I preferred taking the cemetery road as a shortcut to get to his side. I used to tell him that someday, ours too will scare others. You’re the only friend I ever had, Hajj Abubakar. Indeed Abiku is true. I remember how you felt when I discussed reincarnation and powerful people with strong spirits. Now, you’re the one whom we discussed over 15 years ago. I know you are here, and you never left; but for this space suit called flesh, let it continue to rest.

Hajj, you came visiting through the telepathic lens of dreams a few days ago. I forgot to tell you how I’ve written a Yoruba drama that is dedicated to you, and I titled it OJU-DUDU. I hope and know that many generations will read your name in this forthcoming book (Oju-Dudu).

I remember you said I’ll be alive while you leave for the world beyond. All your words about how I’ll battle “peculiar” issues have happened. You reminded me to be so strong, even over my emotions. I hope I will face any circumstances. You said, “Aanu, your father is favored by God, but as your name implies, you’ve received God’s mercy.” 

Hajj, it is true. I’ve survived many instances that should have stopped my mortal suit of flesh. I wish you called me that day; it is because of you I still pick unknown numbers till date. You’re from the far end side. I’m from the long downside. You’re a core Muslim, and I? A Christian! Yet you encouraged me never to miss my fellowship days and time. You would call me Sheriff, and I, in turn, used to call you Brother Paul. It didn’t matter to us. We were just happy as brothers. None of my family knew you; none of your family knew me. We were too concerned with life and spirituality.

My friend. My only bosom friend. I miss all we used to do; you would have spoken to me about my plans for the year now. You used to tell me I’m not like every other person. You’d tell me just to wait till God gives me whatever I deserve in life. Hajj, rest well so we can play on the circumference of the air again someday.