2011, My first story

According to the Tradition of  Africa, Beauty starts from home, this solely applies to all issues of life.
 therefore, for writers, writing should start from our selves...what is it about me that you have not known yet?...all my told stories are different parts of me, Baking them for my people to read.. yet there is one great secret i will tell you today. it's about my friend...

My heart was my closest friend, always giving me directions that have made my world beautiful. Some of its wishes seemed weird but I achieved them all. Fighting to keep my best friend happy was a big challenge to me. Sometimes I wondered if devil had taken over the entire partitions of the inside, sometimes I felt God’s presence in the veins and arteries …only then, my heaviness and vengeance were dissolved into forgiveness and freedom.

The science of my spiritual man was what I could not comprehend. My actions were not determined by my conscious being. I had taken some risks that I would wish not to think of, I had dumped those things others envied of me. Sometimes it seems to me that I have another existence outside my physical. The stories I have heard about me were not my actions, sometimes I dream them and they come to pass. I knew then within me that I was a mystery.

Before I discovered the warrior that fought with me and against me, I was begging God to recreate. It was my early primary school days, earlier than that, I was supernaturally intelligent and did extremely well in school. I was the smartest amongst my friends and people envied my childhood wisdom, yet it was not me. My behaviors were the actions of the unknown. I was an audience of my words. And my victory gave me no joy. My teachers knew me by name, giving me the merits of someone’s actions. I knew it must not be so, and then I strived to understand.

I listened to stories my father told me, I discovered my ancestors were wise and famous. But that was not the answers to my problems.

I listened to my mother’s own stories, I discovered that my great grand parents had the power to turn to life lions, and our generations could have inherited it, it’s weird though but that was not my problem either.

My problem is to discover this entity that leaves my life for me. If it’s a man, he says my words for me, he takes great actions for me and he wrote my exams without my contribution. If it’s a woman, she makes me popular and wise but I needed to know.

At the age of eight, I set out on this journey, with patience and a burning urge that I could not quench. I looked around for a friend to tell my problems but no one seemed right. My father could be the right person but I did not want to scare him, then I could only find my heart very close to me, so I made it my close friend.

I set out to the remote parts of my village, where no one was at sight, sometimes I climbed trees and hid amongst the green leaves, and then we discussed my situations.

The first day I had a formal meeting with my heart was on the 16^th of March 1990. I sat under a tree, in a forest, a few kilometers away from my father’s house. Where should I start, I exploded in tears, sobbing with passion and grieve, then my heart pleaded on me to stop, promising to be my friend, and to share with me, every secret that worries me. Why was I created like this, not being able to have absolute control of my actions, why was I created like this, doing things I did not know about? Then my friend laughed, welcoming me into the realm of supernatural consciousness. He said I was a wise man, that I will be celebrated all around the world, that I shall be a counsel to kings. He spoke like an old man, and I asked him how old he was, he laughed again and told me that age is a success of vanity, counting originated in the world and he is not of the world. Where are you my friend?, he answered that he was far from me, that even my death does not alter him. Then you must help me my friend. I do not wish to be great for those actions I am not in control of. I do not want to be heard, speaking words that did not come from my own mouth. I want to be celebrated for the integrity of my virgin concepts, my actions. You must come very close to me my friend. I have a place for you beneath my chest, secured with the toughest bones in my body. I think it will be safe for you in there.

There was a brief silence, but I broke it with tears, please accept my request I pleaded. And he said he had conditions to make

What other condition will I compromise, when I have been tortured by the unconsciousness of my own actions? Living in vengeance and regrets

He told me something about the place I prepared for him, it would have been a nice place to be, but there is a single bone there that was removed to be recreated. It’s in the hands of the great molder he told Me., but very soon it shall come back, with jealousy it will occupy the space, never wanting to share any bit of it with anybody, not even my closest friend.

That was a sad story to me, and I argued immediately, pleading on my friend, then he said to me that he would come and stay at the tips of my hair, but oh no, I knew the story of Samson and Delilah, my hairs may not be the best place........(to be continued) if you have interest in publishing my work, getting it transformed into a video documentary or short film, write me and it's done.