It was a Sunday morning at the peak of a dry season; fresh and lively with the maturing sun that kissed the high treetops adding warmth to a new beginning. I felt anxious and excited about what was about to happen which might unfold a better future. The refugees, my own people, beaten left and right by the bloody, ruthless and inhuman armed conflict had already gathered under the tamarind tree in front of the partially built church building with the last bit of remaining faith, seeking a divine word of hope.
‘You have red-eyes,’ said the Pastor Patrick while sipping his morning coffee. I did not tell him that I was unable to fall asleep the whole night and that I was restless and anxious every single second that passed behind me.
‘Yes, sometimes it happens,’ I added.
Old bell that was hanging on a mango branch rang aloud. I heard my heart beat louder than the metal bell that was indented to call the whole village. Under the shade of the huge tamarind tree where everyone had gathered, I stood between Pastor Jean-Claude and the Pastor Patrick. The Pastor Jean-Paul decided to stand among the crowd facing us.
It was not the first time I conducted the morning service in Yomou, but it was the first time I stood before such a large crowd, and it was the first time I was with a delegation at a service.
‘May God bless you all!’ I started the service in front of the large gathering before my very eyes and I dared not look at them because the number of heads extended beyond the very end that my eyes could capture, provoked agoraphobic feelings. And the presence of the delegation of high dignitaries in the church also added more weight to my psychological response. Tremors in my fingers shook the Holy Bible that I was trying hard to hold firm. When my voice started wobbling, sweat glands had opened unto their very maximum nearly dehydrating me to faint. Louder than my own words to which the crowd had gathered and was attracted like bees to flowers, I heard ‘lob-dub’ sound of my palpitating heart. When the last few minutes of the service fell by, I started feeling recharged and confident. On top of all that, I felt happy that I was about to finish it. With a sigh that relieved all my anxieties and fears, I looked at the crowd at the end of the service. It was a look seeking for recognition. It was a look through a pair of eyes that were shining with happiness and sense of accomplishment, and it was a look that was loaded with hopefulness. Without my knowledge, a bubble of tears had formed a lens upon my eyes through which I saw the very end of the crowd.
Through hot tears at the peak of my happiness, I saw a woman who was breastfeeding her infant. The blurred vision was not hazy enough to leave her unrecognised.
‘Kumba!’ It was loud enough to take her attention.