By Haroun Muhammed
Growing up, I was taught how to laugh in-between the lines, in monosyllables that come off neat and harmless. Nobody taught me how to envy my skin, how to hate others just because we’re different in views, religion, or culture.
Nobody taught me how to write love letters to myself, to other gender, to someone I hold so dearly in my heart. Growing up, I am like a moving object on a pendulum of life; like a hypothetical pendulum suspended by a weightless however frictionless thread of constant length – that’s free to move. I make my decisions and chooses what I want without my parents frustrating my choice. I learned everything I was taught in school or I wouldn’t move to the next class.
On getting to the market today, here is the man called Sani, a Muslim Northerner dancing his hands around his sewing machine. He’s working together with Mr. James who sells Chinos Jeans, the way an ocean clings to a sinking ship.
I was there looking at all people around like an ideal cast in a silent movie. A lady bought a trouser and the next thing is: ” if you’re not okay with the size, meet my friend Sani to resizes it for you.” Said Mr. James.
To Sani and Mr James, life is nothing but a cordial business relationship that put food in their mouth. And this, I mean this kind of relationship, goes beyond their faith, beyond region, beyond anything called culture.
To them, the predicaments of our dear country, lies beyond tribes, religious affiliations. It lies on the poor leadership at different levels.
You see, moths have no choice than to flirt with flames. When the flames bite their wings, they call it exercise and apply first aid. It’s their destiny. It’s our destiny, the destiny of Sani from far northern Nigeria here in the South to work with the likes of Mr James, to live together in tranquility.
In aplomb, I sat down there waiting for something—close to a woman who sells Bread. The woman next to me didn’t seem to notice that I don’t belong to her religion however her tribe. With religion inside us, we’re invisibly marked.
But why can’t her see any mark, my religious mark? Like, I never belonged here, this state, this region? She was eating avocados and bread. She said, my son come and join me o. I’m OKAY ma’am, thank you! I replied.
She didn’t know that this young man is 1000 miles away from home. The conductor who was busy loading his Bus waved me and with intriguing smiles, I waved back. The man in charge of this universe shouldn’t just let living ghosts like us roaming His planet when we can’t just be of the same faith, religion—when we can’t uniformly worship the same God.
Methinks, there’s a definite sense of us living together, there’s wisdom of us Sani(Muslim) working peacefully with Mr James(Christian). Like the way moths have no choice than to dance with flames.
I always give my body options and it always chooses to baptize itself in seas because, they say, salt are water made flesh. But the salt my body chooses is an abusive lover of humanity that changes its taste when people seem to forget that we’re of humans.
So, when I look in the mirror I tell myself that I need a new one and the only way to wear a new body is to keep enlightening my cycle about this— why we need to embrace each other. Just like the way rainbow can never wash off his colours. He will never be clean. We will never be the same, equal!
We’ll die someday, first we live. Let’s live together in the spirit of oneness and be alright!
