I want to tell a tale, the tale of how I allowed personal worries Rob me. It’s a tale that makes me cry every time I recollect the event. I caused it because I allowed sentiments to override my spirit. When I had the prompting I didn’t know what direction it was headed but alas, my Ibrahim was the victim. Here is my story.
There’s this young man in my street, his mum owns a big frozen food store and I love patronizing them because they are never out of fresh stock. Ibrahim is a regular street boy- those tough looking boys, but who are nevertheless tame-able.
I try as much as possible not to be involved with street matters and so there’s hardly anyone I talk to on the street. Every time I go to this Ibrahim’s store, I see ladies, throng around him, obviously looking for his favour but he doesn’t seem to notice them. I’ve always known he was interested in me as a person but though he was tough, he never had the courage.
I knew what he wanted and so I tried as much as possible to avoid any personal communications. Every time I go there, he’ll attend to me in English, even though his default language and other of their customers is Yoruba. Ibrahim treated my demand for things specifically and I knew it. During my IT at the court, he somehow got to know and every time I was at their store, he’d ask me how my day went and if I was getting the rest I needed.
He still wouldn’t come out straight and so reduced my patronage at the store. I didn’t want to give a street boy any ideas and so I kept my boundaries. But there was a but…
I found myself thinking of him and I kept binding the devil. I was somehow drawn to him but I know it wasn’t sexual and yet I couldn’t place my hand on it. So I did what common sense would have me do, I stopped going to the store.
Earlier this year, I needed to get meat and I couldn’t find every where else. I did not have an option but to go to Ibrahim’s place. I got there and for the first time, I actually allowed him talk to me without feeling like I wanted to leave. Small talks and that was just about it. He kept grinning till I left and as I was leaving, I heard his friends making fun of him.
I wish I had paid more attention.
The following week, I was there and for the first time, he wasn’t there. I wanted to ask for his whereabouts but I didn’t want the attendant thinking anything and so I kept my mouth sealed.
Two Weeks later, I was there again and Ibrahim wasn’t. This time around I was wondering what my own was with him but this time, I couldn’t suppress it. I didn’t know when I said, ‘where’s the young man that is always here?’
I thought he’d gained admission finally and though I would have been happy about it, I felt somehow that I deserved to know.
The attendant answered :
‘He is late’
Me : late bawo? Where did he go? When is he coming back?
Attendant : He is late
Me :. Late from where now? He’s gone to school?
Attendant : He died two weeks ago, on Sunday.
Me : How can he die? He can’t die! Please, this joke is too expensive. Please, when is he coming back?
At this stage, I was shivering, my voice was shaky. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. Ibrahim can’t die. Please, Ibrahim, don’t let this be true. You can’t die. We were supposed to talk. I was supposed to influence you. We were supposed to be friends. You were supposed to gain admission. I was supposed to help you get connected to purpose.
Ibrahim, you cannot die!
The attendant guy was talking, but I wasn’t listening. He can’t die. It can’t happen. I’d just lost a colleague. I can’t lose Ibrahim too. Ibrahim, please let this be a nightmare. Wake me up.
Ibrahim.
How I got home, I couldn’t say. The guy was trying to console me but I was in no mood. I got home, I told my sister, she was shocked. We were all speechless.
Then I heard how he died from a neighbor. He’d worn a particular shirt and some guys accosted him. The cloth apparently belonged to a cult but Ibrahim wore the cloth innocently. They traced him home that Sunday night and though he tried running, they caught up with him and hacked him to death.
I couldn’t believe it. Ibrahim didn’t just die peacefully, he died a gruesome and painful death.
I just entered my room. I wept for Ibrahim that I didn’t get to know. I didn’t see him on Saturday and he died on Sunday. I should have dropped my number for him that Saturday. I should have reached out but I allowed my fears over power the promptings in my spirit.
I wept that night. Ibrahim shouldn’t have died.
No matter the apologies, Ibrahim won’t come back to me. I lost this Ibrahim. My first Ibrahim died.
I have learnt my lesson, though it’s at the expense of my first Ibrahim. Never again am I going to let this happen intentionally. Even when I don’t know why I’m drawn to a person, I’d pray for them. I won’t let my emotions be cloud the promptings in my spirit.
*********************
What are you doing with your Ibrahim?
Your Ibrahim might have an ulterior motive, but have you asked why God is drawing him/her to you? Don’t lose Ibrahim like I did mine.
Don’t let your Ibrahim die before you learn like I did.
# help someone find Jesus
Your love, now and always
Mercy Oluwafemi Adeniyi
