The Coffee Shop

Hey!
It's been a while. Lots going on but I will not bore you with my life's events. Instead, I will burden you with some fiction. Please be kind critics :-)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday evening, March 11, 2010.
He sits in a corner mindlessly observing customers as they file in and out. The sun finally grudgingly takes a bow, its warmth lingers long after it’s gone. Three girls stroll in, giggling and elbowing each other, something about their gaiety stirs emotions of déjà-vu.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee sips through the air, Robusta or Arabic? It’s hard to decipher. Two men at the table to his left stand up to leave, one in a dark suit, the other in a light blue shirt and a red tie. They shake hands and head towards the door. A man in a pink shirt with folded sleeves, sits reading a newspaper, slurping on a cup of hot tea. A woman and a teenage girl sit in the centre of the room, the girl fiddles with her fingers, fixated in the woman’s gaze. In the other corner a man and a lady stare at each other in amazement, their knees involved in a similar contest. This is his favorite wind down zone.

He looks at his watch, its 6:02 pm. He shuffles in his seat barely noticing the waiter standing to his left.

“What can I get you sir?”

He plays with the keys in his pocket reminded that he needs to service the car on saturday morning before his tennis match. His forward stroke is awesome if he says so himself, he will soon be challenging his trainer. If he could only apply the same wisdom to his career. He is on a bumpy ride or no ride at all, there is a road block he can’t get passed. How long will it take to get to the top? What strategy? What connections? Should he consider an MBA at this point?

“Excuse me sir, are you ready to order?”

He suddenly notices the waiter and jerks as though the waiter just sprouted out of the ground.

“I’m sorry! A glass of passion fruit juice please”

He shuffles his feet, scans through the newspaper and throws it back on the table; Pathetic stories, poorly constructed sentences, unnerving grammar, looks like the writers are asleep and in a rush to publish anything. Irritated he turns away, he pretends it’s not there, it’s not his.

“Here is your juice sir! Do you want anything to go with that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you want to order a bite?”

“Oh! No, no! Thank you, David!”

The waiter hurries a long, thrilled to be recognized by name.

He wishes for a country where aid is channeled towards constructing lasting roads, where libraries are filled with story books and children can dream, having their imaginations running wild with possibilities. Where leaders think more about the people and less about themselves.

His phone rings, it’s Peter his boss - not a welcome call but he takes it anyway. Something about tomorrow’s presentation and how he needs to add data on customer satisfaction. The directors are soothed by figures, never interested in the disgruntled employees. He makes a note to beef it up when he gets home.

He glances at his watch, it's 6:45pm. His phone rings again. It’s Sheila! His heart jogs faster, he clears his throat, leans back in the chair and presses the green button.

“Hello!”

“Hi Tony, sorry I’m running late, got stuck in traffic, but I’m just round the corner, I’ll be there shortly”

“That’s alright! I’m here!”

“Ok! See you in a bit”

She hangs up.

He smiles, adjusts his belt, looks at his shoes - black with a rumor of brown from the dusty streets. They are comfortable, loyal for 2 years running, still looking good as new and easy to clean that’s why he would buy Clarks any day.

He looks up and there she is, radiant as a sun flower. He plays her in slow motion. She walks towards him with a big smile, her pearly whites set perfectly. Her burgundy shoes have a slight heel, firming her calves as she steps forward. The anklet on her left leg jiggles; he can almost hear the alleluia chorus. Her ebony skin, moist and shimmery is exposed, up and up and just above her knees. Before he can reenact a scene from Men in Black the act is cut! It’s covered with a pencil skirt, sketching her at all the right angles and her blouse a shade of electric indigo.

Oh wow!

He stands up.

Her hair is held up in a puff with a few stray strands teasing her neck.

How does a man survive this? He wonders.

She puts her arms around his neck, his hands find their way and settle around her waist. He wishes the deejay could press the pause button on life. Let this moment last forever, oh baby I love your ways, all the love songs playing in his head in nonstop sequence.

She smells oh so sweet – strawberries, peaches, fresh flowers – its crazy!

“She’s coming home with me tonight! We are going to pop some champagne and make the night last forever!” He thinks.

He wants to tell her, but he will not.

His eyes stray to her lips and he is ushered into paradise - forget purgatory and what not.

They talk about her favorite food, his dream car, career goals, their parents, siblings, frustrations, office politics, traffic and favorite authors.

It’s 10:00pm.

“I’ve got to leave now. I have a book to finish before class tomorrow” she says.

He pays the bill, leaves a tip for David and they walk out of the coffee shop, his hands in his pockets.

He drives home, trying to keep his mind on the road, begging his body to shut up. He forces his mind to think about the poor kids going without food, he takes a cold shower then sits down to edit the presentation for tomorrow’s meeting.

THE END! OR, MAYBE NOT.

How can a young person stay on the path of purity? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, LORD; teach me your decrees. With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth. I rejoice in following your statutes as one rejoices in great riches. I meditate on your precept and consider your ways. I delight in your decrees; I will not neglect your word.

The Explanation For Our Difficulties

Oswald Chambers; My Utmost for His Highest.

. . . that they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us . . . —John 17:21
If you are going through a time of isolation, seemingly all alone, read John 17 . It will explain exactly why you are where you are— because Jesus has prayed that you “may be one” with the Father as He is. Are you helping God to answer that prayer, or do you have some other goal for your life? Since you became a disciple, you cannot be as independent as you used to be.
God reveals in John 17 that His purpose is not just to answer our prayers, but that through prayer we might come to discern His mind. Yet there is one prayer which God must answer, and that is the prayer of Jesus— “. . . that they may be one just as We are one . . .” (John 17:22). Are we as close to Jesus Christ as that?

God is not concerned about our plans; He doesn’t ask, “Do you want to go through this loss of a loved one, this difficulty, or this defeat?” No, He allows these things for His own purpose. The things we are going through are either making us sweeter, better, and nobler men and women, or they are making us more critical and fault-finding, and more insistent on our own way. The things that happen either make us evil, or they make us more saintly, depending entirely on our relationship with God and its level of intimacy. If we will pray, regarding our own lives, “Your will be done” (Matthew 26:42), then we will be encouraged and comforted by John 17, knowing that our Father is working according to His own wisdom, accomplishing what is best. When we understand God’s purpose, we will not become small-minded and cynical. Jesus prayed nothing less for us than absolute oneness with Himself, just as He was one with the Father. Some of us are far from this oneness; yet God will not leave us alone until we are one with Him— because Jesus prayed, “. . . that they all may be one . . . .”

After the Fast

The Fast ended and life continued.

I was tired of trying so hard to please my manager. I'd hit bottom, there was no further to fall. Something snapped and suddenly I wasn't going to try so hard any more.

Standing at the bus stop one morning, I had a brief conversation with God in which I expressed my frustration. Then I had a light bulb moment, I was reminded that my life is not about me, it's all about God and His purposes to perform, even when it makes no sense to me. I was helpless, unarmed - a reminder that I was nothing without Him. My attempts to twist His arm, begging Him to perform miracles didn’t work. He chose to do what He willed, even if it meant looking foolish which I did. I remember thinking, "This must be what it's like to be stupid and totally clueless. Your head is spinning, you don't know whether you are coming or going." But how God was using this for His glory remained a mystery to me.

To The Uncertain Mom

Who thinks she is not mom because nobody calls her mummy.
Who thinks she is not mom because she hasn't gone through 9 months of pregnancy.
Who thinks she is not mom because the ones who would call her mummy are gone or not yet here.

You may not have carried life in your womb or nursed a baby at your breast but you have carried a baby and rocked it to sleep, stayed up at night to help with a sick, cranky child. You have said a prayer for a little one, you have … Happy mother’s day!

You cried as your body writhed, saddened by the premature separation from the life being formed within. You carried the lifeless body, stared at the undefined mass. Nobody knew. Everybody knew. Your body took form. There were whispers in the dormitory, the lecture theatre, the office corridors, the neighborhood. Now, there is no evidence except the scars marked on your heart, on your body, on your … Happy mothers’ day!

You spent days together, you spent years together but quickly and yet slowly, the air was sucked out of both of you when you laid that precious life…less. Friends, toddler mates, class mates, crib mates will never see again, even forget existence, but not you, the memory is fresh, it’s yesterday, it’s today, it’s now, it’s … Happy mothers’ day!

The time has not yet come, it’s already gone, it’s here, you wait, patiently impatient. Forces work for, against you; a soul mate, a medical condition, time, age, your body, you are still a mother. Happy mother’s day!


You have mentored, advised and shared what “mama always said…”. You have been to the desert and back with a hurting friend - your sleeve drenched with their tears. You wiped a snooty nose, kissed a boo boo, hugged a kid (they come in all sizes you know?!) especially when afraid, disappointed or plain ecstatic. Happy mother’s day!

Daughter, sister, girlfriend, whatever title you choose – here is a flower for each day of the week.

 

Sacrifice!

I met him in the grocery store.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, they followed me as I walked down the aisle. It was 9 pm, I was rushing home when I stopped to buy a few groceries.

All the counters were closed except for the self checkout and there he was again, eager to help. As he packed my groceries, he asked, “So, where do you come from?” clearly he was not referring to my local residence but my country of origin.

Do I look so obviously foreign? I wondered.
“Where do you think I come from?” I asked
“Senegal?, Cameroon?, Nigeria ?”
I shook my head each time.
“I’m from East Africa, Uganda to be exact”.
Then he said "Yes, people from East Africa are dark like you".
I couldn't disagree more but since Sudan is in the general area, he was right in the large scheme of things.

I thought he was a Nigerian although his accent was not too “a beggo” and he seemed a little less assertive, turns out he was Ghanaian.
In a few short minutes, he had rolled out the intimate details of his life; he was a father and a husband, he had 3 boys and this was his second time in America. He lit up when he spoke of his family, suddenly transposed to another place, a longing smile crept on to his face as if he was peering down at his wife and kids through a window.

“I left before my last born could walk, he is walking now, he even says a few words. My wife will join me, but first I need to make some money"

His story tagged at my heart strings but in this country one can't afford to carry impromptu burdens just like that, you'll trip and all your cards will come crumbling down. There is hardly room for unplanned detours.
He however had recognised a kindred and would not let my eyes wonder as his were glued to mine. This was his opportunity to relieve the pressure bottled up inside this cold and lonely place.
I was a friend. He didn't know my name but that wouldn't hinder his search for a "familiar face", one who understood his language.
As I peered into his world, for a few brief seconds, his sacrifice was almost tangible.
His desire to make life better for his family had him packing groceries in a foreign land.

He constantly thinks of his boys. He longs for his wife, to eat the fufu and okra she lovingly prepares for him, to feel the warmth of her body as he lies down to sleep at night. He stares at the cold burger and fries that will be his meal for the night, tasteless...

"...My wife will join me, but first I need to make some money"

“What was his status in this country?” “If his papers were not clear, how long would it take before his family could join him?”
All this didn't seem to phase him, not that I asked.
He is here, he has a job, and when the time is right, he will be reunited with his family.

Is this part of the curse for man's sin in the garden of Eden?

"The very ground is cursed because of you; getting food from the ground
Will be as painful as having babies is for your wife; you'll be working in pain all your life long". Genesis 3:17

I think of families around the world separated by waters and boarders, visible and invisible. Separated by work, school, careers, beliefs, finances, documents and countless other reasons.
Huge sacrifices!
May they pay off and bring warmth back to hearts that are slowly freezing but continuously fighting to keep the blood flowing.