Star Elite Traveller

I’ve always been a regular Joe when it comes to travelling. I jejely buy my economy tickets, go through the awful queues at MMA1 and moan and gripe along with everyone else about how crappy our dearest airport is. After going through the whole palava of checking in and all, I sit patiently and wait while they call the different categories to board and I’m almost always with the last group to board. I’m used to it. I hardly even think about it anymore. I guess it’s one of those things your mind just blocks out as part of its coping mechanism.

Then recently, I had the opportunity to travel with a couple of friends who had what is called the Star Elite Traveller status. You know, all those times that you go online to look for the cheapest tickets, and you see things like Air Miles blah, blah, someone like me just goes straight to sites like Opodo to go and look for the best deals. Who cares about buying from KLM just to get some Air Miles? So these guys have not only been jetting around the world like boomerangs, they’ve been accumulating these points and now they’re Star Elite Travellers. I feel like saying it one more time, just to…okay, I digress. So these guys are like the VVVVIPs of travelling. I guess somewhere in the periphery of my mind, I knew there were such things as Lounges at Airports but when you’re a gbogbo ero like me, you don’t allow yourself ponder such things too much. But because I was travelling with these guys, I was allowed a sneak peek into the Elite life.  At Heathrow, we just breezed through the whole check-in process, no long queues, no waiting around. My friends just flashed their cards and the airline staff simply opened up the retractable barriers and we waltzed through while the other passengers on the queue eyed us with jealous eyes. Even our luggage trolley was wheeled in for us and we were all checked in in a matter of minutes. Ah, this is the life! Then we were ushered into the Elite Lounge. I saw places I never even imagined existed within Heathrow’s Terminal 2! There was a never-ending buffet, free drinks, seats big enough to swallow me up, it was lit! Then when it was time to board, there was no walking through those zig-zagging tunnels (which get me claustrophobic). It was like they parked the plane right at our backyard and we just strolled on. No squeezing through miniature aisles, looking for your seat number and then trying to shove your carry-on into the tiny cubicles while the person already sitting on the aisle seat gives you the stink eye. We strolled onto the plane, sat in out mini-flats, stretched our legs (no annoying passenger in front of you pushing their seats in your face) and the drinks were on the ready from smiling hostesses (even those smiles were different from the ones you get in Economy, true!).

You know, by the time they asked the gbogbo ero to start boarding, I was probably half way through a movie already! And through the partly opened curtains that separated we the Elites from them, I could see them lumber onto the plane, looking really bleurgh with their tired grumpy faces, squalling toddlers and their gbogbo ero Economy tickets gripped in their hands as they started the weary task of settling in for a seven-hour flight in cramped quarters. That was them and this was me. I wasn’t one of them anymore, I was an Elite Traveller. I’d been invited into ‘The Club’ and it was oh so easy to see all that was wrong with those gbogbo ero. It wasn’t hard at all to point (and maybe even smirk) at how crappy and razz it was back there and to say to myself, thank God I’m not with that bunch. I couldn’t help my nose crinking up in distaste thinking of how messy the toilets get or how two people have conversations at the tops of their voices while everyone else is trying to sleep or how people would be taking silly selfies (okay, I’ll confess, I did take a photo or two in Business class, but who wouldn’t, eh?). It was really easy to distance myself from the common people.

This whole experience brings me, in a kinda weird, not-necessarily-logical way (I’ve come to realize that my mind doesn’t always work in a conventionally logical way) to the Pharisees of Jesus’ day. The Pharisees are probably some of the most un-liked people in Christendom. We talk about them and their shallow lives and I bet they’ve had their fair share of sermons preached about them. They’ve got a Rap sheet more than a mile long and it is really easy to dislike them, in fact, that’s the default setting. The thing however is that, after my one stint at Elite status, I’ve started to kinda find it hard to point the accusing finger at them. I don’t know about everyone else but I’ve realized (the Elite way no doubt) that once we get invited to the inner circles, it’s so easy to turn around and see what’s wrong with everyone else on the outside. It’s easy to forget how unpleasant the feeling of being the outcast is that we start to ostracize other people who we deem not up to our status. I can stand here and say with all the indignation in the world that the Pharisees were the ones who accused Jesus falsely, cooked up stupid lies and bribed false witnesses to have Him condemned. I can shout all I want that they were the ones who stirred up the crowd to demand for Barabbas’ release and all, but the truth is when Jesus hung on that hideous cross, just as much as the Pharisees, I put Him there. One bitter truth I’ve been having to chew and swallow lately is that I probably spend more time being a Pharisee than I’ll like to admit. And that picture I’m seeing of me ain’t pretty at all. What am I trying to say here? (Hey, I have absolutely nothing against being an Elite Traveller! In fact ehn, I’ve been hinting at those friends to you know, let us take another trip). My point is I constantly need to search my heart so that even when I stand and point fingers at the hypocrisy of the Pharisees, I’m not being a finger pointing Pharisee myself. I need God to put me in line so that if given even half the chance, I don’t become worse than the Pharisees I so easily condemn (you know, that thing about the speck and the log?). In my own little way, am I judging others or placing unfair burdens and standards (yeah, the Ten Commandments according to Yours Truly Tipsy) on them? Do I try to replace God’s grace and mercy with my own sense of right and wrong and judge others by my self-righteousness? This is just a heart-check for me so that as I go through this life-journey, whether I’m lounging in the Lounge (hehehe see rhymes!) with a Pina Colada or shuffling through those tiny aisles to the nightmare that the toilets become after about five hours into the flight, the only banner I want to be blazing through life is one that screams in capital letters: GRACE, GRACE! AMAZING GRACE!

Death And The King's Horse

The air was thick with the smell of manure and the distinctive scent of horseflesh. In the stall at the far end of the stable, a thorough bred neighed and stamped his hoofs. It was getting dark and the crickets were starting up their special rendition of the night’s symphony. With the setting sun came a light breeze, which lifted the heat and humidity that had settled like a smothering blanket during the day.

I stood very still, my eyes adjusting to the dimming light, taking in the sounds, breathing in deeply. I didn’t pay the mosquitoes buzzing around my head any mind. I loved this place with the last drop of blood in my veins. I had been born here, had played in the open fields that sprawled for miles and miles as far as I could see with my siblings and numerous cousins until I grew too old for frolicking. When I was old enough, I’d started my lessons right here, going lap after lap around the tracks that circled the property. This place was all I’d known and all I cared to know.

I heard a familiar neighing in the distance and I stilled my breathing, straining to hear, listening with more than my ears. I recognized his voice immediately, he had returned! In contrast to my stilled breathing, my heart started a gallop that matched that of the fastest and strongest of the horses. My galloping heart pounded in my chest, just as it had done that day when I’d first set my eyes on him, and every single time since then. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding and took another deep, long one, a feeling of contentment and serenity settling over me. I let my eyes drift shut as I listened intently to the sounds of his footsteps as they approached. The air seemed to tingle with a charged sense of electricity as he drew closer. He had that kind of effect. He only had to walk into a space to set it a-buzz and everyone, both man and beast, couldn’t help paying attention. He was like a breed set apart from mere mortals, majestic and terrifying all at once, like royalty itself.

I imagined his deep brown eyes on my face, intent like they always were, like he could see right through me, straight into my very soul. I shook my head slightly, letting my beautiful mane of hair cascade and ripple down my long, beautiful neck. He’d sought me out in the dark, not needing any guidance or beacons to light the way, one heart calling silently to another, their thudding synchronizing like ukulele strings in resonance.

My lover was home!

He blew through his nose and circled around me, prancing in the dominant strut of the alpha male. I was his and he was mine as surely as there was night and day.

The Horseman came in after him with a hurricane lamp, which he placed on a stoop. He watched us for a few moments with reflective eyes. If I hadn’t been so excited, I would have noticed the air of foreboding the Horseman had brought in with him. I would have noticed that he didn’t speak to us in that affectionate way that was characteristic of him. In fact, he didn’t speak at all, he just watched us with unseeing eyes. Even the stable boys seemed subdued and stood afar off, like they were giving the Horseman a sacred moment alone with us.

In the distance, I could hear the beating of drums and a horn belting out a mournful song. It sounded like a dirge and a celebration all at once, mournful yet jubilant. The sound was the one that planted the seed of unrest in my belly and it grew with the sound.

         “Oba waja.” Elésin finally said, in an almost reverent whisper.

Esin Oba whinnied against my neck and stamped his hoofs. I could feel the pent up energy within him. It poured out on me in waves and waves, increasing my feeling of foreboding.

         “My friend, this is the moment we were both born for, the moment we have lived for.” Elésin said, running a hand through Esin Oba’s mane. Esin Oba threw back his head and neighed loudly, stirring up the other horses in the barn.

I looked at him, trying to catch his eyes. I knew something was afoot, but I had no idea what it was.

Quietly, Elésin took off Esin Oba’s bridle and harness and handed it to one of the stable boys. He ran a gentle hand down his leg and lifted his foot to pick his hoof and remove his horseshoe. One by one, he lifted and un-shoed all four hooves and then proceeded to brush Esin Oba down while I just looked on. As Elésin wiped Esin Oba's beautiful, magnificent face with a damp cloth, man and horse locked eyes on each other and something passed between them, an understanding that knotted their destinies together. I couldn’t have felt more afraid and alone than I felt in that moment, standing in that crowded barn while Elésin combed Esin Oba’s mane and tail. The stable hands stood reverently around us in the eerie glow of the hurricane lamp, hands clasped in front of them and eyes down. Someone struck up a dirge, humming gently under their breath while Elésin finished up his little ritual. It was after that that Esin Oba finally looked at me.

This is how it must be my Love.

No it isn’t!

This is destiny, mine and his. We must make haste to join our king.

Says who? We didn’t ask for this!

It is a gift, the highest honour bestowed by the gods. I shall journey on with my king and we shall conquer in the afterlife as we did in this one.

What about me? Where does all this leave me? Who finishes my journey with me?

You my Love will remain always, the Bride of the Conquering One, the Mother of my children. You will be the envy of all, the pride of our clan.

But I don’t want to be envied, I don’t want to be a hero. I just want you…

With the dirge swelling up to fill the barn, bursting my head and shattering my heart, Elésin led Esin Oba out of the barn into the dusk.

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Ojúróngbé Àrèmú

Commander of the King’s horses

 Akínkanjú, Esin Oba

You, between whose ears the wind of heaven blows

Today you shall soar with him

And trot the air

With you his companions, he shall ride the sky

The earth shall sing no more at the touch of your hoofs

Àjànàkú lo, ó dìgbère.