Abe 2
Abe Story Part 2
ABE
Mayowa Ojo
6/10/20269 min read
A few months before then, it was unthinkable for me to so much as consider prayer an option – not even in such a dire situation. Why? I hated Christians with a passion. Religious dimwits, I thought of them. I could argue for days against why anyone would be stupid enough to be one. I had sufficient information between statistical data and my personal experience to save anyone from them – especially the Pentecostals!
One Saturday morning after a very long week at work, I woke up super early before the sun and could not find sleep. Restless, I took to the balcony with a pack of cigarettes and lighter in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, determined to enjoy my solitude.
I was incensed to find Abe on the balcony we shared. All I wanted was the solitude that the balcony offered but the sight of Abe in that muscle top, who could say no to? So I stood in my doorway watching him as he paced from one end of the balcony to the other, mumbling under his breath, oblivious to my presence. And then it struck me; he was praying!
The sight of him that morning suddenly offended me. All my usual lusting after him vanished and was replaced with hatred so deep even I could not plumb its depths. I did admit he was nothing like my roomie in university who proudly disturbed the entire block whenever she prayed. I very proudly championed the campaign that resulted in her exit from that hostel. Some called me the antichrist but I did not care because they were hypocrites; too scared to do what I did.
Abe on the other hand was quiet; disturbing no one at all. Still his presence irritated the very core of my being. It had been so long since I felt capable of such hatred – instant and deep. But I could not sustain it. It was either I was getting old or I really did like him, I thought. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the balcony where I lit a cigarette and took one long drag. The glass of whiskey hit my lips and as the golden liquid travelled down my throat, burning me and warming me up at the same time, it was kind enough to blur out his presence too.
“Do you know how to pray?” Abe asked with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old a few minutes later.
I shook my head pitifully at his attempt to start a conversation but kept my gaze up ahead without so much as a sideways glance. Of all the speculations we made about him, this praying/Christian bit did not make the list. Looking back now, I can see how we missed it. I could already imagine the headlines when I told the girls about pretty pastor boy next door. I smiled.
“I only ask because if anything it helps me clear my head… looks like you could use some head-clearing.”
I turned sharply to look at him.
“Hope that’s working out well for you!” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, not making the slightest attempt to hide it. It annoyed me that his words offered hope while somehow judging me at the same time.
“More than anything I’m sure you’ve ever tried. You should try it.”
I nodded. It was my way of ending the conversation. I expected him to prod further and so I reinforced my defence, no longer jaded by the initial vulnerability I felt.
“Have a good weekend,” he said and walked into his apartment.
I was left wondering why I was so bitter. What a waste of a fine man, I thought.
*************
In the bathroom of the mall, I kept quiet and watched the entrance as a few more people crawled in amidst all the shooting. Soon there were over twenty of us in the bathroom but one lady stood out, wailing. She seemed inconsolable.
This beautiful Indian woman sat on the floor, restrained by her teenage son and daughter. They spoke Hindi and so I couldn’t make sense of their conversation but their grief needed no translation. I soon gathered that her husband had been shot dead in the mall. The anger on the boy’s face was tangible. The girl looked numb as she stroked her mother’s hair mechanically like she was mindlessly pacifying a pet. My heart went out to them. I wondered which was worse, the loss of a loved one or the inability to mourn them.
“What are you praying about?” I asked Abe.
I was a nervous wreck. I needed the conversation for my own sanity.
“That all of this will somehow work together for good,” Abe answered with a straight face and a shrug.
I knew he was quoting a verse from the bible. He had quoted it many times in the past couple of weeks. It annoyed me especially now. How is it even possible for this to end in any sort of good? I wanted to ask before I felt an eerie silence wash over the mall. The shooting had stopped.
I looked around me and saw the same realization on the faces of people around me. Even the Indian woman had reduced her wailing to sobs. We wanted to smile but sensed it would be premature till we were certain it really was the end.
A Caucasian man got up from among us, adjusted his shirt bravely and walked out of the bathroom. We heard the shot before we saw his body fall back through the door frame and into the bathroom where we were. I screamed but not before Abe put his palm over my mouth. I felt the blood drain from my face.
The militants paraded the floors for what felt like an eternity. They talked and laughed brashly without a care in the world. I heard what sounded like a soda can pop open and a few seconds later it rolled on the floor, the sound of it echoing throughout the hallway. Abe grew impatient beside me, got up and started to pace the room, praying under his breath. I concluded then that he was crazy and taking this whole Jesus thing to another level.
I stayed on the floor, legs folded and arms wrapped around them to keep myself from doing anything stupid. The body in the doorway lay there, limp. I stared hard, willing him to move just to show a sign of life but he did not. I watched the blood flow from his head to the floor till it stopped and began to coagulate. Someone suggested we drag it in but we all shot such icy stares that the woman kept quiet. And so I remained by myself, shaken but thankful that the stinging in my ear had abated.
My eyes roamed the bathroom, taking in everything and everyone. I feared they might be the last people I ever saw and thought to appreciate the moment. In that moment it occurred to me that even in the face of death humans still had the guts to form sects. The Indians were in one corner of the room looking at everyone else as though they wished they could flush us down the toilet and be done with us. The Kenyans were also together clothed in the cloak of insecurity that many Africans wear in the presence of foreigners. The Kenyan Cowboys tried to appear invisible in their tiny little cluster. Those who were by themselves, like myself, were either loners or foreigners. The sight of it all was almost laughable.
And so we waited. What for? We did not know. We hoped for a rescue mission but with each passing minute we knew it was less likely… or maybe it was just me. Abe managed to infiltrate each cluster and, in a way few are skilled in, he quickly became acquaintances with most of them except the Indians but even they could not deny the effect he had on them. They seemed very offended at his suggestion that they give their lives to Christ and secure a safe spot in the after-life. The obvious fact that they were mostly Hindu or Muslim did not deter Abe from preaching to them.
The next round of shots sent adrenaline coursing through our veins. I sat up straight, alert. We heard a voice shout out loud in the hallway and so we listened to what sounded like instructions. The militants were to go into every store and bathroom, asking the people to recite one verse of their choice from the Koran else they'd be shot dead. As soon as he was done talking someone’s phone rang out in one of the hideout spots. The militant was irritated and got into a rage requesting that the person be brought forward else all the people in that spot would be killed, no questions asked. We heard voices as though in an argument and what sounded like struggling between a person and metal chairs. The next thing we heard was a gun shot and everywhere was quiet.
Abe whispered to everyone in the room to turn off their phones immediately. We all snapped out of the shock we were in and put our phones on silent. Funny thing is I did not even remember I had a cell phone up until that moment. I wanted to reach out to my brother in Bosnia but thought not to make things worse. Since it was the weekend I knew he would not check his emails so I composed one detailing the events so far and told him how much I loved and missed him. I told him not to dare tease my soppiness if I made it out alive… if only to bring a smile to his face. I smiled at the person I had become – either the fear of death was getting to me or Abe’s personality was starting to rub-off on me.
Panic spread through the bathroom like tear gas; stinging even the most hardened in the room. We were all a bag of nerves. All except Abe. His confidence ranged from foolish to admirable to enviable. How he managed to get a few people to "give their lives to Christ" will forever elude me. I attributed it to the fear of dying only to find out there really is a heaven and you’re not qualified but what did I know? Watching those people recite the same prayer Abe led me to pray a few months before left me in awe of the guy.
And so the elimination began. We heard shots and cries in the hall way. We also heard footfalls of people who had been released as they ran to safety. Fear and hope fought relentlessly inside me and from the look on people’s faces, I was not alone.
Abe finally came to sit down beside me. He smiled at me with eyes so compassionate I almost felt safe. He asked about my ear, touching it ever so tenderly. I smiled and told him it was fine.
When the shots got closer and we could hear the thud of bodies as they hit the floor, the sects in the bathroom dissolved into one. All of a sudden there were no more borders between us and for once we were just humans. I saw grown men cry in fear and in that moment I thought death a nasty thing. Funny, it seemed that was the moment we all realized death was the one fate we had in common.
Before my eyes the Muslim Indians in our midst started teaching us the simplest Koran verses they could think of. They had to churn out the verses quickly as time was fast running out. Like students we listened intently because our lives depended on them. I got emotional and started crying at the sight of it all.
I turned around when I thought I’d learned enough and saw Abe by the window. He was looking out the window while mumbling words under his breath.
“Dude, what is the matter? Do you want to die?”
He turned to me and smiled his very disarming smile. “You can’t kill a dead man.”
“I have not read much of the bible but I know that’s not in there.”
Abe laughed, drawing some unwelcome attention from those still trying to memorize Islamic scripture verses.
“Aren’t you the one who said wisdom is profitable to direct?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He smiled. “This is wisdom. To stand by the truth, for the truth and with the truth.”
I rolled my eyes at what sounded like a religious definition of democracy. I wanted so badly to slap this hocus pocus philosophy out of his head and mouth.
“Could you hold this for me?” he asked as he stretched out his cell phone.
Understanding dawned on me.
“No. You hold on to that phone because we’re leaving here alive.”
Again he laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re right about us leaving here alive. I would just feel much better knowing you have my mobile phone with you.”
“You’re a weird man, Abe.”
He laughed. It was deep. It was genuine. It was infectious and so I laughed too even though I did not know why.
“Did you reach out to anyone on the outside?” I asked.
“Yeah, sent a few necessary emails and chatted with a few friends and family.”
“Did you get around to…”
My question was interrupted by a shrill sound coming from the room. It was a cell phone ringing. The room stood still. It felt like the ring tone had sucked the air out of the room. Even Abe was not immune to this new twist in the sad plot that was our hostage situation.
We heard their footfalls and in a matter of seconds, two militants came into the room as the cell phone continued to ring.
“Whose phone? WHOSE PHONE?” they yelled as they raised their guns ready to shoot; fingers about to squeeze the trigger as they waved their guns and scanned the room.
I died.