Bawa: Origin Story - Part 1 of 3
Bawa's Origin Story
THE GATHERING
Mayowa Ojo
6/10/20263 min read
The first time it happened, Bawa was 6 years old in 1971, Jos. His uncle Gotep was visiting from the big city at Christmas along with several other relatives but, as usual, he arrived 2 days before his other siblings and their families. When uncle Gotep walked in with a limp that wasn’t there the last time he visited, everyone at home knew that he was in pain even though he tried to mask it. He’d had a fall at work earlier in the week that he was yet to recover from.
All through the evening as the adults tried to catch up, Bawa couldn’t take his mind off his uncle and the pain he was in. Gotep was his favorite uncle because he was always a lot of fun to have around and Bawa couldn’t stand the thought of going the entire next day without him and his siblings playing with their favorite uncle.
The more he looked at him, the more Aunty Christy’s words echoed in his mind like a delinquent earworm that just wouldn’t go away. She taught at Sunday school and the previous Sunday she taught about the signs that will follow those who believe in Jesus Christ – laying hands on the sick was one of them. At the time, 6 year old Bawa had no idea what demons were per se or what speaking in tongues was because his parents were Anglican but he definitely knew what sickness was.
While his older siblings were playing outside that evening, his father stepped away to relieve himself while his mother went into the kitchen to check on what was cooking. Bawa was alone with uncle Gotep.
“Uncle? Are you in pain?” he asked.
His uncle smiled that smile that adults smile when they’re torn between indulging a child and finding a polite way to lie or downplay the truth.
“A little bit, yes,” Gotep said, still smiling as if to assure his nephew that it was nothing.
“So this pain is like a sickness?”
Gotep paused and looked at Bawa squarely wondering why his 6 year old nephew was asking such a question. Unsure, he decided to indulge him just so that he would see where the round of questioning went.
“Yes, somehow. It could…” he started to explain but the small boy wasn’t listening anymore.
Once Bawa heard ‘Yes,’ he walked up to his uncle, planted his tiny feet in front of him and closed his small eyes.
“Pain, go away in Jesus name,” he said in his tiny voice.
Bawa opened his eyes and saw uncle him Gotep give him that soppy look adults give children when they don’t want break their hearts by telling them that Santa Clause isn’t real!
He didn’t smile. He kept looking at his uncle expecting him to jump up and be well immediately. Isn’t that what happened after Jesus prayed for people in the Bible? He wondered.
For a few seconds that felt like more, they looked at each other, each person managing their expectations. While uncle Gotep waited for another adult to come into the room and douse the awkwardness, Bawa replayed the memory verse aunty Christy had taught them and then he had a light-bulb moment. He didn’t lay a hand on his uncle.
Without thinking, he placed his tiny right hand on his uncle’s waist where he’d seen him hold before sitting down or standing up.
“Stand up nau,” little Bawa said.
Gotep’s eyes went from one of pity and embarrassment to shock. He stopped smiling, his eyes widened, he let out a soft gasp and got up without holding his waist as though remote-controlled. Then he sat down. Pain-free. Then he got up and repeated the process 3 more times before he screamed and both of his nephew’s parents came rushing in.
Bawa stepped back to watch the adults stew in their confusion and it confused him. Unbothered by their conversation but grateful for the result he saw, just like Aunty Christy said, he shrugged and walked out into the front yard to play Suwé with his older siblings.
**********
6:50 am Tuesday morning, late May of the following year. Bawa and his siblings were preparing to go to school when they heard a loud bang on their front door. It felt as though the house would be pulled down by whoever it was.
Everyone in his family rushed to the front door at varying levels of preparedness for the day and they halted as his father, Mr. Gyang, reached for the door ready to chop off the head of whoever the obstructor of peace was.
Once the door was open, standing across from him was the village DPO, a few other officers and Dr. Kelly, owner of the Gerrard Hospital, one of the finer hospitals in town.
“Where is your son, Bawa?” the DPO bellowed menacingly.
The confusion in the Gyang household was palpable, as they wondered what Bawa could have done to warrant such a visit.