IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL

It is Sunday, a reminder that tomorrow school and its hassles will begin. Well, this Sunday is different, unfortunately not for a good reason. It is raining cats, alligators, lions, and dogs. However, the rainstorm did not prevent me from attending my religious meeting. On a more positive note, I had a friend who
accompanied me to the meeting.

So, the delightful meeting is over when my friend requests that we return to school in order to meet up with the Sunday brunch. Now, I have not attended the Sunday brunch in six months, so I do not set my expectations high bearing in mind that it is school food service. We arrive at the food service, pick an empty table by the window, and thankfully the rain outside has abated. I look at the fruits section and I screech in excitement, bananas! I am absolutely in love with bananas right from my childhood and I have “interesting” stories as proof. Oh! Here I go digressing from the gist. Where was I again? Yes, the fruits section. From the fruits section I head towards the main line aka the market place where I load my plate with green beans, ham cooked with pineapples, sausage, biscuit, fried potatoes, eggs, and red pepper flakes to add some flavor.

After my prayers, I start eating and chatting simultaneously with my friend. Not long after, others join us at the table and then Gilbert arrives. Oh Gilbert! What shall I do with him? Okay, so here is my quanta aka wahala or issue with Gilbert. My friend asks him with religious group he associates with and he goes on and on about how he does not have anyone in particular since he attends different churches, but he is originally Baptist because he grew up in a community where they had only one church which was a Baptist church. Here I was thinking to myself, what a long response. Being the budding journalist that I am, I ask him where he grew up. I know Gilbert is from Cameroon, but I wanted to know what community he was referring to. Gilbert’s response: “It depends on what you are actually asking about. Is it the village, city, town, or country.” You can just picture my facial expression. I retorted with “did you grow up in the village?” “No”, Gilbert replies.

Wondering where the thought of me inquiring about his village came from, I re-ask him the question. Then he says, “I grew up in Etoude, Yaoundé, Cameroon. He didn’t stop there, but went on to tell me that he spent more time growing up in the high school he attended, so I ask him what school he went to and he answered with lycee…………… in ………………………… Therefore, I tell him that means he grew up in that town. Gilbert, Gilbert, he then tells me that he always returned home from school occasionally, so how could he have grown up there. At this point, I am exasperated while my friend laughs. I ask why he is so difficult and he mentions that he just thinks and speaks logically and philosophically. Jokingly, I inform him that by the way he did not seek permission from my friend and me before dining with us, so we could ask him to leave if he does not behave himself.

Curious about the poor roommate that has to put up with him, I ask him who his roommate is. Josiah Thomas was his reply. The name did not ring a bell, but I pitied him instantly. In an attempt to place who the person was, I ask Gilbert what dormitory he was in. Mistake number two. He tells me that he does not supply answers that people know already. I inform him emphatically that I may have known his dorm, but I have forgotten because I did not regard that information about him as something to be stored in my long term memory. Finally, I recall what dorm he is in, which is coincidentally beside mine. After deciding that I had enough I say my goodbyes to everyone at the table and wish Gilbert all the best in his endeavors. This was after my friend had left the dining hall.

As I walk towards the door, it starts pouring again, I suck it all up and continue trudging in my wedged platforms. Upon exiting the building I encountered a male student who was walking in the pouring rain without an umbrella. I offered to share mine and we walk towards the crosswalk together. I ask him which dorm he was heading to and he mentioned a dorm that was right beside him. “Nice”, I said. I start to make small talk about how the person who built the sidewalks made them to slope deliberately, so we could wade to our destinations. He totally agreed, then I request if he could hold the umbrella since he was taller. He agreed. So, “what is your name”, I boldly ask, “Josiah”, he said. Prodding further, I ask for his last name, “Thomas”, he replied. “No way”, so you are Josiah Thomas, Gilbert’s roommate? He affirms my statement, a bit surprised that I knew his roommate, to think that I pitied this guy even before I met him. After relating a summarized version of my conversation with Gilbert to Josiah he laughs and says “Gilbert is an interesting individual”. Really, I mutter to myself.

After several additional puddles and a couple of minutes I learn that Josiah is originally from Haiti, but has been in the United States since 2008. When I asked if he had family in Haiti, he informed me that his parents were missionaries in Haiti and he was born to an American mother. After processing all this new information, I search for an avenue to share the May 2010 Watchtower with the cover title, “Has God left us” and its captivating picture of a woman clutching her baby in the aftermath of an earthquake. I offer o walk him to his dorm’s entrance since it is my umbrella and he expresses his gratitude. At the doorstep, I offer him the magazine together with its companion, the Awake and he says he will love to read it. “Bye Josiah”, I say.

Finally back to my room, I hang my soaked wedged platforms to dry. The day was not so bad after all because I had a friend accompany me to the meeting and I left two magazines with Josiah, despite the rainstorm and Gilbert.