The sky was beautifully blue, and the sun smiled brightly on the trees whose green leaves, hanging loosely from their branches, danced slowly to the rhythm of the wind.
Now a routine, my bucket sat in hands as I embarked on a trip to the tank for a water fill. On my trip, my sleepy eyes failed not to fall for her - old yet agile, each wrinkle on her brown skin had a story to tell.
By her side, sat a mountain of his dirty clothes - sorted into whites, blacks, blues, reds, duvets and pillowcases, curtains, then rags - arranged in parallel like heaps on my neighbour's farm.
Her back bent, forward, at a degree of 90. Her hands disappeared into a large bowl of water lathered with her favourite detergent. With each back-and-forth scrub of the shirt of one young enough to wash hers, she took a free trip to a decade ago when her cheeks received the morning pecks of her husband, when her hands cooked for home, her heart bore the requests of their kids, her smile gave a warm entrance to her clients, and her hands were lifted in holiness to Him.
Everything was perfect like a cup of hot coffee on a rainy morning until her husband's heart which had held her smile all morning and evening was pierced, at night, by a bullet meant for the head of a repentant cultist.
Then, her perfect wall fell, louder, and with a mightier thud than Jericho's.
Her return to reality came with a sound, not strange - the vibration of her black NOKIA phone. It was a call that made her breath stop, her heart race, and her palms grow sweaty. Iya Amina - her neighbour and benefactor whom she promised to refund before the sun was buried - barked into her ears to remind her of her debts.
So, she resumed scrubbing - gently, carefully - the collars, necklines, hems, waist bands, pocket openings; yet faster now, for the next laundry and its pay, and the next, and the next.
Outside, the leaves still danced, but her rhythm was not theirs.
As my eyes linger on her, my heart whispers to Heaven's ears: may her heart receive the Great Physician's compassionate healing hands; may her soul be scrubbed gently and carefully towards salvation; and may her spirit be liberated again.
#HealingToHerBody
#SalvationToHerSoul
#LiberationOfHerSpirit
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