The Jesus Problem

I remember Frank

I woke up thinking about him.

See, I never grew up knowing an older sibling because I was (and am) the first child in the house. So I could never logically understand what it felt like to have someone else that wasn’t mummy or daddy care for me, bully me, give me the stare — Nigerian kids instinctively know what I mean by the stare — or boss me around. I was the older one. No fears nothing.
So I could never fully understand Frank. 
He was the brightest kid on our football team; Frank was a god at football, short, but fast. His mentor was Jay Jay as he devoted his life in the service and observation of the man. If you made a derogatory statement about Jay Jay, Frank could abstain from talking to you like you were some plague and he would begin a silent revolution against you.
In class, he was also active a real bright chap. I enjoyed mathematics and I enjoyed solving Maths with Frank. I also enjoyed being on the pitch with him.
So I could not understand why he constantly failed in class.
His results were below average, or just hanging on to the average class. But I knew him. He was my friend. I knew his mind was of the same range with Sumbo’s, Chima’s, Tobi’s and mine — four of us were not just the Schools fantastic four, we were at one time, Nigeria’s fantastic four, but that’s talk for another day.
So one day, after playing football I decided to stop at his place with him and get a change of socks — I used to play with my socks and it would get dirty. It also meant I would die by the time mummy saw the socks. On getting to his house, I saw something I didn’t understand then. Something I understand now, something i call

“The Jesus Problem”
(to be continued)


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