Story Story!

Okay... So, here is the thing. There is this story that has been ringing in my head for quite some time now. It’s not that deep but I just had to share and it will be nice if you can grab one or two lessons. So, without further ado, let’s get right into it!

Mr. X stares at the palm fronds of his hut passionately. The intensity in his eyes was enough to burn through even the coldest of hearts. Tears would roll down his cheeks from time to time, sobbing gently, hurting quietly with the birds providing the tune for his misfortune in the background. He performs this ritual every morning as soon as he wakes up, wondering where everything had gone wrong... There he was, a young and promising man with the whole world ahead of him. Life happened and everything came crashing down right before his very eyes.
His heart would ache subtly, the kind that a man who had just placed his whole school fees on a sure bet experiences from time to time when the ticket cuts (don’t ask me how I know that, let’s move on, please).
After working through the routine, he rises up from the mat, stretching and scratching the itchy bodyparts. He heaves a huge sigh and smiles as his eyes scan through the empty hut. The only thing he owns apart from the tattered mat he sleeps on is a big, black pot which sits at the far corner of the small building - the brightest highlight of the structure which has been condemned by the whole villagers.
The highchiefs had already advised Mr. X that it would be better to sleep in the cold outside than to wake up one morning buried under the mud and palm fronds i.e his egungun has to be careful because he is already dancing into an expressway. He didn’t take to their advice, however. He doesn’t take to anybody’s advice.
Moving on, he carries his black pot every morning, rushing to the stream at the far end of the village. His legs would fail him sometimes but he would push on still, reminding himself that if he does not do this, he would not eat.
The stream is the only place where one could get water in the whole region, so, he goes to the stream, fills his big, black pot and then walks down to the other villages to sell. The money he gets fills his stomach in return.
He goes through this routine religiously, getting sadder and more miserable as the days go by. Life got thinner and the world stopped spinning gradually for Mr. X. He stays indoors most of the days after eating, staring at the palm fronds and then pondering or let me say beating himself up, literally and figuratively on the issues of the past. On the other days, he sits outside, staring at the moon and listening to the joyous tunes of the night carrying melody with hope.
***
Something changed however, Mr. X was unusually in high spirit on this very day. He took his pot, walking in the direction of the stream joyously. His legs wearied not, dancing with him instead. The day became a bit more tolerable, singing hums and dreams aloud.
The moment that would somewhat change his routine, however, came when he saw a plant - scrawny and small. It was like love at first sight because he was taken aback by the misfortune of this small plant. He looked at it in awe as he took some drops of water from the pot onto the plant. Each drop felt satisfactory, he smiled for the first time in a long time.
Days passed - life made more sense to Mr. X, the thin veil dropped and the world started spinning once again. He would water the plant and then sit with it, observing how life can be so fickle and yet so unbelievably brilliant. The money became less important and the food grew shorter. The only thing Mr. X could think of all the time was the growth of the plant and the way he felt staring at it.
Years moved on in a bit of a flash - greyhair, stiff back and weak knees visited Mr. X abundantly. His pace grew less and less but these things mattered not to him. The short and scrawny plant had already grown into a tree, one of the biggest around.
Mr. X performed his 'duty' still, watering the small plant with a huge smile on his face.
A day came when everything came to a halt, however. His back failed him while he walked and he fell right beside the tree. His big, black pot fell on his face and in no time, Mr. X stopped breathing. Life seeped from his cold body to the short and scrawny plant which had grown into a stern and tall tree. It was all he had and to him, it was enough. It was truly enough...

©OluwaTimi