Peace restored (Part 6)
For godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death. [2 Corinthians 7:10 New King James Version (NKJV)]
As we entered, we were met by a committee of beings that resembled ogres but defied their typical depiction. Instead of imposing muscular forms, they were like green blobs of nothingness. Their eyes, however, told a different story — instead of malice and wickedness, they looked sad, red-rimmed, and puffy, as if they had been crying hard. They sniffled, their voices trembling as they chorused, “Welcome.”
The beings led us in, each attendant paired off with a member of our group, escorting us with quiet reverence. They heaved heavily but silently, as though they dared not make a sound. As we moved, I looked around. The hall felt like a graveyard, as if the dead were present. The air was thick with an ominous presence, yet nothing seemed out of place. It was as if the space itself radiated discomfort, a sense of unease with no discernible source.
The interior, however, was a masterpiece of elegance, with crystal chandeliers, intricate filigree, and plush carpets. Every detail seemed carefully considered, from the polished furnishings to the soft lighting. Yet, as I beheld the beauty around me, a chill ran down my spine, cold seeped into my bones, and goosebumps spread across my skin. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off. This was a beautiful place, but the aura was rancid!
As we moved forward, ushered by our attendants, I spotted familiar faces — Ladipe, Sogudi, Ebedire, Odidere… Ehn; Odidere had a toddler. How long had it been since she disappeared? I wondered. Some eyes lit up at the sight of us, while others were shocked, especially when they saw the scars that adorned our bodies. My eyes met theirs, and I forced a weak smile, happy to see familiar faces again.
But as I involuntarily perused them, I knew something wasn’t right. Something was off, but I couldn’t comprehend what it was. We moved briskly, surreptitiously urged by our attendants. We reached our quarters, and just like Abode of Just Recompense, there were personalized cubicles, complete with all necessities, bearing our names. However, unlike Abode of Just Recompense, which featured a mirror image of Ayepe town, this place did not. It featured only cubicles for people who were still at Ayepe, and it didn’t cater to people already at the Abode of Just Recompense.
While I tried settling in, Juja, an Ayepe indigene, came to me, drawn by the scars on my body. He asked how I got my scars. I was shocked — wasn’t Abode of Just Recompense the first stop? Apparently not. This was the first place he found; he came here straight, never knowing about the Abode of Just Recompense.
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As I regaled him with my experience at Abode of Just Recompense, the atmosphere shifted, and a tangible sadness began to permeate the air. They were visible; they appeared like bulbs, suspended by invisible ropes, and looked like delicate onion bulbs made of tissue-like material. They jiggled menacingly, threatening to unleash their sorrowful contents. Suddenly a man appeared. Haaa!!! He was pitiful, and it was clear that he had once been handsome but now looked ragged and haggard. His skin was melting off, only to be replaced by new skin. He embodied sorrow, like one who had suffered every kind of misfortune!
His voice cut through the air as he introduced himself as Banuje (Sorrow). Before he could continue, his face contorted as a bulb of sorrow descended upon him. He burst into heart-wrenching tears. “We are sorry, we really are sorry, we are so sorry,” Banuje wailed loudly. His apology echoed through the space, leaving me wondering, “What for? When will you be forgiven? Who will release you?”
As if summoned by Banuje’s tears, more sorrowful bulbs in the atmosphere sank, landing on our heads. They permeated our skin, hair, and even our mouths, inducing an overwhelming grief. It brooked no resistance and entered everyone. Everyone curled inward, fetal-like, and began crying uncontrollably; they heaved and heaved, quaking with tears.
It landed on my head, and I also curled inward. I felt an unbearable weight in my heart, as if I couldn’t stop the sorrow from consuming me. My heart felt like it would burst from my chest, and I thought I was having a heart attack. Thousands of electric shocks seemed to course through my heart. The sorrow was crippling!
I started pulling at my clothes, beating at my chest. Suddenly, one of my fingers began shrinking, life ebbing from it. It shriveled and eventually fell off, leaving me with nine fingers. Then, what was off became clear: people were getting disabled. The new skins were actually cloaks of grief, for people bent over as new skin grew on them!
The sorrow was causing their bodies to shrivel, their functions lost. I realized this as I looked at Juja, who now had a hunchback, and Danipe, whose hands were now diseased. No one beat or maimed anyone; the sorrow was enough!
Oh, they were fed and clothed, for each cubicle was fitted with a functioning kitchenette and choice meals, but they didn’t look like it. Everyone looked poor and in different states of degeneration. I gazed around, horrified, as I realized that everyone was deformed. Every single one, even we newcomers — I had just lost a finger!
Body parts had atrophied; skin hung off bones like wet velvet garments. Even the old Ayepe dwellers, once strong and able-bodied, had shrunk, bent, and shriveled into deformity. Without much thought, I screamed, “What is this? Where is this?”
To be continued…
