Searching.

Deep searching.

Tossing and turning.

No sleep.

Does peace exist?

The alarm rings.

It's 5:00 am.

Time to get out of bed.

The ritual continues.

This bed I lie in nightly reminds me, I can't sleep.

I lie awake thinking.

Searching.

Deep searching.

Tossing and turning.

No sleep.

Peace exists?

Another day at work.

The same faces, the same routine of typing and proofreading and printing.

Enobong asks me for a stapler.

I hand it to her, knowing this will be the last time she speaks to me.

At least I won’t have to hear her ask for a stapler again.

She’ll get her own.

On the bus home, it starts to rain.

Little drops tapping at my window.

At least nature can cry the tears I can't.

A little comforting that nature understands.

I get off the bus.

The sky's tears have become violent

The bus stop, the only safe haven under the pellets of rain.

I sit there for a while thinking.

Searching.

Deep searching for something to live for.

Something to hold on to.

I find none.

I remember the plans I make each night:

"This would be the night," I tell myself.

I sit up on the bed and reach for the sleeping pills I take each night before I lie down.

They never work.

This time they will.

I pour the contents of the bottle into my hand and attempt to swallow them all.

I manage to, then close my eyes.

As I wait for sleep to come...

But I never manage to sit up.

I keep on searching.

I decide this night will be the night.

No more deep searching.

No more tossing and turning.

I will sleep.

Forever.

"Hello, young man, hope you don't mind me sitting here," says a white old lady with thick-rimmed glasses, smiling.

She squeezes in next to me on the bench.

Her bright blue coat was not harmed by the rain, defiantly bright despite the angry tears from the sky.

"Hello," I say.

"These rains always help me make a new friend." She smiles at me, expecting me to return it.

I don't.

"Are you okay, young man?" she asks, her eyes bulging with concern.

"I'm fine," I say, hoping it’s convincing enough.

It’s not.

"How come we have matching wrinkles?" Her eyebrows arch in wonder.

For some reason, I find this funny.

My lips stretch to the left before I catch myself.

She laughs at my attempt to smile.

"Since you refuse to introduce yourself, I will first."

The rain slows to let her speak.

"My name is Leslie. What's yours?"

"Ayo."

"That's a beautiful name..." Her smile returns like it never left.

"What does it mean?"

"Joy."

"Oh, wow..."

I let the silence end the conversation and urge the rain to stop so I can start the walk home.

"Well, Ayo, I see you’re in a hurry, but do you mind if I tell you a story?"

"Sure." At least I can do my last good deed by listening to her.

"I had just finished college when my dad passed away. My three little sisters and I were left with our mom, who was heartbroken. It was like when he died, she did too. I realized that if we waited for something or someone to help us, we would die waiting. I got up and started looking for work. Each day, I would get up by 5:00 am and look for work. At first, I didn’t get much, just change that we could use to make ends meet daily."

"As the eldest, I did everything I could to fend for us and saw my sisters through school."

"They grew up, graduated, left home, and got married. And I stayed home with mom. She wasn’t speaking or eating, just walking and looking blankly.

One morning I saw that she was sleeping in later than usual. I went to wake her up and saw that she had passed too."

"After that, I felt I had nothing to live for.

I had never thought about my life or what I wanted, I had lived for her. So I started planning my death."

"The day I planned to end it all, I was at the bus stop waiting for the bus to take me home when someone stopped me and told me about Jesus.

About His love and peace that are available for all who are heavy-laden, and that He would give them rest."

"They gave me this Bible."

She reached into her handbag and brought out a brown leather Bible worn out by time and use.

She opened my palm and pressed the Bible into it.

"This is the reason I'm alive today."

A drop similar to the drizzle around us fell from my eyes. My fingers gently curled around the binding. The book felt new despite its archaic appearance.

"Why tell me this story?" I asked.

"You look like you need a reason to live. Take a chance on Jesus. I'd love to hear your story too one day."

She wiped my tears with her hands, and hugged me.

I broke down before I knew.

Tears kept flowing and a weak sob escaped my throat.

"What is this feeling?" I asked myself.

"It is comfort. Be comforted. Peace is still now." She says.

"Peace?"

"Yes, Peace. Peace is yours now".

I exhale.

There is Peace.

Okan mi bale. My heart is at peace.

It's been 11 years since we met under that bus stop in the rain. That is the reason I'm alive today.

Peace exists. Knowing Jesus is knowing peace.

I sleep like a baby each night now.

He gives His beloved good sleep (Psalm 127: 2)