I met a stranger in a cave.

My name is Chukwudumeje, I am my father’s youngest son and the silliest of my father’s children. The village women swear that I am an adventurer just like mother. They are wrong, I am no adventurer but a fool, a big mortar headed fool.

My Father’s birthday was the grandest event the neighboring towns had witnessed in over 30 years. He had turned 70 and was ready to give us, my brother and I, portions of lands and cattle to look after. I wasn’t interested in leading a sheltered and limited life so I demanded that my father gave me my inheritance in gold. 

After much back and forth, my father conceded and I was free to tour the provinces with tons and tons of gold. It was my friend Okengwu’s idea to invite the girls and throw parties, to pay homage to the masquerades and never settle in a village.

According to him, I, Chukwudumeje am a bird, and a bird could make nest anywhere. 

Slowly but surely, my bags of gold started to lose weight, the three servants carrying the hefty bags opted to return to my father and I let them, there was absolutely no need for them anyway.  

I toured the villages, ate with kings, watched the most exotic dancers, drank fresh milk and bathed in springs of hidden mountains. I wore the best tunics and embellished my skin with scented oils, I was a rich man until I was a poor man.

Okengwu was quick to desert me, he swore he was going to get help but it’s been over a year now and I am living in a cave, working in a pigsty and grateful to be feeding on the barks of yam and the shavings of cassava sticks.

It was a befitting ending for the chief’s foolish son until I met a stranger in that cave.

It was another day of back breaking work, another reminder of the magnitude of my folly, of the man I chose to be.

 That’s when I saw Him. 

He looked like a traveler, he wore a kind of linen tunic, pristine white, a golden pendant hung from his neck, the shape of a key. He walked with the charisma o f a noble, I know this because I used to be one. We talked about everything, his home, my Father, his business, food, my job and even my folly. He told me that the key on His neck was from one of the many battles He fought and won.

He encouraged me to return to my father, in fact our wholesome conversation knocked a great measure of sense into my subconscious.

I am my Father’s son, foolish or not. I would rather return home in shame and face the embarrassment because there will always be space for me at home. 

I was seen, heard and understood by Him. Our conversation was punctuated by tears, laughter and hugs. When I asked Him where He was headed, His response was cryptic. He asked me to return to my Father as He returns to His. He said He will return to take me with him