Visionaries -- A true tale of Religion and Mystery #5

petermarie (57)in #writing • 8 years ago (edited)

This is the story of an event that happened in a catholic school in Nigeria, events which I witnessed and was a part of, and which have never been resolved till date. Names have been changed, but the tale is true, and told as I remember it.

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

SATURDAY, June 12th 2010

5:30am

Rising Bell.

The first sound of the morning.

I opened my eyes grudgingly as the dormitory lights came on. Outside, the heavy bell was still tolling, as it would for the next minute to ensure everyone woke up. Up and down the dormitory, as in the whole school, boys were jumping down from their bunks and grabbing buckets. We had 45 minutes to take our baths and prepare for the first daily activity of St. George’s –the celebration of the Holy Mass. And lateness to activities, especially the Mass, was not tolerated at all. Soon, we are all trudging up to the Chapel.

The New Chapel, where we celebrate Mass, is located at the peak of St. George’s hill. The school itself isn’t very big. A single tarred road runs up from the gate at a low point of the school to the hilltop where it stops in a large expanse, bordered by three buildings –the New Chapel, the father’s house where the priests live, and our multipurpose hall, which stands at the very peak and overlooks all the other buildings. Most of the remaining space in the school is taken up by our sports arenas. Two fields, one larger than the other, two basketball courts, a lawn tennis court, and a sandy volleyball court separating the two dormitory blocks. The other major buildings are interspersed between and around these –the senior and junior classroom blocks, the refectory and kitchen, and the small house where priests-in-training from the catholic major seminaries stay, to assist the priests in running the school. No two buildings are on the same level.

By the time we are in the chapel and prayers have begun, the day is already bright. Light pours in from the high windows, joining with the numerous bulbs to illuminate the room. The chapel is structured as a diamond, with the altar at one corner, and the only entrance to the building in the corner across from it. There are four columns of pews, two in the centre and two at the sides, all facing the altar. The entire thing is very symmetric.

The altar itself is simple. A huge crucifix hangs above it, affixed to the corner. There is only one pulpit, a wooden one from which the readings of the day are taken. Beside the pulpit and facing the congregation are three chairs, meant for the priests officiating over the Mass. Behind these is one simple bench for Mass servers. All these sit at the right of the altar table, raised one stair above them. The only thing at its left is another simple bench, to accommodate more Mass servers if necessary.

I sat on the right centre column, at the very edge of the row second to the last –my regular seat. This means I sat directly in front of one of the current Senior Prefects, Michael Chimdindu, my classmate and very good friend. Along his pew, and that on the other side of the central aisle, were the rest of my classmates. My own pew was occupied by J.S. 3 students, including Samuel, who I was fonder of than any other junior student, directly beside me.

Morning prayers were concluded. The priests began to arrive. The officiating priest of the week, our bursar Fr. Patrick walks in first and heads to the sacristy behind the altar. The other priests follow swiftly –the rector Fr. Francis, the vice-rector Fr. Simon, and our spiritual director Fr. Julius. I had all but forgotten about the business with the visions. But then the Mass begins, and Fr. Patrick announces the Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and it all rushes back to me. If the visions had anything to do with yesterday’s feast, then it might not be over yet. I glanced around the chapel, almost expecting something to happen suddenly, but the Mass ended uneventfully. Everything was normal. Perhaps it was really over.

Then Samuel turned to me. “Peter,” he’s one of the very few who talk to me on a first name basis. “Did you hear about Igwe Stephen and the visions?”

I froze for a second, then frowned and turned to him. “Visions? Igwe saw visions?”

He shook his head. “No, but he was helping people see. He did it for some J.S.1 boys yesterday, and some of my class boys.”

“Augustine told me something about that,” I replied. Then I pause again and peer intently at him. “Wait –did you see?”

“Me? No o… I didn’t do, abeg,” Samuel said. “Some of them were crying, others were really afraid –who wants to go through all that? With everything I’ve done?”

My frown deepened. Samuel was actually afraid of seeing something supernatural. And it seemed those seeing the visions were more than I thought. And Igwe was the only conduit? That was strange to say the least. Yes, the boy could be overwhelmingly saintly, but was that really how God worked? I still couldn’t decide what I thought, so I decided something else. It was time I talked to someone else about this. And I knew just the one.