You slip and cover your head on Humel’s bed.
“Jack,have you had something for a meal?”he ask as he finish ironing.
“Yes,”you lie though your intestines can almost shout on how it is empty.
Though Humel doubts himself he takes your response for an answer.He has hanged a black pair of trouser on his left should and is now proceeding to switch off power to iron box.
He peers into the bed.There you lie recoiled like puff under.He too slip into the bed.
At first he thinks it’s normal to feel cold but after thirty minutes he can’t stand cold log of your body.He stretches his hand out of the blanket and onto the socket and puts on the light.Then,like a man bored by his wife,he lowers himself from the bed onto slippers.
He puts some little water in a small Sufuria then places it on already flaming gas.
As tea cooks he stretches his arm to a frying pan.Wipes it with a dry utensils towel.
He now pours slimy mixture of wheat flour and eggs on the pan.
Though you pretend to be deeply lost in sleep you’re alive to the present aroma of frying bans and you wish like turning but fear for shame.
You portend not to hear.
“Jack,” he’s now calling while tapping your cold nose.
“Wake up.Here are bans and hot tea,”he tells you as he sets them on the table.
“With your cold body I couldn’t tell the difference between you and a cold log of an ice.”
You let out a loud yawn.Then you take the meal.You want to contain your hunger and tendency to sweep everything on table for fear of shame.
Soon before you realise,the pile of bans are over.You shake the thermos and it’s empty.
Humel sneaks his head out of the partition cartain and says:
“You were surely dying,”
“Sure,” you answer slightly ashamed.
Piano music wakes you up in morning at 8:30.Turning you notice you’re alone.You part the curtains to check and there is nobody.
So you wake and drag yourself out for short call.
You notice your blue official pair of trouser,white shirt and grey vest.The set you had put on yesterday are flipping on the hanging line in the windy morning.
Humel had woken up early to go to fellowship.He was praise and worship leader.So he had lived on the premise that leading should be by example.
“Why can’t I wash these clothes for brother Jack,”he silently made a resolution.And so he had proceeded to dip Jack’s trio of Shirt,Vest and trouser in a basic overflowing with foam.
“What is leading in fellowship without embodiment of christ?”he had come to meditate and ask of these servanthood questions.
“A king’s servant stay prompt and present to his service even when he’s making love to his queen,”he thought as he rinsed the clothes.
“Let me be of service.To my brother.To my fellow man.To my even sex,”he thought almost loudly.
“By so doing I’m serving Christ,”he added smiling.
“God if there is big commendation to be given,give to it to Humel,my neighbour,”You will say as though praying.
You’ll remember your mobile phone had gone off for power yesterday just before you ran through heavy rain.You quickly rush to the room,host room.
There you find it charged.Now 100% as per notification bar.Your laptop is packed beside a woopher.Charging too.
At the the touch of the last digit of your password,notifications pours in like hail storms falling in a rainy season.Your Huawei device vibrates for fifteen minutes endlessly.
Except whatsapp messages that are still pouring in,messages are now settled.About 67 texts have deposited in your inbox.
“Good evening,”Anna’s text will read.”Hello again”….”You aren’t talking to me today?”…”I miss you so much”.
Then like a maniac,she wrote at one AM,”I’m trying to call and you’re not available…..have you switched off your device to switch me off?”
Anna’s string texts continues until about 8:30 where she has written,”Even after switching me off you haven’t decided to turn on your phone?”
That one text that will hit you in surprise is from Bettie.Whom at 6:30 AM she wrote to say,”Hello my…..it’s now the end sem….you still remember your promise….i’m dying with this feeling…i dream to see you…i will comr to your room toda this afternoon…..”