I have noticed how the nature of man can be hidden from sight by their smiles and serpentine show of love.
I had since learned that in life most things are based on quid pro quo. Sometimes, you just have to find out what's on people's mind when accepting help from them. .
sourcesI was once told, by someone whom I should still regard as my benefactor, that I lack respect and honor. He had helped me at a time when I needed assistance with one pressing issue. It is typical of me not to beg anyone, even if I'm in a dire situation. I'd rather ask, and if I'm turned down, I walk. I know the difference between begging and asking. It was the same with this helper of mine. Let me introduce him as Mr Bassi.
I had expressed my gratitude to Mr Bassi in every way I thought was right. I thanked him when I got the funds I needed and also after I was able to sort out the issue without further complications. This was someone I didn't have any prior relationship with. We were not even close but he was a known person. Somehow, he got the gist of what had happened and offered to help.
I went to his house and he gave me a history of how blood mingles with water to produce oil, and all that blah. I came because he asked me to, and why I came was what I expected to leave his house with. I didn't come for history lessons—or was that wrong of me?
At last, everything equated to money. I got the exact sum—I didn't lobby for extra. But he added a small change, you know, for miscellaneous. But the son of man didn't take that to heart. I thanked him profusely. He had just saved my ass. Perhaps, he did part of the saving… I was grateful nonetheless, and I expressed it.
I saw to it that I covered every track to the issue leaving no trace for any misgivings. I'm not going back with any super story as long as that matter is concerned. The previous history class was boring, as well. There's no way I was going to sit for another one. Good thing, I pulled it off, and went to give my progress report, with thanksgiving in my heart. My Helper just sat there smiling wryly at me while I was busy with my thanksgiving service. After I was done, home was the only thing on my mind. I didn't like the way he was smiling already.
His wife, Mrs Bassi brought food, and I said, “Thank you, Ma. Can I come next time for the food, please?”
“Ha, no o. You cannot go without eating o.”
Who was I to refuse? I untightened my belt. Shit was about to go down. I made sure the dishes were empty. Fufu and bitter leaf soup is one mad combo I can embarrass myself for. I don't care if my destiny was being exchanged. After all,I wasn't eating directly from her pot or in her kitchen. I was served. I didn't ask, nor beg. I said a prayer in my heart, and descended on the food like an offended soldier rough handling a tout.
“Thank you Ma. I haven't eaten bitter leaf and fufu in a very long time. It was delicious.” I expressed my appreciation. Boy, I was indeed satisfied.
“You’re welcome. I am glad you enjoyed it.” She answered. “You can come next time. I make fufu often.” She added, clearing the table.
“Aha, I look forward to it, Ma. Thank you.” I said to her, then turned to Mr Bassi:
“Ok Sir. Let me be on my way. Thank you once again for your kindness towards me. I really appreciate it, Sir.”
“Ok. I am glad I was able to help. Feel free to call in anytime you need any help” He said.
“I will, Sir. Goodbye”
While on my way home, I thought to myself, “did he just say to feel free to call in anytime I needed help? No, I'm not falling for that. This was a one-off thing. If I ever call, I would be calling to check on him. This time, I would be the one helping.”
And I did call. From time to time, I did call. To say hello, and “I'm still grateful”, of course. And then, I couldn't keep the call going again. Because he was not feeling it anymore. I didn't pay frequent visits either. After about eight months or so I moved on. However, occasionally, I used to bump into him at some places, and he would ignore me sometimes, and I didn't mind. I'm not his bitch after all —or am I?
One day, I met a close relative of his —blood or water, I don't really know, but the oil was quite thick, because he spoke with an accent similar to that of Mr Bassi. He told me how he went to ask for help and the man didn't want to help. He had to beg and beg, before he got access. Now he doesn't know how to break free. His uncle, or whatever he is to him, was controlling his life like he is still a toddler.
source“I don’t even have time for myself anymore. He uses me as if I am his PA.” He whined.
Laughable confessions he gave but I didn't know how to laugh, nor how to console him.
“I don't know how you feel or what to say, but you'll be alright.” I remember telling him.
One day, I followed him to go see our benefactor, his uncle —Mr Bassi. The man gave me an attitude I didn't see coming. But who Cares. I didn't come to catch feelings either—just to say hello, and possibly meet and greet whoever cared to come around. He started deriding me as if I was his houseboy or employee. He told me how I didn't know how to appreciate the help I got and concluded that I lack respect and honor.
My mind went back in time to retrieve memories of any act of disrespect or dishonor I ever committed but everything came negative. Should I have rejected the offer of help or the funds, or the small money for miscellaneous? Maybe, I shouldn't have devoured his wife's food the way I did. None of the scenarios made any sense. Maybe he was upset by something else. But then again, I didn't care. In my mind, I was saying, “Whatever it is, Sir, knock yourself out. That's none of my business.” But all I could say to him was, “Sorry Sir”.
I have kept my distance since then. But his wife promised me another meal. All I had to do was come around. A generous plate of fufu, and whatever soup it would be, can't do me no harm, but an embittered helper can. I respect him, nonetheless.
sourceThank you for reading.
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