When I was little I was quite popular in the places I frequented. That was mainly due to the academic success I enjoyed in elementary school. By the third term of Primary 5 I was made the senior prefect in my school - then, Primary school terminated in Primary 6.
As expected, getting nominated as a prefect only increases my popularity. I was well known in the school, and my mom made sure everyone in our church knows his boy is the senior prefect. From then onwards, the expectations only increased.
Then, reading the Yoruba bible is left for only the brilliant and fluent ones. In fact, a lot of adults struggled reading either the Yoruba or English versions of the bible. The funniest part of it all is that the Yoruba version is the hardest one to read despite Yoruba being the indigenous language of communication.
On a very good Sunday, just after the service, the church secretary informed my mom that I've been chosen to read the second lesson on the next Sunday service. I was to read it in Yoruba. Then, I was just 11 years old.
When we got home, my mom barely allowed me to finish my lunch before she started teaching me how to go about it. She was a typist in a government agency and easily the best at reading the Yoruba bible in the church as at then. She gave me pointers and allowed my brain to do the rest.
When the next service came, I was panicky but summoned courage to face the whole church and read the second lesson. Honestly, I don't remember if I performed excellently or not because that was a long time ago. But a memory from the whole scenario stuck with me and still influences me till this day.
As I stepped away from the pulpit where I read the lesson, the most respected man in the church walked majestically to me and handed me two new notes of ten naira. He congratulated me and went back to take his seat. I was excited.
After several years and lots of travelling all over the country, I settled in my home town after my service year. On a Sunday, I was sitting at the back of the church when I heard a child crying quietly. I asked what was wrong and he told me how he was berated because he didn't do well in his exams. I consoled him.
Further discussion with this kid showed clearly that he is very intelligent. What he lacked was confidence and a person to look up to. Then I remembered the intelligent man who complimented my efforts and gave me the confidence I needed to forge ahead. I decided to give that back to this intelligent but struggling kid.
We only get to see each other on Sundays but it's enough for me to ask how he's doing and help him in whatever little way I can. From there, I developed the penchant for helping little ones with their confidence. I met with the head of the Children Evangelical Ministry (CEM) and told her I'm interested in teaching the kids on Sundays. Since then, I've been a part of the CEM in the church.
When I was going through difficult times, someone told me it was so because I spend my time teaching kids when I should be in the church for steamy prayer sessions. She argued that what I was doing was nothing but mere work in the sight of God. And that there is a time for church work and a time for prayers.
Despite that, I've never wavered. The act of love I was shown as an 11 year old boy inspired me. The least I can do is to inspire kids in my church to be a greater version of themselves.
