NEVER ENDING SIGHT

It was meant to be a fun ride between two friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. Our lust for adventure leading us on, the weekend was ours.
We rolled the windows of his old Peugeot car down to the fullest and raised our hands in the air as we’ve seen foreign youths in many movies do which was tantamount to freedom as we approached Ile- Ife, Osun state, we felt grand.
The town has this beauty that can only be appreciated on a still life painting but it gave an odd but pleasant sense of belonging. One can see most preserved culture in the outfit worn by street traders made from local tie and die in diverse styles, the mud houses with thatched roofs and the occasional smell of definitely delicious food that wafted the air from roadside canteens.
Still admiring the town, I heard loud shouts that jerked me back to reality. The driver wasn’t aware of the little girl that was crossing the street, the screams from bystanders; it was a little too late. She was crushed. Right there before my very eyes, I was shaken as I sat in his car.
In that instant traffic caused by the accident, I got down from the vehicle, feeling suffocated and having an urge to escape my surrounding, just then, I saw it, the”IFE MUSEUM” boldly written. I had no reason to go in but my legs wouldn’t stop working towards the brick building like I was in a trance.
I went straight to one of the bronze heads, to that of “Olorun”, the god of peace, purity, humanity and justice. My Christianity was neglected at that point and I needed to feel the proximity of a supernatural being even if it was a deity in a museum.
I looked straight into the eye that was obviously blind, in my state of limbo and having the urge to scream, to know why such innocent life should be taken away. I wasn’t allowed to touch the oiled head, yet, I couldn’t stop staring into those blind eyes. Then I felt it.
I felt peace, I felt a sensation inside my heart like a sort of rebirth and I never could tell if it all happened in my head but I knew that my life was changed forever.
Looking back at the occurrence that fateful day, I knew that the museum was my temple, my lifeline and in times of fear, think it weird but the memory of me staring into the eye of “Olorun” in all its bronze glory soothes me.
If I ever go to the museum again, it would be as a tourist seeking for new discoveries on rich history and traditions. Who knows, it might also be to renew the mojo I found that fateful day staring at “Olorun’s” blind eyes.