First Sunday in May.
The time is 11:17am and we are in All Saints Church. The
priest says the benediction and we all stand to sing the closing hymn. Vergers
lead the recession of the choir and clergy amidst an overwhelming symphony
bellowing from the organ pipes. The organist, a bespectacled man with an
unassuming mien swings from side to side as his feet moves freely on the organ
pedals in utter show of expertise. The organist is as mysterious as the organ.
The service ends and I exchange pleasantries with an old
lady sitting beside me who asks if I would stay back for coffee. I tell her
that I would have loved to stay but would rather leave immediately to catch up
with another appointment.
I leave the church feeling lighter, like a heavy burden was
lifted off my shoulders. Music heals.
The high street is awash with music from several bands.
Quick steps from passersby are brought to a halt to listen for some minutes,
and, perhaps, spare a coin or more. I stop to watch a particular band made up
of four young men and a girl. Two guitarists. One drummer. Two singers. Fascinating rock music. There is no appointment
more urgent than music unless it has something to do with money, of course.
The band reaches a climax and ends amidst applause. A young
lady screams bravo and goes to drop a coin in their box. Caucasian. As she
returns, I walk up to her and flash a smile.
“Hey, Good morning”.
“Good morning.”
“I bet you love their music.”
“O yeah, they’re good” she says and adjusts her sunglasses,
as if to see me clearly.
“I am Eche.”
“Lizzy.”
I ask if she could take a photo of me with my phone.
She smiles and collects my phone.
I pose.
Click!
I thank her as I take my phone back, leaving behind my
goodbye and the music.
© Echezonachukwu Nduka 2015
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