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Call me Abi, not Abigail

Lasting Impact 4 years ago 4 min read

Call me Abi, not Abigail

Call me, Abi. Please don’t add the ‘Gail’ attached to my name. Maybe I will tell you why by the end of my story. In case you are wondering about my age, I am equally wondering why you want to know.

Only in this part of the world is age synonymous with sage. Anyway, let me tell you why I am writing to you this night.

He started writing to me a long time ago in secondary school. I still have those letters; they were my treasure. They were my world. I couldn’t wait to read them.

It came to a point that the post boy in my school thought I was writing a bible course from the World Bible School. For me, it meant more than that. At a point, the post boy attempted to ask me but held his piece, when he realized that my excitement would not permit any questioning.

I passed my exams and was ready for the university. When my parents suggested that I go to the school on the east coast of our country, I refused and insisted on going to the north.

They didn’t know why and I didn’t bother to give them the real reason. Right now, I know what you are thinking but I will keep it to myself. Let me leave you to roam in your mind.

During the holidays, he passed by and insisted to know my parents. I introduced him as a fellow brother in the fellowship. My mum liked him without any resistance. What a young chap, courteous and humble, she said.

Call me Abi, not Abigail

Read:An open Letter to JFK Mensah.

At one time he brought a gift to my dad. Meeting him at the door, I attempted hugging him but he stretched forth his hand like a log in harmattan. He shook my hands with a straight face and I felt embarrassed.

Later he told me that a handshake that went beyond the elbow would not be considered a play so he strictly doesn’t hug girls. Wow, wow, wow. I have not seen such frankness, not even in Israel.

Finally, my parents grudgingly agreed to my quest to attend the varsity in our country’s north. When they later found that my fellow brother in the fellowship was in his final year.

He would be a good influence on her my mother said. Indeed, he had already won the admiration of my father with his contributions when my father shared a scripture with him.

One time he told my dad that, for you to be raptured to heaven, you need scripture but you can still quote scripture and miss the rapture. My dad later nicknamed him: the young man with gray hair.

At the varsity, I thought he would visit me every day and help me through my studies. I thought he would sit me down and tell me about campus life. He only told me to figure it out myself. Why I asked but he gave me no answer.

One day, he showed up with a lady friend of his in my room. After they left, I became very uncomfortable. I woke up from my shallow sleep at half past two in the morning. So, is he already going out with someone? Is he the one for me?

The next morning, I had a knock on my door. I was too weak because of lack of sufficient sleep so could not even bother to approach the door. At last, he was the one.

My roommate informed him that I was still in bed but he insisted he wanted to see my face. By my bed, he knelt and placed a bouquet with a note by my side. What a contrast of night and day.

I quickly jumped out of my bed and headed to the washroom to prepare for class. My roommate, looking at the whole scene from the corner of her eye, didn’t know that I had stylishly removed the note attached to the flower while leaving the room.

What’s in this letter? Finally, a proposal? Or is it to tell me about his new ‘catch’? I was ‘doing the do’ on the toilet seat when I opened the note.