The Call of the Wild

Last year , a missionary came to my church in Toronto. He talked about the mission to the First Nations.…


September 13, 2016

Last year , a missionary came to my church in Toronto. He talked about the mission to the First Nations. The stories he told left my heart broken. The conditions he was describing seemed impossible in Canada yet it exists, in Canada and in the US. Yesterday, for some weird reason, I started praying for these people. So lost, so beautiful, so reviled…

Someday, we will all live together in love. Come Jesus, come.

Somewhere along the line, I stumbled. I tripped over an invisible obstacle both of us knew existed but neither of us knew where exactly.

Somewhere along the line, your light started to dim and I no longer shone because what is the moon without the sun.

Somewhere in between, we started to sleep with our backs turned, we forgot to kiss each other’s frown lines away before they turned into wrinkles.

One day I woke up and you were gone. I waited a few days but you remained gone so I slept with Oyekola, your friend with eyes like a snake.

Two days ago I left him and came to find you. I drove all day and all night and now I am here. Over the hills, in the place where the sun rises. You look the same. Like the sun. And me, I am shining for the first time in a long time.

“You came,” He says.

“I came,” She answers.

He nods and reaches out to smooth her curls that have escaped her Afro bun.

“The reservation is no place for a normal person.”

“Then I have come to the right place”

He tries to hide his smile in between the lines that the sun was beaten into his face but she can feel it anyway.

“The child?”

“Is safe.”

“I am sorry I never met her.”

“She isn’t. She has a father in Kola.”

“What did you name her?”

“Adaba, Wings of Peace, Luyu.”

He beckons for her to walk beside him. His hair is long now. He had kept it short and respectable those days when all they were was a respectable couple living in Brooklyn. She wants to reach out and yank his ponytail, to cause him a sliver of the pain he made her feel by leaving, by not taking her with him.

They are at the entrance to the place he has called home for five years now. It is nothing but it is home. Everywhere she turns, the earth is red and she wonders how much blood it has soaked.

“This is it”


“It isn’t much but I haven’t thought of dying since I built it. My ancestors lived and died here. It is home.”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“I didn’t know how to make it home for you…”

She tiptoes and does what she has wanted to do every waking moment these past five years.

“You can never leave me again, Helaku, Full of Sun,” She tells him when she can breathe.

He holds her and together they look skywards. For the first time in five years, the moon makes a showing.

“One of the most difficult things to hear is when the community says, ‘We can grieve no more. We’re cried out. We just can’t respond anymore to the problem,”
 A new report, published by the CDC’s National Center for Health Statistics, highlights what Native American health experts have long known: Suicide among Native youth is a crisis, and one that is not receiving the attention it needs- Huffington Post, October 2015
Song of the day: Chase & Status Ft. Jacob Banks – Alive
  • Hope
  • Love

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