God prepares me for service !

I believe that the above title will ordinarily suggest to you that I am about to tell  the story of my childhood , schooling  and the like . We may well come to that later.

I am however not going in that direction just yet.

I rather want to talk about one event that practically put the final colouration on whatever those acts of schooling had put in me before it happenend. It relates to the accident I had in August 1982, two months after I returned from the National Youth Service Corps.

Up untill our graduation in the year 1981, becoming a graduate seemed to be an unfailing guarantee of getting a job and earning steady salary.  Up to that time, it was still paradigm that if you go to university, get good grades  and settle for a job, your future was as good as guaranteed.

But then, here I was, two months after coming back from NYSC, jobless. Whatever little savings I made during the service was fast being run down to zero and I was risking that moment when I would once again need to turn to my parents for  support even just to go and submit the next application for job.

Being the first of many siblings and knowing just how stressful it was for my parents to see me through school made such a prospect much darker than it probably would have been in other circumstances. I was desperate for a job, any job.

I wrote a few articles in the papers, sometimes getting them published in virtually all the then existent newspapers. ( They were not many ! ). Rather than make me happy though, it sometimes saddened me because colleagues started writing to congratulate me on my being luckier than them , given the assumption that those publications meant that I was already engaged . How many of them do you think I could have explained the situation to , given the absence of phone.

My desperation took a leap. From wanting a job, I was moving into wanting any job. Then bingo ! An old colleague from secondary school days who had moved into the then new private video recording service and with whom I  had discussed the idea of doing a stint that was meant to lead to me setting up one such service for myself called to say there was a job on hand and I could start.

The snag was that it was to be a Saturday in far away Oyo State, before it was split, whereas the very next morning was scheduled for me to go to the altar for thanksgiving in respect of successful completion of studies and national service.

A quick family conference  had to be called to decide if I was to go or not, my dad and mum pitched each on either side of the divide. Alongside my dad, we won a silent vote in favour of my going. Fate was knocking !

The job concluded, I , my friend and his apprentice started hurrying back to Lagos with the aim of meeting the service. It was only then we realised just how far Iseyin was to Lagos. We sped as best as we could. We ignored the call of nature that saw my friend sleeping on the steering and quite a few times risked being crushed by oncoming trailer when we veered off our lane. We washed our eyes several times, ate bitter cola,ate chewing gum,  rested perfunctorily a few moments ; just about anything !

We did not want to disappoint the members of the extended family who had gathered from far and near to  join in thanking God for my success. Aside from the general truth that the success of one was the success of all for us as Africans, this was indeed an event for the Osunsanya family for whom my graduation was a first.

On we sped in spite of eyes that refused to remain open and reflexes that refused to remain primal. Fate must and indeed had its way. While trying to negotiate a bridge, we skid off its side and found ourselves ........well, I didn't know where as at the time.

All was darkness around us ! Pitch dark !

I and my friend worked at cross purposes trying to find a way out of this nowhere !

Then I saw a ray of light .

Telling my friend to keep still, I pursued it, located it and began to push for a bigger opening that should hopefully let in more light. That I achieved at last and it turned out that the light had come in from the edge of the car's jammed door. We had fallen, car and all unto the bed of the river over which the earlier cited bridge passed.

The two of us managed to come out of the expanded opening but it was hardly yet "uhuru" and the third passenger was still in the car, oblivious of where he was and all that announced him was his endless groan while he made no response to calls of his name.

We all came out eventually but on account of my being drenched in my own blood and the apprentice not being in control of himself, the best we could do was head for a hospital. I was immediately scheduled for suture while my friend's apprentice got a bed.

In the middle of all this, I had not given up on my desire to be in church , but of course neither could we have left my friend's car in the river. We sneaked out of the hospital to get these two affairs going but I was in such bad shape that those who could have assisted us in getting to Lagos often sped off upon seeing us, taking us probably for escaping armed robbers.

It was close to midnight when I got home, yet the thanksgiving had held for my dad , in rare demonstration of faith had taken my suit to the altar even as he knew not where his son was.

The suture that should have been done in the hospital much earlier was done at home with regular women's hair thread and without any form of anesthesia.

Beyond the pains, however, I heard more sermons in those few hours before sleep took us and in the next few days to last me a lifetime. The most fundamental of those sermons however came from deep within me for , even as I came out of the river and looked back at what could easily have been my death bed, as I heard stories of how many other vehicles had fallen in before with all occupants perishing, as I saw how the riverbank was jam-packed with photographers and cameramen taking shots of the miracle they had just witnessed,heard people in the crowd arguing about how senseless it was to expect that anybody could have come out of such an accident, it occurred to me that if I had indeed died in that time and place, the world would not have come to an end. All that would have happened would be for friends and associates to tactfully avoid calling my mum Mama Dotun in attempt to help her forget the pains.

That day I came to the realisation that a man's value is only to the extent of his willingness to serve others and  he could do that only while still alive, the length of which he has no way of knowing

In the next one year !

Recently, when I posted a loud thought concerning the fact that I was about to commence a 14-month process of exit from the Nigerian Civil service ,signaling the end of a 35 year service to my nation, I simply had no way of envisaging the massive, warm response it elicited . I want to use this opportunity to thank all my friends, relatives and associates who are responsible for those beautiful comments that touched the depths of my soul.

You have all collectively inspired my decision to run this blog which will both chronicle the last 34 years and be a sort of diary for the remaining one.

I hope that you enjoy traveling the next one year with me and pray that neither you nor I will be found missing when that one year comes to a conclusion.