As the castle of Journalism where I had been secure for two decades crashed earlier this year into bricks and rubble, exposing my life to whirlwind, tornado and tsunami, my inner eyes did not foresee another sunrise, not a sunrise on Sunday, August 26, 2018, my birthday. I could not imagine a sunrise in a dark world where thousands of journalists have been thrown into misery, some into the darkness of death, some into the furnace of frustration, some into the dangerous den of lions to be eaten flesh and bone by the wild beast of hunger and starvation.
So, I say thank you, Lord for taping and waking me up on Sunday; and for assembling a crowd around me, clapping and cheering me up; generously donating love and kindness, and to give me a sense of hope that as long as there is another sunrise, a new hope shall arise, like a phoenix, from the waste of disappointment.
It was amazing that my empty bank accounts woke me up with melodious songs. I mean, songs from banks, where I can no longer walked into with cheque books I had grabbed from them as I snaked from one Journalism job to another. Their songs trickled into my mobile phone with poetic verses. I didn’t know they are so large-hearted – even to a cashless customer. After then, my old and new friends; young and old friends on Facebook and WhatsApp flooded my life with unexpected good wishes, such that I felt elegant and different to be alive again [every day is a new beginning of life].
I’m alive because I live in a multitude of helpers.
My soul, body and spirit prostrate in gratitude to Almighty God for securing me, for creating a hedge around me from the prowling and roaring lion of death and destruction in the last 365 days and nights. As my grey hairs multiply, so also has this truth multiplied – the truth that every day is a bucket of scorpions that bite the sons of Eve with trouble, sickness, diseases, accidents, unimaginable calamities and eventual death. Therefore, to be alive from sunrise to sunset, and to be alive from sunset to another sunrise, is an amazing miracle for which we must throw up our arms in the air, raise our voices to high heavens and give thanks to God who has not surrendered us to the teeth of scorpions.
I thank you, Lord! I thank you, Lord!! I thank you, Lord!I thank you, all. Many have served as God’s finger in my life, extending a fellowship of love, and serving as pillars in the new future the Almighty is constructing in my life. I’m alive because I live in a multitude of helpers. I thank you, all – both great and growing. I thank you, all, who have said kind words about me; and I thank you all who have embraced me in spite of my muddy and oily garment.
I thank you, all. A crowd shall surround and cheer you up on your day of celebration.
Author: Theophilus Abbah
I’m a journalist, writer, researcher and trainer. My life’s ship has docked in the island of journalism in the last two decades where I’ve snaked through all its compartments – from reporter to newspaper editor. I’ve studied volumes of other people’s writings on Forensic Linguistics and propounded what I’ve titled ‘the language of terrorism.’ I’m expecting an award of a PhD in English Language from the University of Abuja soon in order to console me for my daily sweats and sleepless nights.