But Father, Why Forgive?

By Michelle Mojisola Savage

Of the hundreds of simple-minded agrarian folks who inhabited the backwash land of Igbo-Akitan, were several outcasts without family or history, who sought refuge in this forgotten land to escape their past and start anew. Among them was an old man, the outcast among outcasts.

Despite his sound mind and body, this elderly man was deemed deranged, for he conversed with himself all day, and planted beans in cassava season. And his was a face that made grown men shudder in daylight. A man with such an ugly face must hide an uglier past, most people reasoned, and thus steered clear of him.
For thirty-eight years, this man lived alone in his small shack. Yet, he was the happiest of men. The earth awoken at his touch, and the river was a trusted friend. Every night, the moon shone solely for him, and the wind that rushed past him whispered only his name. He was never met without a smile, and the handful of people who ever spoke to him, spoke well of him.

One evening, the old man returned to his humble abode and discovered a young man sleeping on his bench, face troubled even in slumber. “Another destitute,” he whispered, “forgotten by society and seeking a fresh start.”
Startled by the whisper, the sleeper bolted upright, and when he saw the disfigured face before him, fell to his knees and cried, “please, spare me, forest monster! I am nothing but a wronged man, seeking the comfort of a new beginning.” 

The old man’s face contorted into a grin that tugged painfully at his scarred face. Kindly, he extended a cup of water to the young man and asked, “what brings you to the land of  the outcasts?” 
“Oh, good friend, my worries are enough to drown a fellow. For a crime I did not commit, my own twin betrayed me, and my wife and children left me. I have nothing left in this cruel unjust world,” he cried bitterly. 

To offer solace to the weeping man, the old man shared his own story - of his humble beginning, and the troubles that made him an outcast.  
“How did you find the will to carry on,” the young man asked in wonder, amazed by his host’s fortitude to smile despite his traumatic past.
    “I forgave.”
    “Forgave?!”
    “Yes, my son. When I woke up to a bloodied knife in my hand and a burning roof over my head, I forgave. Even as I fled from the judgement of death, I forgave. And now, living in this lonesome shack, I still forgive.”
“But father, why forgive those who have wronged you so much and taken your life away?” 

The old man’s smile widened. “All these years, I have lived happily and contented. If I had not forgiven, the earth would have shuddered at my touch, for I would have sowed only woe into it. The river would have drowned me, for trying to submerge it with my tears. The moon would have worn the faces of my tormentors, robbing me of peaceful nights. And the wind, which only whispers that which dwells in a man’s heart, would have deafened me with lamentations.”

“My son, forgiveness is not the acceptance of defeat, nor  the erasure of bad deeds, but that which makes waking up tomorrow a  little easier.”
 

Image - DALL E