Everything Happens For A Reason

I first heard the following story as a child from a friend's dad. I have found it very inspiring in dealing with many of my ups and downs in life and I hope that you too might find it useful.  

The story is about a very rich king who lived in a big palace built with thatched roof. He owned several horses and a dog.

The king was blessed with a rare gift which enabled him to understand the language of the dogs. He used this skill to secretly listen to many of the conversations his dog had with other dogs that visited from the neighbourhood.

One evening, as the king was walking around his garden, he noticed that his dog was barking in a very unusual way. In their hush conversation, his dog told the other dogs that the king's favourite horse was about to die. They all knew how much the king loved that particular horse. He regularly rode on the horse around the neighbourhood as a mark of his wealth. It was also the one he liked to ride on during royal occasions.

The dog said the only thing the king could do to avert the death of his horse was to sell it within seven days.  

When the king heard this, he went back to his palace and the following day, the king arranged and got his favourite horse sold and made a huge profit.  

Several days later, the king was again in his garden when his dog started to bark. When asked what the problem was, the dog said in seven days, the kings palace would be flooded, swept away and destroyed completely and that the king could only avert the impending disaster by building a moat around his palace.  

The moment the king heard this, he quickly arranged for a wide moat to be constructed around his palace.  

A few days passed, the dog began to bark histerically telling the other dogs that the king's palace would soon be burnt down and  the king could not stop the fire unless he removed a bundle of thatch from the roof of his palace.  

The king wasted no time and got his servants to remove a bundle of thatch from the roof of his palace.  

Nine days after, the animals gathered again.  This time, they were all in distress. It was highly unusual and it continued relentlessly for a long period. They were conversing in hush tones. Their emotions were high. The king came out of his palace and moved very close so that he could hear what the dog had to say this time. After a long wait, the kind heard the god telling the other animals that the king's death was imminent and that there was nothing he could do to prevent his death within the next seven days. 

As the dog was still speaking, the other dogs started to cry. They all loved the king so much. None of them wanted him to die because he took good care of them. They all  asked the dog if there was anything they, the king or any of them could do to avert the King's death. They all wanted to help safe the king's life but the matter was beyond them. 

The king sprang out of his palatial seat and started to beg the dog for help to spare his life.

The dog was shocked and petrified. He could not belief that the king understood dog's language.

The dog stepped forward, stood in front of the king and bowed down before him in reverence. He explained that if he knew that king understood the language of dogs and could communicate with them, he would have advised him to let his favourite horse die, instead of selling it; to let the palace be flooded instead of building the moat to safe it; and to let the palace burn down instead of removing one bundle of thatch from the roof. "All of those things", said the dog  "were meant to happen in order to save the life of the king." 

We may not understand the language of dogs but the God creator of all things does have a purpose for our life.

What lessons could we possibly learn from this story on how we understand and respond to each of our misfortunes in every event that crosses our way as the ending of one event triggers the beginning of another in the endless cycle of our journey in life?

Thoughts

We become what we think.

Rescued from the Lion’s Den

The time was around 11pm on Wednesday January 27, 1984. Femi Oniaiye and I had just hit Lagos after the long drive from Ogidi in his brand new Peugeot 504 saloon car.

Femi was on the driving seat all through until we got to Ibadan on our return journey when he asked me to take over.

So from Ibadan, I drove straight to his house in Mafoloku not far from Ikeja Cantonment. The plan was that I would first drop him at his house before proceeding to Festac Town where I lived. I still needed Femi to drive me around in Lagos to tidy up things before my planned departure to the UK on Sunday January 29, 1984. 

Having dropped Femi, I made my way to Festac Town via the Apapa-Oshodi Expressway. I had just driven past the flyover at Isolo when I noticed that the car ahead of me had swerved suddenly to the left. Not knowing why the driver did that, I decided to keep driving straight ahead. Suddenly, I noticed an object rolling across the road. By the time I realised what it was, it was too late to avoid collision. 

In those days, Isolo Road was one of the most notorious areas in Lagos noted for their incessant armed robbery attacks. There was hardly any day that a dead body was not found by the roadside. 

The moment I realised that the car had hit the object, I had to keep driving even with the front left tyre completely flattened making the car to be virtually undriveable. I was determined to move the car as far away from the scene of the collision as possible. I managed to drive for about two kilometers further down the road before it finally grounded to a halt. 

I was scared to the bones and so I began to pray, repeatedly calling the name of Jesus. I had never been so frightened in my life, thinking that my end was near. The street was dark. Several vehicles were driving at full speed. None of them had noticed what had happened. In fact no driver could see me where I was. The place was too lonely and without street lights.

I had some money in the glove compartment of the car which was wrapped with a newspaper and hidden inside a black cellophane bag. I removed the money and put it inside my pocket. Then I removed my hand bag and as I was about to come out of the car, I noticed that a big vehicle had pulled up right behind me with its full lights on. I was terrified. I could not scream. I just froze. I kept calling the name of Jesus. I was desperate to escape but did not know how. I started to say "Hail Mary, full of grace……". Then, as a Catholic, that was one of the few prayers I could recite. For the first time in so many years, I was calling on the name of Jesus without ceasing. I did not know what else I could do.

Then it occurred to me that I could try and run to the other side of the road. It was a dual carriage way. As I said, there were several fast moving vehicles on both directions of the road. Any careless attempt to run across was more suicidal. I had little option. I just had to do something to safe my life. I knew the car had gone. All my energy focused on keeping myself safe and away from harm's way. At that moment, saving the car was not a priority. 

In the middle of my internal confusion, I turned round and saw about ten people dressed in military police uniform. I saw at least four of them flashing their torchlights at me. I could hear one of them saying, "be calm." I could not tell if the instruction was being directed at me or at someone else. Momentarily I froze. I had no way of escaping as I was not sure if they were actually armed robbers in police uniform.

One of the uniformed men approached me. He came so close that I thought he was going to attack me. He explained in a calm non-military tone that they were military police officers on routine patrol duty. He said they had seen what happened to me and that they had been following my car from the moment it hit the object. He told me that the people that threw the object had crossed over to our side of the road in preparation to attack me. He explained that when they noticed that I had been surrounded by the anti-riot police officers, they tried to hide themselves inside the bush hoping that the car would eventually be abandoned and they would come out and remove it.

One of the officers asked if I had a spare tyre. I told him I had. As two of them were helping me to change the tyre, I heard the name "Ade" coming from one of the officers holding a torchlight. I looked up and the person looked at me more closely. Suddenly, I heard him screamed my name again. 

That was when I noticed that it was Boda Jimoh (now deceased) right in front of me. Boda Jimoh was the son of one of the Muslim members of my family. He was brought up by my father and we used to go to the farm together when I was a little kid. He started his primary school at the village’s Islamic school but went on to complete it at St Michael’s Primary School. I was aware that he had joined the police but had not seen him for many years.

As soon as he recognised me, he screamed and told his colleagues that I was his brother. He gave me a huge hug and introduced me to his colleagues. He said he had been told I was traveling abroad. When the change of tyre was completed, he asked me to drive on and that they would escort me down to Festac Town. I got home at about 12:30am and my wife had been waiting outside apparently wondering what might have delayed me. It was a miracle that I survived the ordeal and live to tell the story today.

Ade Medupin

Pandemonium As A Masquerade Turned To Human

Shortly before the end of my primary school in 1966, the entire Medupin family was visited by series of tragedies. Three young members of the family died mysteriously in succession.

Signs of trouble started with the celebrations of the Agbo Masquerade Festival. The festival takes place annually between the 10th and 11th months of the year in order to mark the end of one and the beginning of another year. During the celebration, a ritual procession would take place for a period of six days during which an oracle would be consulted to fix the exact date the festival would commence. Few weeks before the event, materials for the costumes would be gathered from various locations by the Ogba. The materials would be bundled together and carried to Igbo’ka for the final preparation for the D day. The Ogba, when moving the materials from one location to another were not to be seen by women. Their approach would be announced by some weird sounds.

On the first day of the festival, a horde of Agbo masquerades would dance down through the main routes and move on to the market square where the traditional ruler of Ogidi would then address the masquerades and enjoin them to be of good behaviour, not to beat visitors, school children and pregnant women with their whips. Afterwards, the masquerades would start to display their dancing skills. They would dance around the village in their different shapes and sizes in beautiful costumes made from different leaves such as banana leaves, brooms, etc at times with baskets.

According to eye witness accounts, a barber was barbing the hair of the young son of a cousin of my father who lived in our house. The man had just returned to the community with his young wife and son after a long sojourn in another part of the country. One of the masquerades had veered off the main road to the frontage of my father’s house and, without provocation, whipped the woman and his son. My father was a high chief in the community with two titles. That conferred certain privileges on him in the community. Beating those people right in front of his house without provocation as the masquerade did was tantamount to beating my father which was viewed as an act of extreme disrespect bordering on an abomination. Apparently having been informed of what happened at home, my father rushed back and in his fury seized a long stick being used as a walking aid by a youngster who was suffering from an affliction and pursued the errant masquerade to a location about 100 meters from our house an whipped him.

The whipping was more of a symbolic demonstration of his dissatisfaction with the disorderly conduct of the masquerade because his straw costume was thick enough to protect him. My father was still at the scene of the incident when word went round the village about what had just happened. Within a very short time, another man emerged on the scene and started to whip the Agbo. That was the moment they said the Agbo suddenly pulled off the material used for his disguise and simply laid them down on the ground in the presence of many onlookers. There was pandemonium. Men, woman, children young and old ran helter skelter looking for cover. It was an abomination for an Agbo to turn to a human being in broad day light. There was an ancient belief that the Agbo were spirits from heaven and that they possessed supernatural healing powers.

Within months of the incident, the man in whose hand the Masquerade became human, died a mysteriously painful death.

That was just the beginning. My father was accused by the Ifa oracle of being responsible for the incident. He was asked to appease the gods in ritual sacrifices. He denied any involvement and refused to be involved in appeasing the gods as demanded. They threatened to deal with him and members of his extended family if he failed to meet their demands. My father called their bluff and refused their demands.

Within three months of the incident, three young members of the family had died suddenly, mysteriously and in quick secession. The first one drowned on the River Niger and his body was never found. All the three who died were sons of his younger brothers. No one could tell if the deaths had any connection with the Agbo incident but the traditional religionists accused my father of sacrificing them instead of his own direct sons. It was a strategy to divide the family. But it did not appear to have worked as the incidents practically brought my father and his siblings much closer together.

Several nights after the deaths of three young members of the family, we would hear mysterious voices outside our house. Sometimes, they would be crying. At other times, they would be shouting and screaming. I would hear some horrible sounds like people in distress. They had also accused my mother of peeping through her window to look at them in the night. That was a very serious allegation as women were forbidden from seeing night masquerades, (Egun Oru). They asked my father for her blood. They threatened to have the blood of her son instead. That was one of the most frightening periods of my life. We had many sleepless nights. After the death of three young members of the family, who was next? I was in fear. I could not sleep for several nights.

Meanwhile, my mother had become very ill, battling with her own allegation. Her illness started very suddenly and degenerated very fast. We thought she was going to die.  

My mother was on the sick bed for good three months. She had already been taken as dead. She had become extremely pale unable to stand on her own.

One night, something very strange took place. My mother stood up beside her bed. She had asked for my father. My father was immediately called into her room. She looked up to my father and thanked him. She took a deep breath and lied down again. We had all thought that was the end. But within three days of the unexplained incident, my mother started to recover from her illness and within two weeks she was up and about again.

It was a happy ending to a traumatic personal childhood experience which is still very fresh in my memory. It was an experience that strengthened my confidence in the family. It gave me a practical lesson in the saying, "a house divided against itself can never stand." The incident, unfortunate as it was, instead of dividing the family, kept it together and actually helped to increase the bond among the seven pillars that made up the Medupin dynasty with my father as the head. This was most probably due to their common Roman Catholic connection. The experience laid the foundation for my strong belief in the power of a united family. When the family is internally united, no weapon fashioned against it externally will penetrate.

Family unity is the inner strength to withstand adversity. It is the ability to stand firm and remain hopeful even when the situation appears to be hopeless. In the time of family upheaval like the one  I experienced, a united family is like the palm tree. As the palm tree uses the time of storm as an opportunity to showcase its strength and stability, so is the time of crisis designed to demonstrate the strength of the character and stabilit

Meditating with Psalm 23

I spent much of my childhood life in the rural middle belt of Nigeria, supporting my father to look after his over 200 heads of cattle. Before I started my primary education at the age of 12, I had spent five years of my life working with the Fulani cattle-raising family that my father had employed for his cow farming business. For this reason, I can say that I know a few things about the duties and responsibilities of a good shepherd.

Fundamentally, my job was to support the Fulani in providing an enabling environment for my father's cows to exist, flourish and be protected from all types of predators and diseases.

As a shepherd boy, with my strong and handy staff at my disposal, I was ready to do just about anything to protect each cow from the youngest to the oldest. I knew each cow by name and they all recognised me. They never felt threatened by my presence. They knew when I felt upset by their bad behaviour. I knew those that were stubborn and aggressive such as Angolo; or the ones that were of tenderly behaviour like Ogelese. I knew how to build relationship with each of them. I knew when it was time to lead them out for grazing. I knew the best places to lead them to for fresh running water. I also knew when to lead them back to the camp and tether them to their posts. The welfare of each cow was my priority. 

Each cow had its own unique distinguishing characteristics and I could spot any behavioural change in any of them. I could quickly tell whenever a cow showed any sign of distress. I had a tender relationship with the young ones because of their fragility. They could easily stray away from their mothers while grazing in the field. I kept close watch on each ensuring that none strayed away from the group. 

From the early morning, until evening, I guided the herd through the forest, across rivers and over hill tops. 

The irony of all these was that the cows under my care did not have to do anything. They simply knew that I would always be there for them, cleaning their sheds, protecting them and keeping them away from harm’s way, providing for them, and showing tenderness, understanding, tolerance, and warmth. The burden of looking after their welfare rested on me. They went wherever I led them to. They did whatever I wanted them to do. They obeyed me largely. I had a way of making them to comply with my instruction. That was why I always had my staff stick with me. That was my staff of authority over them. They knew the purpose. They knew I could be caring. They also knew that I could be tough on them if it became necessary. They just knew that I could never lead them to dangerous places. They trusted me to do whatever was right to keep them safe. I did not however take them for granted. I would never make them do what was not consistent with their nature. That was a great personal relationship built over many years of leading the cows to and from green pastures. 

They did not need to ask me for anything. They just got it. They did not need to work before they ate. They did not need to cry before I knew they were in distress. I just knew from the way I related to each of them individually. I cared less about my own safety as I felt secured in their midst. I could walk miles in the forest with my cattle. I was not worried about anything except their welfare. Nothing bordered me. I thought about nothing other than seeing that all of them were taken out every morning, were properly fed, led to clean water to drink, and returned them to their sheds unharmed every evening. 

Every evening, I would render the day's account to my father. I would give him details of what happened. As well as draw his attention to anything that I thought would require his urgent attention especially when it affected the wellbeing of any cow. My father would thank me for the day’s job and would make me feel that I had done a great job for him and the family.

What did my experience as a shepherd boy teach me about the nature of God as a good shepherd? The level of care and attention that I paid to the safety and welfare of my cows was infinitesimal compared to that which God pays to humankind. The key lesson for me in this type of relationship is that through my own biological father’s guidance, I chose to look after the cows. They did not choose me. They had no say in my decision to become their shepherd. I passionately loved them and I demonstrated my love for them through the way I responded to their day-to-day needs. 

In the same way, we did not choose God to be our Shepherd. He first chose us. He created humankind for His own purpose to be shepherds for one another. The relationship between the shepherd and the sheep must be rooted in love, an unconditional love that we can manifest through our individual selfless services to one another. That is the way to live a life with meaning. That is what God intended for us. That is how to live a purposeful existence. If a shepherd cannot do that, he or she is not a good shepherd. What kind of a shepherd are you?

Matthew A Medupin 

Sunset In The Valley

Sunset in the valley provides one of my favourite places for meditation. There is where you'll find proof of God's existence.