Thinking of my dream ...

Thinking of my dream on my sofa ...

In my minds as I sat down on my sofa, I think of my dream and what I need, the thoughts well up in streams as I type them on the keyboard. Not many men have treasure in inheritance, not many had merchandise passed to them from men of yore. Out of few who had this opportunity, only few doeth well all the rest squandered the sweat of their fathers like fool men of Babylon.

I have a dream so deep and high, that two and a half years of work has been for this goal. My goal, to go abroad for knowledge so lacking, to mix with men and share in knowledge, to come back home endowed with wealth of experience, to leverage on this knowledge to meet the need of men, to get some golden coin in exchange for my products, this to buy the burger and Ankara for my neck, to serve my God and help others that are less privileged.

I have been laboring for these two and a half years to save for my journey. The richest men in Babylon had suggested 10 % for a man who wants to build wealth in life, but I had laboured to save 37% of my income for this dream. Youthful days pose demands of pleasure, this I could not afford my yearning passion. Men had wondered why I smile when I could not ride on adorned camels like my friends in the city. Sometimes, when I envied the rides of my fellows I get consoled by the sweetness of my vision.

I know the rich had learnt never to throw away, they know the value of money, even more than the poor, may be that is why they become richer than the ‘pooring’ folks. To an investment that’ll yield 200% a man will invest, but who can see the great enterprise in a boy in search for knowledge. Knowledge he hopes to resell in weights of diamonds. Should I stop eating till the month of September when the caravan is due to move, I cannot save enough from my labour to meet the demand of the Rabbi of Bradford. I need a miracle, I need a help. I need someone, but better I need an idea.

Should my father have a land I can sell, I would have. Should my mother have gold in a can, the lid would have been lifted for a treasure to sell. But now I know the only source is God, the only source is me. Who can help, can the reader? But who will help, will the reader?

Give me your idea if not your cash, feel what I feel, feel my heart. I yearn not to leave this land like my fellow youths, just for ‘greener pasture’ that is just an illusion, I leave not for erotic hope of going to rake gold on the streets and return with many camels and rings in ear as though jewels are for men. But I long to have what the expatriates on our land have that makes them god of the CEOs, what makes Japan a nation from the rear to the fore, what is changing China, India and Indonesia, knowledge.

Though reared like a slave, I know I have the heart of a prince. I wait not for the bags of coins to be handed over to me before I start, not for merchandise of others to be turned to me, but I believe in the drops of coins that have hitherto made this half-filled cup. I need a little lift, just a little aid, just a help from a friend, just sacrifice from a touched heart. Just as I have given to others behind me not minding the needs of my life. But I know the God of luck, who I have learnt mostly rewards the working arms will favour me, I know the God of compassion who I have learnt gives liberally to those who also give compassion to others will remember to favour me and send help from his hill of help.

If the reader has a farm I can plow to meet the target before the month of September that the caravan will pass, I will gladly plow, if it is baking I have no skill of, I can lay down my willingness to learn. My ability to sleep few for week and still retain my soundness is a promise to work in master’s bakery. If any of my coins can do the work to bring more with guarantee, this I can readily send.

Dear reader, I know you have an idea; you might even have a coin for me. My youthful heart taught by the wisdom of the old will rejoice and my memory of youth will retain thy gesture. Thy rose gift I shall use well and I know its fragrance shall forever remain in your hands that give it.

Though now is service of slavery, I vow to work harder and smarter, in my work is embedded the work of prayer. I’ll work till my slavery is ransomed and I partner with richest man in Babylon or he that strives to be one. I am not ashamed of my torn garment; this tray of goods is not of lesser dignity because it sits on the head of a dignified heart. This sky is surely loaded, I am sure I will surely make it. There is dignity in labour, and in this I have delighted myself. Sure, I will! Make it.