Corban is a Hebrew word adopted into the Greek of the New Testament and left untranslated. It occurs only once in the Bible and it means a gift or offering consecrated to God.
This story is a series weaved around the story in Mark 7:11 in the Bible, enjoy!!!
Catch up on former episodes of Corban – Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4
He got out from his car and headed into the house which was in the state capital, a few miles from the textile-manufacturing company he’d established about six years ago. He’d started small, with a loan from the bank for a small factory, now God had blessed his work and he was now one of the major distributors of textile materials in the state.
His goal was to be one of the best in the nation and eventually the continent. But those days were still ahead of him. How far ahead was another question that constantly loomed in his mind these days, not with the recent setback he’d experienced. Things would get better now though, for the prophet had told him what he needed to do.
He entered the three-bedroom flat he’d lived in for almost three years and gave his bag to his house help who told him his bath water was ready. He, in turn, told him he’d be breaking his fast by 7 pm and wanted his food ready on the table. He went into his room and bathed thoroughly.
He hadn’t spilled a drop of water on his body in the seven days he’d been on the mountain, praying to God and asking for a solution to the problems he faced. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have prayed in the recesses of his home, but he knew he’d be distracted by his constant visitors.
He dressed up and picked up his phone to call his father. Switched off. He couldn’t find Baba Debo and Bimpe’s numbers on his phone nor in his phonebook and just gave up. He would try to reach other people who knew them.
Right now, he’d just focus on concluding his prayers, thanking God and eating before retiring, then call his father again. By the time his head hit the pillow by 8 o’ clock, he was too tired to reach for his phone to call anyone. He awoke with a start by two thirty and resumed his thoughts.
My mother… she’s dead because of me. I know. I neglected her. How could I have? I’ve been so blinded by Bode, my greed, and refusal to see things as they are, read the Bible and pray by myself, preferring instead to let others do it for me.
I have repaid her devotion to me by being selfish and unfeeling. God should just have mercy on me. I’ll travel down to Ibadan tomorrow.
I should still remember Baba Debo’s house from the last time I visited with father a few years ago. Then, we’d gone to seek his advice on how to get capital for my company then. Father had hoped he’d borrow me a little from what he had, and he had. It was to this little I added the bank loan. I had kept him abreast of my progress until I paid back and relocated to Ikeja when I needed another location for my factory.
Even though he’d resolved to travel to Ibadan the next morning, he didn’t sleep a wink till 5. Even at that, he was awake by seven thirty again. He said his prayers, bathed, ate the breakfast his house help had prepared and headed to Ibadan.
His father’s number was now reachable but no one was picking up. He had a little difficulty locating the house as several developments had taken place. New roads, houses and factories. It was solely his picture-like memory he relied on to locate old signs. By eleven o’ clock, he was driving into the mud-filled pot-hole street where Baba Debo’s house was located.
He looked for a good spot to park his car and headed towards the gate of the one-storey building; the gate was ajar so he pushed it and went in. He saw no one but heard noises from the house upstairs. He knew Baba Debo lived on the ground floor and rented out the upper floor so he headed for the front door and knocked.
He suddenly became apprehensive when he heard footsteps; what if he wasn’t received well?
When Baba Debo opened the door and saw Jide, surprise kept him silent for a few minutes. He had recognised him, this son of his friend who had proven himself to be a bastard. What could he want from him, and this early in the morning? He didn’t think the boy still knew him, and here he was, this morning, looking like a lost puppy.
Jide prostrated fully in greeting but received no response. He looked up into the angry face of his father’s friend.
“Olajide, son of Isaac Adeosun!!! Are my eyes deceiving me?”
“No, baba. It is indeed I.”
“That I can clearly see.”
“Good morning, baba.”
“Hmmm… good morning. I did not think you still remembered people like us.”
“Baba, I’m very sorry. I have been a terrible child… I’ve come to apologise.”
Calmed a little by Jide’s pleas, and suddenly switching to hospitability mode, he invited Jide in. His house was built in the late eighties and had the tell-tale of numerous rooms off both sides with a large sitting room. The toilet and bathroom of this house had been built inside it, however, a rare luxury of that time.
Baba Debo walked straight to the sitting room with Jide trailing after him. He asked intermittently about his business. That was the only thing he was familiar with anyway. No one knew much about Jide, not in the past three to four years that he’d suddenly cut off ties with even his parents, acting like a stranger, even when his mother lay sick from illness and missing her son.
He invited him to sit but Jide prostrated instantly, knowing this was not an issue solved by sitting. He began recounting all that had befallen him, crying, shaking his head and pleading in between.
Did you enjoy reading this episode? Then, watch out for episode 6.
