A Hidden Message

Boy oh boy, oh boy. Believe me when I tell you that being chased by a homicidal religious maniac sucks. I mean, not only was this dude hellbent on murdering me in a frenzy of indiscriminate shouts and some talk of “purifying” me, he had a musty stench surrounding him that certainly did not help. I was either going to be killed by him... or by his smell. 

I suppose you’re wondering how I got here and why this is happening in the first place. Well, your boy almost lost his life, and the only thing I want to do right now is vent a little. Let me back up a little. The name’s Nasir Johnson. I’m your typical dark skinned, curly haired, brown- eyed handsome devil who figured, ‘why not try my hand at this higher learning thing?’. It all began in my first semester of college, certainly not a fun way to start. I had just been admitted to San Diego State University and to be honest, the hype didn’t disappoint. The campus was beautiful, the dorms were nice, the parties were insane and the professors were all pretty chill. Man, what more could someone ask for? I thought to myself.

You see, I had lived a mostly quiet life growing up in a small town in Arkansas. I spent most of my time reading books to escape reality, walking the streets trying to make some money and going to local concerts whenever they were in town to spend the money I made. When I came to California, I got hit by a culture shock. Everything was so busy- cars constantly honking downtown, the loud din of people chatting in crowded bars and restaurants near the Gaslamp district. The campus itself was amazing- from the Aztec themed buildings, to the long corridors and vast stadiums and event centers- it certainly lived up to its hype as a top university. The introductory orientation was choked with nervous freshmen, anxious clubs trying to get their member quotas and frantic frat boys trying to recruit anything that walked. It was honestly a lot to take in. Despite the plethora of things to do in a big city, I still liked to wind down and recharge from time to time. That was my plan for one Thursday evening before everything as I had known it went topside up.

I had had a great start to my college career. In fact, Anthropology had become a favorite of mine, and my professor, professor Bruinswick, noticed my eagerness to learn, so one day, while chatting after class, he gave me a book to read for more research, or so I thought. We had been learning about African history and the various empires that the continent had. When questions came up about the influential leaders of each empire, I raised my hand each time; professor Bruinswick seemed to be impressed by my knowledge. He was young, in his thirties, and clad in impeccable fashion; in his iron pressed dress shirt and black vest topped with a red overcoat, the man certainly knew how to dress. There was another layer of connection between us though, being that we were both black in a predominantly white institution. It seemed like we understood without needing words the discomfort that came with being the only black person in a room and not always feeling comfortable being in a room where nobody looks like you. Whenever I saw a person that did, I felt relieved.

I went to talk to him after class and we chatted for a bit.

“I say your knowledge of the Songhai and Almoravid empires is pretty impressive, how did you become so insightful on these topics.” He probed.

“Well to be honest, growing up I would always hear about these great civilizations of the world like Rome, Greece, Persia, Egypt, but never really about any African ones. I know Egypt is in Africa, but most of the media and mainstream education doesn’t recognize it as being connected to the rest of the continent.” I replied, smirking.

Intrigued but not surprised by my answer, he said, “Well that definitely is true, people of African descent are not exactly represented in the best light. I’m glad you’re determined to find the truth of this world. I think I might have something that will interest you... here take this.” He stated, handing me a copy of a book titled: The Orisha of the Yoruba. As I took the book, the markings on the cover immediately intrigued me. The etchings of symbols and elaborate design of Yoruba architecture on the cover seemed to call out to me. Eh, it’s probably just me over-analyzing things again, I thought as I put the book in my backpack and headed out.

Just as I was about to walk out the door, Bruinswick suddenly quipped, “Hey Nasir , I know that it may be hard being in a new environment. Just remember that when one door closes, another opens, so always treat every experience as an opportunity for something new. Great things conspire at the crossroads of life. Who knows? Maybe that book will open a new door for you.”

I pondered those words for a while. What could he mean by new door? I mean, it’s just a history book and I doubt it’s going to cause that heavy of a revelation. Maybe it’s a sign, I thought. Ever since I got here, I’d been looking for excitement and wonder, a chance to explore things that most people never get to see. Back home in Arkansas, I lived in such a small bubble that everything just got kind of repetitive after a while, seeing the same things, people and events. That’s why I thought Anthropology was so fascinating- it allowed one to delve into worlds they otherwise never would have known and introduced them to a benign experience. I thanked professor Bruinswick for his wise words and began to walk to my dorm.

As I was walking back, I got the weirdest feeling of being followed. You know the feeling when your head tells you that eyes are drilling holes into your back? I took a few steps forward, and turned around sharply hoping that whoever was following wasn’t a thief on his daily routine. Relief courses through my body when I saw that it was just Paul.

Paul was this homeless dude who hung around the campus and preached the word of God to students. With matted brown hair, ragged shirts and a never-changing pair of copper pants, not to mention his... well let’s just say peculiar hygiene, he was certainly the most curious figure on campus and constant pair of copper pants, not to mention his, well let’s just say peculiar hygiene, he is certainly the most curious figure on campus and creeps a lot of people out. I always found him to be harmless, although he was a bit bigoted, what with him wanting gay people to repent, Muslims to convert and whatnot. Other than that, he was a pretty mild dude. Not wanting to make things awkward, I chirped, “Hey Paul I see you’ve been well, everything good with God?”

His breath heavy and rather shaky, he replied, “Yes…everything is fine, the Lord always helps me in my time of need. But…but I worry for you, The Lord tells me you’re delving into something you shouldn’t. He calls upon me in these dark times of sin, depravity and lust that have consumed our world as this world enters the last days”. He took a step closer, his body so close I could feel his breathe wash over me and his overbearing stench assail my nostrils. He growls, almost ferally, “But the worst of it all Nasir, is that you have strayed from The Lord, and I need to make you pure again… yes, pure for Him.” Puzzled and frankly begrudged by his statement, I almost lash out at him. Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty thick-skinned when it comes to stuff like this, and despite all his crazy talk about our generation being so sinful and his bigoted statements towards non-believers, he wasn’t that bad of a guy. I mean, sure his views are definitely problematic, but I never felt like he was a threat to anyone. But now, it was all different. His whole demeanor has changed and he seemed hellbent on punishing me for whatever sin I’d committed.

I reluctantly decided to entertain him, “Seems like you’ve had a crazy day Paul,” I let out a nervous laugh to defuse the situation. “I think you’ve been in the sun too long. You should go rest, maybe get some tacos from down the-,” He cut me off with an angry growl. “Don’t act stupid with me Nasir ! I know you have the book! Give it to me and I won’t hurt you.” I was confused for a second when my eyes widened, and the book that Professor . Bruinswick gave me a few minutes ago popped into my mind. At that moment, my heart started to race, not just because I was being berated by some psychotic homeless dude, but because I wonder how on earth he knew I had the book.

His aura seemed different, almost as if he was someone else, or worse... something else. His nostrils flared outward like a bull about to charge and his eyes were a bloodshot red that only enhanced his malevolent essence. Something wasn’t right, this isn’t Paul, I thought. This was something else taking control of him.

I had no time to ponder this revelation though, so I backed off a few feet, turned and sprinted in the opposite direction to my dorm, hoping this guy hadn’t had any years on the track team. One thing was certain though, but I couldn’t understand why; the book, I knew that I needed to make sense of it all. I mean, it was a gift from Bruinswick but I couldn’t understand why I didn’t just give it to Paul when he asked. One lousy book couldn’t possibly be worth being hunted down by some crazed Christian dude, but something stronger made me absolutely certain that I couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.

So, there you have it; college kid meets a friendly professor, is gifted a book that seems to be more than meets the eye, gets chased by a religious maniac and narrowly escapes- the end.

I know what you’re thinking, “how can the story just end like that? What happened after you escaped?” Well, you should buckle up because a demented zealot looking like he was hell-bent on murdering me for a measly book is the least weird thing that happens to me.