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Sundays with Sophie

  Copyright Rolake Martins 2012

  More books by Rolake Martins – Coming Soon!

  Table of Contents:

  Part A – Ronke

  Part B – Sophie

  Part C – The Principles

  About Rolake Martins

  Part A : Ronke

  Just waking up and to be honest I’m not 100% sure if I should be this happy on this day. The big. 3.0. FINALLY!! To be honest I have actually been looking forward to today. I know that that sounds strange but for the last 6 months or so I have used it as a point of definite, not to be denied , put off or denied… transition in my life. My 20s were kind of rough. Okay quite exceptionally difficult, but I won’t bore you with the details. Just know that whatever happens post .3.0. no matter how bad, it has to be better. But this is not just about better. I am tired with just better. This is about focus, about strategy. Almost like a new house, a new job this is to be a deliberate new beginning. Most importantly a new beginning where I will begin to expect, demand and behave differently. No not just differently - better.

  So here I am at this place and time in my life. And I’m excited. Really excited. No more will social events gravitate to Nandos and Zizzis. I’m stepping up. The Ballet, the Opera, fine dining, weekends overseas – Seville- Sarajevo –Moscow (okay so maybe Moscow is a little far for a weekend, but you get the idea) and I’m serious about this. The only potential dimmer on this incredibly bright light is that all of these trips will have to be taken alone. It is a potential dimmer, because I’m yet to be convinced as to how much of a disadvantage total independence can be on trips like this. I am, however, acutely aware that there will be no surprise party thrown by an adoring husband. No flowers. No extravagant birthday present. No breakfast in bed for ‘mummy’.

  3.0 has arrived. No husband. No kids. A 6/10 job, (not amazing, but not dreadful either). A bedsit in Mile End (rented for crazy money off my Dad. Long complicated story). Good church. Great friends. Wonderful family. What I should say is wonderful, though slightly strange family. Life is good. Could be better. I guess; If this was a movie, it could be a lot better. But it’s not. It’s life. And you know, I think I am just coming to realise that this works for me. It works really well for me. God has done me good.

  Re. this issue of being lonesome , I could always borrow the ‘twins’, I remind myself while trying to extract the now rather burnt bottom half of a bagel from the toaster with a knife. [They are not really twins, but my nephew (7) and niece (5), are so articulate, vocal and completely one in their devotion to any kind of mischief they might as well be twins]. Maybe not! Last time they had been here, the entire block (admittedly of only 12 flats) had been evacuated following a little Breakfast mishap that had left a box of crispy rice somewhat charred in the process. There I was trying to distract the two firemen carrying out the inspection whilst behind them my nephew desperately tries to reignite ‘his rocket’(the said box of crispy rice) as it lies in the sink. Praying all the time that the rather strong smell of burnt cardboard goes unnoticed. What kind of ‘Children’s’ TV programme teaches the kids to make bombs, rockets or any other ignition mechanism for that matter from Rice Krispies and then says ‘Don’t try this at home’? Turns out that the lovely firemen had in fact seen the box and my nephew’s attempts at re-ignition as within 2 days I received a letter from the warden insisting I re-attend the fire safety course and passing on the Fire Service’s mandatory £125 call out. This in addition to the £20 I had had to pay the twins after my nephew innocently mooted his willingness to come to some arrangement to ensure ‘Mummy doesn’t find out’. What happened to Disney movies and lollipops? What happened to the age of innocence? So Bambi is banned but ‘Mad Science’ is okay?

  18 August: 11.20amSo the ‘Twins’ are out of the question. No this is one I am going to do alone. I have chosen this. I am strong. This is my decision. My choice. My decision. Hopefully, I’ll believe this someday. I can’t help thinking that this has just happened. That at some point, I missed the boat. Somewhere, “Somewhen” (is there such a word, there really should be), Somewhen I wasn’t looking. Thinking paying attention. I mean, so many people cannot be wrong. Look at Bukola. She and Ade, the twins. They all work so well. The Bible seems to suggest that this is inevitable too. This is the true purpose of every woman. But there are sooo many women. So few men. The one on one no longer works. How Lord is this even possible? Do I just blindly believe that You will sort me out? Have You already tried to sort me out before, but I got in Your way?

  I walk myself back through the last 12 years to arrive at a reason. A cause. I look at the maybes that turned out to be Nos because one of us was not yet ready. In my head it was always them. On reflection, it was possibly more likely to have been me. With Tim though, it was definitely him. But maybe, if I hadn’t been so vocal so much of the time. If I hadn’t insisted on being right. (Although technically to be honest, I am generally more right than wrong - and exceptionally modest…!) Maybe Pastor Lola is right, the list is a bad idea. It’s too long. As she says maybe it’s not about wanting too much but rather ‘being realistic’. ‘Nobody is perfect’. I think I wanted too much. Expected too much. Was looking for something I could not afford. I mean to get this incredible guy I will have to be this amazing person. A big mouth and lofty ideas have turned out to be a very significant liability.

  I shake myself out of my reverie with a nervous smile. I don’t do this. This is not me. I may not have it all together but I don’t do uncertainty. I try to make decisions as best as I can based on the facts I have in front of me. I pray, but to be honest I am somewhat too reliant on myself.

  I don’t listen enough to God. In fact I don’t really listen at all. I kind of hold back, just in case He says something I don’t particularly want to hear. I’ve been to so many churches and the people there are so spiritual, just wanting God to pour Himself out. Reveal Himself, and lead and direct them. For too much of my life it has been – Dear Lord, please give me what I want so I can just go. Look how far it had gotten me? Maybe God had other plans. Maybe I wasn’t listening. Maybe my antenna was switched off or even worse (and very likely) tuned into another Station. Maybe if I had been more committed, more faithful, more dedicated in Church then, my life would be more ‘on track’ now. To be honest, I doubt it, but what if? What If I have missed a trick? I love my life. I do. I have fun. But there is a part of me that thinks that there may be something more. Something I am missing. There is a better more brilliant fulfilled life I am only going to find out that I missed when I’m headed to the pearly gates and much too late.

  I can’t help but think that this is the time when I do or don’t. I don’t want to live in regret, but at the same time I don’t want to settle. I know that that sounds awful, but when you meet somebody who did not settle, it seems so worth it to hold out for more. You don’t ask, you don’t get - right?

  19th August

  I write sitting on my bed staring at the wardrobe. Resisting the urge to walk over to it yet again. I must have already made that journey three times – actually, scratch that it’ll be closer to five. Bunmi did good. The suit is lovely. No it is beautiful. There is a difference. Lovely I think has more of a character appraisal to it. The suit is beautiful. The most amazing gorgeous turquoise and yellow pattern ankara, trimmed with gold guinea. The trousers are apparently to be worn only with a ‘rather daring’ – Bunmi’s description, read ‘completely indecent’ (my description) - low backed sleeveless blouse. Only Bunmi would think something like that is appropriate for Church. She then finally produced the jacket from her suitcase. She had, she said, had it sewn ’just in case’...Bunmi!

  My attenti
on returns to the bed. Sprawled across the duvet I had paid way too much for at Ikea of all places are the volumes in which I have “chronicled” not so carefully or faithfully. (Maybe “chronicle” is the wrong word, actually, as that implies some discipline, or a complete record...) OK, it would be better to say “the volumes in which I have selectively highlighted some of the last 18 years of my life”. It takes me a few minutes to find the one I am looking for. A small tattered black volume. The entries, all so very familiar. Smiling. I had been so young. So innocent. So much had been possible. I finally reached the familiar dog-eared page with the words LIFE PLANS scrawled across the top of the page, lovingly encased in in the kind of green and yellow felt tip swirls my 13 year old self had evidently felt befitted something so important. My plans for my life. Carefully documented, detailed, scrawled out. Updated. Scrawled out, re-written, amended over the years. According to my 15 year old self I should be a millionaire by now, married to a fellow millionaire (of course) with 3 children (two of which would ideally be adopted). Evidently the younger me had some sense at 15. How disappointed she would be I mused.

  I read on, the older I became the simpler the plans had become. 18: Take a gap year before University. 19. Go to University after my gap year. 20: Christian Holiday camp in Kenya. 24: Get a training contract – preferably criminal law. 24.4months: Get another training contract – anything but criminal law. 24.7months: Retrain. That had been the last entry. I think it was at some point over that crazy seven month period that I decided life didn’t take so kindly to detailed or not so detailed planning and since then it had become a lot more fluid. A lot more about going in a general direction and seizing opportunities as they came. Over the last 5 years much had happened to validate and discredit my approach. I was realising that more things were happening to discredit it. Firm plans I had come to realise had a place as long as they were the right ones. Plans that were not only SMART – Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Timebound but also Godly, Character building. Plans that I could pray towards and achieve which is why I left the husband and family issue off the plan.

  2 1st August 2011

  It is traditional in my church to mention birthday celebrants during prayers. However on ‘significant’ birthdays the celebrant is called out to kneel before the altar and all the Ministers in the House come out and pray for the celebrant and usher them into the next phase of their lives. It is usually an absolute riot. Depending on who you “move with” in the Church (crazy, right?!), you normally get a big following of friends and family singing and dancing around you as you walk to the front. Black churches are crazy. A Black and Spanish mix church crazier still. When Deaconess Remi turned 40, just 40. Absolute Carnage. She’s the head of the women’s (married – just to be clear) ministry. All the (married) women turned out in pink and black and she was in the most incredible fuchsia and black ensemble and sat right at the back of the Church. It took half an hour for them all to dance out and nearly as long to get them back to their seats. I had spent the last 2 Sundays begging Church friends not to dance and the last 2 days threatening Bunmi, who to be honest was the only one of my friends I could see flagrantly ignoring my requests. Eventually, I’d had to pay the band not to play their usual medley of choruses when I went up. What kind of church is it where you have to bribe the Praise and Worship team?! Per Lady A, our esteemed Praise and Worship leader, it wasn’t a bribe it was the stand for a cordless microphone and I should think of it more as a token of appreciation. It had cost £62.99 off Amazon (she had assured me that it would not be more than half that), it had come out of my pocket and I had been forced to give it to obtain a service which paradoxically was a desisting from a service they did not even have to do. Definitely felt like a bribe to me. Clearly she had seen me coming and I had had “desperate” written all over me!!

  As I sit beside Bunmi, I am trying desperately hard to focus on Jesus, on God, the Holy Spirit, on their goodness and loving kindness but failing miserably. I am completely totally and utterly distracted. You see, I’m wearing this incredible suit and I know it looks brilliant. Bunmi is sitting right next to me and taking every opportunity to tell me with every look, gesture and nudge that it looks great. You may have gathered she really is not very serious. And there is Yomi, the oh so illustrious Yomi, who today evidently has something wrong with his neck as every two seconds it forces his head to swing in my direction and promptly away again. Maybe I can offer to pray for him? Catching myself smiling in his direction. I promptly turn my head away and force a frown. To be honest I don’t normally look this good, but I really did not think I looked so bad. But from the looks of stunned approval I have received since arriving this morning, I stand corrected. Even Pastor Lola, my biggest critic, hugged me today. Hugged me!

  A few weeks ago, this same Pastor Lola had preached a very eloquent sermon on ‘The joy of marriage’ and (I am sure for my exclusive benefit) had included a little sermonette on why ‘some’ women struggle to find husbands. One of the things she mentioned was ‘mode of dressing’ and I could see her looking directly at me. It is (according to her) particularly unsuitable for a woman to wear jeans everywhere and especially to church. Skirts and dresses were created to grace the female form. Then there had been a little pause as she had raised her brows and fixed me with one of her ‘special’ smiles. Bunmi, naughty girl, had laughed and of course all eyes had turned towards her and then to the owner of the extremely irreverent friend decked out in Jeans, a T-shirt and a blazer. Looking more like an 18 year old beginning a shift at Topshop than a 29 (soon to be 30) year old who should no doubt be in something a lot more flowing and desperately looking for a husband to marry her.

  So the time for prayers came and I was called to the front in the complete silence that I had paid £62.99 to guarantee. Bunmi, naughty girl, despite all her promises and assurances had jumped off her seat and started clapping her hands. However, she soon realised that any rendition she was about to offer was going to be a solo. There are not many things that Bunmi can’t do and do well. Singing, however, is one of those things. A glare from the determined Lady A, meant she sat down very quickly shooting me a comical glare. I knew she would proceed to cause as much trouble as possible. It may have been easier if I had let her have her song and dance and be over with it.

  I had noticed Pastor Sophie slip in a little after Praise and Worship had begun. Sophie was Pastor Jose’s older sister. She must have been in her early forties. She had moved to the States after getting married 3 years ago and now spent her time between London and Atlanta. She looked amazing, as always. Stunning. To be honest, I had thought Pastor Lola’s message was a little incomplete. She had listed all the things that women do or fail to do, but she hadn’t identified the lack of men within a certain age bracket in the Church. Okay our church wasn’t too bad as concerned the gender mix, but you went to some churches and all you saw were pretty hats and beautiful shoes, pew after pew. Unconsciously I had turned to where Yomi was sitting and briefly caught his eyes before looking away. My thoughts returned to Sophie as I carefully picked my steps to the Altar.

  Pastor Sophie was definitely further proof that the woman couldn’t be the only driver in the matter of how early she got married. She was beautiful, well presented, intelligent, articulate, talented, yet she had married later. To be fair to Pastor Lola, she had also spoken against women being ‘headstrong’… ‘stubborn’… My gaze shifted to Sophie. Was she? I could believe it. I had known her for several years and she definitely had this “no-nonsense” side to her…

  My thoughts were interrupted by a vision of me stumbling and landing in the congregation, so clear, so real, it could have been a vision from Heaven. A warning. Falling headfirst into the innocents on my left and right, though it would have been a just reward for incredible vanity, it would also have been completely unjust on those I landed upon. Such was my plea to Heaven to spare me the humiliating ordeal that I could so easily see happe
ning.

  I quickly refocused on my walk to the altar. However this was not before I caught an enquiring look from Sophie. And then a naughty little wink. She was a bad influence, I decided, smiling. A bad influence of the best possible kind.

  All the Pastors had lined up to pray. Pastor Lola had started off. She did not even offer a polite preamble. She launched directly into her favourite subject. ‘Dear Father. Give her a husband. This Year. In Jesus Name. Amen’. I could hear Bunmi, (naughty girl!) choke back a laugh from the congregation. She had asked how long I thought it would be before this particular subject would be mentioned in the prayers. As it turned out, not long. None of the other Ministers were as direct. Pastor Jeremy prayed for my work, he prayed for my general peace and happiness. Then he mumbled something about ‘that special person’ and the 'children that would follow’ before saying a very quick Amen. Pastor Michael followed by Pastor Jose also prayed in a similar vein. Then came Pastor Sophie’s slightly raised voice; ‘Dear Lord, may these be years filled with laughter, happiness and fantastic shoes. Amen’.

  I flicked my eyes open just in time to notice the other Ministers turn and look in her direction. Still with her eyes closed. She smiled very slowly. Opening her eyes she gave me a long and determined look before walking slowly to her seat with such grace and deference that you would have been forgiven for thinking she had done nothing wrong. I could see Pastor Lola trying very desperately to catch her eye with one of her disapproving looks. Meanwhile a rumble of shocked laughter had erupted in the auditorium. Walking to my seat, I smiled at her, as a thank you. She crossed her legs as I passed her and revealed the most irreverently sparkly pair of wedges I had ever seen. ‘Gina’ she mouthed.