Sundays with Sophie Read online

  I had fought my way through the braying mob to greet her. At 5’10, she really did not need ‘those shoes’, but shoes like that you did not wear because you needed them but because they were incredible.

  ‘Sophie’, grabbing her arm, I had stopped her as she sought to move away. She swung round,

  ‘Ahh, Birthday Girl. Happy Birthday’

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘For what?’( with a mock serious glint in her eyes,) ‘I meant it! By the way, you look amazing dear’.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I had looked down a little sheepishly, it must have been so obvious I hadn’t been completely driven by ‘spiritual’ considerations. I felt I had to explain:

  ‘Pastor Lola gave a very rousing message a few weeks ago on the importance of dressing well so…’

  She laughed

  ‘I know, I heard it. It is online; ‘The joy of marriage’. I think she’s right about dressing well, alhough I think that that may be the only thing my Sister and I agree on. And you don’t have to explain. We’re women, looking good is one of the things God created us to do. One of the many things, but no less, one of the things.'

  Linking her arm through mine she had asked what I was doing for the rest of the day. I was due at Pastor’s house. My mother and Aunt were visiting from Nigeria. She had promptly walked over to my mum and greeted her . Smiling she had taken my mums hand in her own and explained that she was not releasing me to the lunch. She would very happily drop her (mum) at Lola’s but I apparently was not staying. Mum had always had a soft spot for Sophie and Sophie knew this and had used it to her advantage as much as possible. When I had decided to change disciplines for the second time during my degree, Sophie had called my parents to lament ‘children of the day, who did not understand, and what could be done but sit and pray that God would show them a way out’. It had worked a treat and their fury had subsided. When my brother had given up a cello scholarship at the London Academy to play jazz piano in Camden, it was Sophie who had broken the news to my parents. When the prodigal had subsequently seen the light and sought to return, it was Sophie who had ensured that ‘that boy’ , had in fact had the half of his tuition he had forfeited in folly, sent directly from my parents Bank in Warri.

  So thus I had been spared yet another series of ever so tactfully worded ‘encouragements’ and admonitions from the ever eloquent Pastor Lola and miraculously found myself cooped up in the chicly furnished London flat the indulgent Sophie called home. So I had started the first of 8 Sundays with Sophie, in which time she spoke, cried and laughed (mostly laughed) about her journey in life especially in Church as single woman. Here, to the best of my recollection is what she had said.