The Testimony of the Prodigal Son

Hi, good people,
Hope ye are holding up well,
Not sure if I can claim the same,
Things have been a little thick over here in the far country.

Like all of you, I had my cravings and spirit of adventure,
And thought honouring them would give me real happiness.
I wanted a place and space where rules are nonexistent,
And if they do, they be regarded as suggestions and advice.

I didn’t have problems with the order at my father’s house,
Just thought of experiencing a little more freedom,
With no one having to tell me a lot of things.

And knowing my father as a good man,
I did ask for my share of his estate,
Well, this would have eventually come to me as a bequest,
I only had to wait till his death.

But my big man was the healthy type,
The man watched his nutrition,
Maintained a vibrant fitness routine,
Valued his sleep,
And remained younger and stronger,
Forcing me to wait longer.

Sometimes I felt older than him,
Maybe I’m overthinking it,
But he seemed to dwell under the shadow of the Almighty,
And he kept renewing his strength.

And I’m not the waiting type,
I prefer to get what I want and get it now.

So upon my request,
The good man gave me my share.
I grabbed my gusto and left for the far country.

The journey to the country was obviously adventurous,
Every turn and twist invited me away from rules and regulations,
The signboards shouted “Acceptable” to the things I had been raised to regard as restricted,
Every time seemed to be party time over here.

As soon as I arrived,
I got party animals clad in their hedonistic regalia,
And didn’t struggle to fit in.

They were loving and welcoming,
At least that’s how they made me feel.
They threw a party to welcome me,
Footing all the bills and insisting that I feel comfortable,
I did feel.

But while we feasted and had mirth,
Other plans were being drawn,
A special party was being organised to welcome me.
As a tradition, I was the one to foot the bill,
I knew not why it was so,
But later, I discovered this was their way of knowing how loaded one is,
If you know what I mean.

Well, I had the bucks and grands,
So I coughed out without second thoughts,
What I would have needed to carefully budget for in my father’s house.

Realising I comfortably dispensed with such a figure with neither a sneer nor a frown,
They immediately crowned me with a new title,
Some called me chief,
Others called me chairman,
Massaging my delicate ego,
And some newbies called me Kiongos,
Which they said meant ‘leader’ in their native language.
I’ve never felt this important!

So the real thing began.
It was party after party,
Being hero worshipped,
Girls fought over me,
Men deputised me and gladly went on my errands,
The business community baptised me ‘investor’,
I was rolling down the mountain of ease and abundance.

This went on until one day I was confronted with a sobering reality,
I was down to my last dime,
How could my bequest vanish like that,
I thought I had something somewhere,
But on careful search, I proved myself bankrupt.

Yet I wasn’t worried,
I had built a powerful social capital,
I had made friends and influenced people,
They would definitely come through for Kiongos.
But I was in for a rude shock.

While my wealth was loud,
My bankruptcy proved even louder,
And I soon lost it,
The friends that flocked around me left,
They blocked me on all of their socials,
And what broke me was hearing my favourite title ‘Kiongos’ being used on another person,
Another new entrant who was in his prime.

The business community stripped me of my WhatsApp admin rights,
And a few hours later, while checking the group, I saw “You cannot respond to messages in this group.”
They had changed the settings to allow only the admins to react and text,
Eventually, I left the group on my own,
Out of self-respect and pity.

Maybe it was time to find a job,
But there are no decent jobs in the far country,
Life is built around mirth and gaiety,
You need connections to get the odd jobs,
Without one, you cannot even be a street sweeper…
I was lucky to get someone to hire me to care for the Swine.

In my home, such a job was menial and degrading,
Interacting with swine, dead or alive, was defiling,
But it seems this was the only assignment I could get, with my honour deflated and wallet depleted.

I thought bankruptcy had to do with finances,
But I realised it was much more than that,
I had spent it all carelessly…
My intellectual resources… I felt dumber in every sense,
My emotional resources… all my relationships and friendships had become transactional,
I felt depleted… I could not even attract genuine friendship,
I could not negotiate anything, including my job of tending swine,
Upon the new moon, when my wages were due, I realised that my services were pro bono.

I can’t take it anymore, but no one cares here,
As we speak now, I am drafting an apology letter to my father,
I remember servants in my father’s house feasting like kings,
If I can only be a servant in my father’s house, I will bloom again.

But before then, I want to drop this here,
Hoping someone will not repeat my mistake,
Especially those of you who are craving life in the far country—seeking happiness in forgetfulness of God.
Forget it, man!
There is nothing here to last,
Forget those adverts promising you heaven; here is hell,
Forget those magazines and commentaries,
Their content may be true, but that is just half the story,
The other half is like an internship program preparing people for hell,
Forget the girls, the parties, the feasts,
They are all decoys,
To trap your rebellious appetites and runaway cravings,
But when all is spent, you will never see or access them again,
And we don’t have hospitals here,
When you’ve lost it all, you go home, or begin writing your own epitaph!

I speak with authority,
I have been at the pinnacle, and now I’m in the gutter,
And if it were within my power,
I would be the last person to have to learn this the hard way,
This is one of those things you should learn from the lives of others,
Unfortunately, I am limited,
I can only tell my testimony,
And hope you’ll be smart enough to learnt from it,
But the power of choice is within your hands,
If you choose to learn from my story,
I’d be glad and honoured to save a precious life,
But if you choose to ignore the signs and warnings,
My hands are tied,
I wish you well,
Maybe, just maybe,
The testimony of two witnesses will have more weight to warn those about to take the turn to the far country,
Unfortunately,
There are minimal chances of living to retell your story,
So, why not learn from me?

There is nothing that lasts in the far country,
All its dazzling sights and tempting sounds are transient,
Whoever takes the turn leading to this country is courting mischief,
Such a life—whatever the appearance may be—is squandered,
And if you dare take it,
You’re working to make yourself bankrupt for eternity!