Lest we end like Usain Bolt

IN my household, Jamaican Usain Bolt is a delicious pop-corn. Crude estimates should also make the swashbuckling show-boater the sweetheart of more than three-quarters of humanity. Except wailers, who don’t love productive showmanship. It is a world of self-trumpeting and as long as you feed the fantasies of their world, anything you hawk, human beings everywhere will buy; anyhow you advertise your brand or the product. Bolt was a loud, brash brand. But even the corner of the world that despises lousiness, tolerated his usual 80-metre pride-filled, chest-thumping “of course it has to be Bolt,” which should ordinarily be disrespectful to his competitors still in the 100-metre race. You can call it a psychological weapon of getting others to believe they would always be the very best, which is second behind the best.

In my mind, I had always contrasted him with another legend, Mo Farah, who in his unique way, would first, in victory, acknowledge his unseen Helper by bowing in reference, before his trademark head-tapping and palm-curling celebration.

Something told me God would humble Bolt someday and as he lined up for his last competitive race at the 2017 World Athletic Games. I knew his “moment” had come, immediately the commentator said, “this is Bolt’s last race, the world will remember this man for never-seen-before athleticism and charisma and of course, it has to be gold.” It was bronze by hair breath. Athletics disdain; Justin Gatlin, whose sanity, from pundits’ pounding, hasn’t given way because of Momma’s love,  was used by God to send the bow-man to a quiet retirement. Again, talk about using a foolish “drug-tainted thing” to humble the talismanic wise. Except God be merciful to him, in years from now, many might be asking, Usain who?

That is my fear for Ronaldo. I desire 7 Ballon D’Or for the one I consider the most rounded of his generation. But his self-belief, which isn’t wrong in itself as such helps one to sustain the can-do spirit needed to carry through God’s agenda for one’s life, is discomfortingly too close to “na me” than “na God.”

I look round the much of the world I know and can access, and I see man, every second, trying to live through a life he knows little or nothing about. Not even scientists, including those with ground-breaking discoveries and inventions, would claim to know this world and its mysteries. Beyond what science and technology journals would celebrate to you as the next best thing, in their heart-of-hearts, discoverers will tell you in secret that ohun to wa leyin ofa, ju oje lo (the unknown is more than the known). Strangely, the more men claim to discover, the more they have to uncover, so much for a discovery mission that is as old as Adam. Isn’t that enough to sound a common sense note that the little of the unknown now known to us, was deliberately made known? Should that not tell us that there is a higher force, giving us in piecemeal the much we need at the turn of each age, for the sustenance of the magnificent universe men have not been able to alter in form and context? Even the content has remained largely the same, with a higher creative power helping us to unwrap tiny bits of onion layers, which the mysteries of the world are, to our kinky joy.

Before you think I am after atheists or agnostics, aren’t many in their disbelief of God, better-tethered, in their excesses than the worse-kind of Pharisees around today, upping their PDA (Public Display of Affection) game with God, at every opportunity, while stewing their faith in all-guzzling greed? With the mess being splashed everywhere by the gladiators in the Lagos Diocese of the Anglican Church crisis, won’t the parishioners of Woli Agba Instagram church consider themselves luckier, not being part of N260 million scandalous retirement package and not financing the condemnable project?

I’m watching out for those who should know but carry on as if they own tomorrow when today isn’t within the purview of anyone. In fact, not even the next moment. Hasn’t the Omniscient changed the courses of history before, by just taking a haughty fellow out, to allow for a breather when it becomes too suffocating? In fact, the proud make the job easy for Him. He says He is always resisting them, not that He will. It is not under consideration, if anyone, no matter where providence has placed him, gets into unrelenting “no be me”, says God in James 4:6. But for the humble, He promises more grace.

I look around the nation today and the world beyond our shores and see the emptiness of men who consider themselves the turners of the roving world. Down here, hollowness on two legs strut the political, economic, social and entertainment landscapes, tucking their entire nothingness inside billowing three-piece Agbada and House of Mudi designer suits. In their carrying on, it does not suggest that they realise the brevity of their stay on the attention-stage and even of the lives they think they possess.

This age of modern humanity loves flexing its muscles of understanding. But what do we really know. Or what have we really learnt? Our conducts in all spheres, suggest next to nothing as generations repeat history errors like automated wheels, doing their rounds on same spot. We pull everything, everywhere. We scheme and plot, everything, mainly on our understanding. Of course, you can’t bring the Holy One unto the filth that defines today humanity. The non-comformists are the enemies. The dying world only listens to itself.

Who do I really have in mind today? Everyone, misusing grace, everywhere.