This is the story of an event that happened in a catholic school in Nigeria, events which I witnessed and was a part of, and which have never been resolved till date. Names have been changed, but the tale is true, and told as I remember it.
2:30 pm
At this time of the session, S.S.3 classroom is usually forlorn –scattered through with broken desks and chairs and various forms of litter. All desks with locks that actually worked had long been taken away by students in other classes, along with most chairs that could still stand. Because it was almost always deserted, it was one of my favourite places in the school.
That day, however, it was far from deserted. I arrived at the door, breathing slightly hard from hurrying all the way from the dorms. There were up to ten persons in the class, all juniors, except from Igwe Stephen and Amadi Vincent. Amadi was in S.S.1, and though we weren’t close then, I knew him as one of the more responsible ones; someone who, unlike most teenagers, took life seriously enough. He wasn’t a natural genius, but he studied regularly and very hard to be one of the top of his class. He was sitting near the center of the class, holding a picture of Mary I did not recognise. Igwe stood at his shoulder. A little distance from them, a junior boy sat on another chair, sweating and smiling, apparently just coming out of a vision himself. The others stood in small clusters around the two chairs.
They all looked up at me. I paused. The sight was somewhat expected, but surprising nonetheless.
Igwe beamed. “Ogwara,” he said. “It’s good you are here! Come, join us.”
I stepped in tentatively. I was nervous. What was I about to witness? The very air crackled with some strange energy. The eyes of everyone in the class shone with excitement and awe, except Igwe who somehow, was still as calm as ever, and Amadi who alone had not looked up when I arrived and who, I now saw, had his eyes tightly shut.
A thrill went through me as I realised what this meant. Amadi was in the middle of a vision.
Igwe had turned back to him. “Where are you now?” He asked. “What do you see?”
“I... I’m still climbing the stairs,” Amadi said, squeezing his eyes tighter. His voice was strained, like someone in distress or someone thinking extremely hard. I could see veins popping in his temples. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead and the back of his neck. His breathing was shallow.
Another thrill went through me. This was not an act. The boy in front of me was definitely seeing something the rest of us weren’t.
I quickly produced my pencil and flipped the visionaries notebook a couple of pages past the cover I had designed I needed to get this down at once – I could worry about the parts that had already happened later. I caught Igwe’s eyes and gestured to the book in my hand using the pencil. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Can I write?” I asked aloud, but in a hushed voice.
“Sure,” he replied with a smile. He didn’t bother reducing his voice. “Why not?”
I began to scribble furiously at once.
“Wait–” Amadi said suddenly. “I’m... I think I’m near the top. Wow... there’s a big golden gate here! I can’t even see the top. Everyone coming up is going to stand somewhere in front of it. I can see St. Peter... he’s separating the people! Some are going through the gate. Others are going somewhere else – I can’t see it.”
“What about you? Have you reached them?” Igwe prodded.
“I’m not with them,” Amadi replied. “I’m in front of the gate. Oh – it’s opening! I’m going in.”
A low murmur of excitement went through the juniors standing around. My pencil flew across the page, trying to get every word and reaction down. I wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. I was just writing.
“Go on,” Igwe told him. “Tell me –how is it? What do you see?”
The light sheen of sweat on Amadi’s forehead had turned into droplets, but his expression was no longer furrowed in concentration alone, but also in awe.
“It’s beautiful!” He cried. “Everywhere is so white. The ground is gold. There are people about... everyone is in white. And everyone looks so happy! It’s so peaceful.” He paused. His frown tightened. “Wait– I can hear singing. It’s coming from down the street.”
I was suddenly reminded of Augustine’s face when he had told me his vision of Heaven. Amadi’s face was full of the same intense wonder and awe.
“Follow the sound,” Igwe urged. “Go on, find them!”
“I’m going. There’s a big door... it’s closed... I’m opening it... Oh!” He exclaimed.
“What? What is it?” Igwe asked, leaning forward. I was surprised to realise my heart was beating rather rapidly as I wrote.
“It’s a very large hall, and it’s full of people! There are chairs at the front... I think it’s Jesus and his apostles. The singing is coming from a choir in front –I don’t know the song, but their voices are so beautiful.”
“Look around. Do you see anyone you know?”
“No... yes! Yes! That’s my father! Oh, God... he’s coming. He’s coming to me!”
Amadi was positively trembling now. His face was covered in sweat, the collar of his shirt drenched. I was breathing fast now also, but I focused on my writing. This was incredible.
“He’s talking to me,” Amadi added.
“What is he saying?” Igwe asked.
“That I should be a good boy that he loves me very much,” he replied in a choked voice. I thought I saw a tear seep out of the corner of his closed eyelids.
“He’s gone now,” he continued. “But look! See who’s leading the choir. It’s Egbuonu Anthony!”
This time, I froze completely. My pencil stopped moving. I gaped at Amadi, eyes wide. Up until five months ago, Egbuonu Anthony was a member of my class, and a very dear friend of mine.
Egbuonu was dead.
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