Chapter 14 — Father Albert
The clan lacked the requisite patience to nurture legitimate businesses. Hence we disbanded; some continued with Al while I pursued different opportunities.
“The Lord is the only way my child,” Father Albert said.
“I don’t know about that, Father,” I said.
“I ‘m not saying you should convert,” he said, “give it a try, you never know.”
“I don’t even know how to say grace,” I said.
“Don’t we all learn every day?”
After about four months of resistance and constant persuasion from the father, I converted to Catholicism. He believed that the church would lead me to the right track.
“Maybe you should give school another shot,” he said.
He promised that, provided I did well at school, he would organize me a scholarship to study a course my choosing with emphasis on engineering courses. I bet Father Albert failed to pursue his engineering dream and wanted to live it through me. He was too fond of that kind of careers like somebody who received a retainer for advocating them.
“Engineering is routine,” I said,” I thrive on solving everyday problems.”
“It’s an excellent career choice, “he said.
“Those are jobs on the edge of oblivion,” I said, “software enabled robots will take over in future.”
He knew already that simple phenomena bored me quickly.
“It’s well suited for a man of your attitude.”
“So is actuarial science,” I said.
“I’ve never heard of that one,” he said.
“I prefer a challenge each day, “I said, “Mediocre doesn’t excite me.”
“It’s too early to tell,” he said, “let’s wait until then.”
I found solace in going to church and serving the Lord. He took over the reins; he was more like a father to me. Jealousy developed among some of the congregation members. There were whispers to the effect that why Father Albert devoted himself to mentoring an ex-convict while there were lots of deserving kids in the townships. They thought that I had it made since I hailed from the suburbs. He assured them that I needed him more than the others did and that I had shown initiative. He reiterated that he could only help those who showed interest and could not force people to make good of themselves. In exchange for his goodwill, I assisted in his chicken farming and in his garden, pruning the trees, doing some landscaping, and mowing the lawn. Other days I re-organized the garage at his home and the church. Before being a Catholic, we drove luxury sports cars, without valid licenses. I needed to obtain one, so I could use the church’s mini-van for my side business during the week and for church purpose over the weekend. After one failed attempt, I eventually got it. I got exclusive use of the church’s van and ran errands for Father Albert. I collected deacons from their homes to the church services. The feeling was ecstatic. To me, it was a promotion from a garden boy to a runner. Father Albert also ran a community wellbeing, and outreach project called Bathokopele Foundation, which took disadvantaged kids to school among other things. I became part of his foundation. He took care of the elderly and had much more philanthropic projects. During winter, I delivered blankets to underprivileged children and street kids. He took care of most children within fifty kilometers radius, regardless of race or religious affiliation. The church provided some of the needs, though a lot came out of his pocket. During the winter season, he cooked and handed out soup to the needy children for three months for days on end. He was a devoted man of God.
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“You made it to Matric,” he said, “Congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, “I said.
“Have you decided on a career path yet?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question,” I said,” I ‘m more convinced now than ever.”
He could sense the conviction in my tone and reckoned it would be a waste of energy to talk me out of it. He gradually warmed to the idea. We ultimately reached a compromise after an information session offered at the school, which I insisted he attend. He finally gave his blessings after a presentation at an insurance house.
“This career choice has some great potential,” he said.
“It’s an outstanding option.”
“And you do have the aptitude,” he said.
“I hope so,” I said, “one never knows for sure.”
During the first semester, I developed sleepless nights. In the day, I was restless with vibrating donkey legs. For a couple of nights, I had nightmares. I replayed some of the events that happened in prison. I saw the faces of the people that Al and I harmed during our heydays. The evil deeds were replaying in my head like a cassette. I wished that I could wipe out all those bad memories like a hard drive. I played truant more often due to severe headaches. For a long time, I endured the pain that came with migraines. Father Albert caught me drinking painkillers and sleeping pills that I got from a nurse friend of mine. He took notice of my slacking at school and church duties.
“Something’s bothering you, my son,” he said.
“It’s nothing father,” I said.
“I’ve been in this world for over seven decades,” he said, “I’ve heard and seen it all.”
“I‘ll be okay; it’s just a headache.”
He took it upon himself, something that nobody ever did before, to organize a therapist on my behalf.
