(photo source: Alekseeva)
There are only a few places that look like an abbey. Other ecclesiastical edifices may be close to a semblance, but definitely not with the bouquet that ooze out of its reverential walls. These walls are not built to shut our dreams (Problems), an abbess once told Maria. So somehow, these vestals, perchance must find a way to explore what their minds can offer. Like, learn the mixtures as a cordon bleu does, or sit beside the bags of a winery, as a vintner. That, one shouldn’t take for a surety. But at least, we are sure of vestals that veil themselves and learn some equitable maxims as others do.
Now, there is this abbess who was once asked by a bench-man to decorate her mane with a robin-wood-kind. It classified her as one of the new cottons in town. As at the time she walked up for her red scroll, she didn’t wrangle out on a religious right. But when Firdaus was permitted to be called to the Nigerian Bar, styled in one permitted style, there was the dare need to show that other devout fellows once lived at the bar, and are called to it, day and night.
So this day came when she dashed out of the abbey to represent one flower somewhere, I mean a skirt that was nearly tainted by an uncivilized trouser. The vigour was there, and the classic address ‘My lady’ and other words that follow thereafter were the adumbration that lodged her hitching mouth. At least, she knew that those emotions that our lordships have been trained to cage will always show their pokey eyes, especially, when the cause of action bothers on that ugly sin.
She had not finished settling her cowl on her scapular, no; I mean her covering when an esoteric colleague played the busy body.
“Scorn”, this bar knows no disdain. Your cowl rents itself down. Your wig should rest on your tresses, devout lass,” he said.
Looking at the Mister, who never ceased to maintain the look in his face, Ms. NN replied in a rather respectful tone because there was need to give respect to whom it is due.
“Sire, cowls are for frairs and monks, but I am a nun”.
“Thank you, but I am particular about this contempt,” he insisted.
Again, not paranoid, she exemplified the fact that she had perused every single line of the biblica sacra.
“Sire, persist a little, for it is my lord’s task to place me in the dock”.
The answer was more than silencing. He would have played the card of an amicus curiae, but there won’t be any need; he was sure His Lady whose eyes wear no goggles will catch sight of this scorn before time. He was even sure she won’t be allowed a time to address the court.
Appearances were announced by counsel on both sides, with the plea of the accused taken. The un-repented soul had said that he wasn’t guilty of even an attempt at the ugly sin. As usual, a later date was taken. But all the while she stood tall, turning her head side by side, the bench-man who perhaps saw the unusual dress didn’t utilize a word for anything even close to a refute.
He didn’t know whether the ignorance would be interpreted as tolerance or a blindness caused by much interest in the case of the ugly sin.
Take not a record of the ugly sin to the bench of a lady judge, you may likely be found guilty. But that wasn’t enough for such blindness, is it?
“Sire, cowls are for frairs and monks, but I am a nun”, Ms. NN repeated, as she filed all doc in the one file in her feminine bag and then took a bow.
For Felix, that was his name; there was the need to keep mute at this business before something worse than sarcasm comes his way. To him, he has simply gotten a worthy topic for address at the branch’s law week lecture: The Right to Freedom of Religion and the Legal profession.
By Ebi Robert.
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