have put on so much weight lately, a sign that I am getting old, you may say. One of my strategies to flatten the potbelly is to walk at least two miles daily. It’s no problem doing this on weekends, but it’s often a struggle during the week with my busy life. So, I take every opportunity to do a bit of my two-mile walk whenever I can.
One such opportunities arose one sunny afternoon. I decided to take a walk to the shopping mall. I had nothing in mind to buy. I only did some window hopping – something I normally undertake on Saturdays. After briefly scanning through the books at bookshop, I stopped over at a music shop and listened to some audio poems.
I got carried away, listening to audiobooks and had to rush back to work. A gentleman stopped me. He sat down enjoying the summer with a novel, like many other people basking in the summer sunshine. We had spoken briefly when I passed through the square earlier on. He seemed to be interested in Africa. He informed me about the places he had visited and a number of books based on African stories that he had read.
He closed the book he was reading over his index finger. And beaming with smiles, he shuffled on the long bench and invited me to sit next to him. I was getting late, but I could still spare about ten minutes. I felt it would be a slight to refuse his kind gesture. Besides, I wanted to know more about this middle-aged man who looked like an illiterate, but was an avid reader. I had expected him to ask me the usual question, “Where are you from originally?” that I had got used to. Instead, he asked about what I did and why I was in such a hurry to leave. I told him about my job and that my break was almost over.
“Very good,” he said.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I am not working,” he replied.
That was obvious, I thought. After all, he was only enjoying himself in the sun.
“I mean, what do you do for a living – your job?” I asked him. I had told him my own profession and had expected him to tell me his.
“Oh, I do all sorts,” he smiled.
“And you, what else do you do?” he asked.
“All sorts,” I replied. “And I write, too.”
“Wow!” his eyes lit up.”What do you write about?”
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Two weeks later, my secretary informed me that a High Court judge had called. He had asked to speak with me. My heart sank. I didn’t know any judge and I wasn’t expecting a phone call from one. That was the man that I spoke with at the Town Square. He informed me that he had bought all my books and had finished the first one.
“Fantastic!” he said. “And I look forward to reading the rest of the books. Well done!” he added, before hanging up.
I blinked several times, as I replaced my handset. Just then my secretary entered.
“Is everything alright?” she asked with concern, as she showed her face through the door.
“You won’t believe this,” I said.
“What?” she asked and closed the door behind her.
“Remember I told you about a jobless man I met at the Square the other day?” I reminded her.
She nodded with curiosity.
“That was the man,” I said.”I would never have expected him in a million years to be a High Court Judge the way he looked.”
She nodded again.
“And you know what?” I smiled.
“What?” she wondered.
“He has bought all my books,” I informed her.
“Well, you know what they say,’Never judge by the look,'” she said, and she was right.
