X is for xenophobia : the match stick house

They are like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete.” (‭Luke‬ ‭6‬:‭48-49‬ NIV)

When I am old and wizened I will tell my grandchildren a story. I will gather them around a fire( whether solar , charcoal or electric it doesn’t matter , it will be a fire).

A long time ago matchsticks whittled from an Africanus tree sought to be distinct from the sticks whittled from other trees of the other Continentus gene. They agreed that they needed to build an apex tower starting with a wide base at the bottom. They agreed that the best foundation was going to be  the dark clay soil that gave rise to hundredfold crops when cropped.

So the clay foundation was set. The sturdier sticks went to the base so as to form a stronger foundation. They took the weight of the Middle order that was yet finding its feet.  The lower order agreed to carry its brothers on their shoulders so that the apex of the house of Africanus would be higher than all the other houses.

The middle order agreed to carry the smaller but brighter small brother who need to see and receive more sunlight so that the jaundice hampering his freedom would wilt away.

They grew, toiled and sought very hard to ensure that the house of Africanus did not suffer fractions. The house of Africanus prospered. 

Until the bright young boy reached puberty and demanded that he be put down so that he could walk alone and prove his newly found manhood. The brothers of the Middle Order sought to curry favours and some refuge from his shadow. The  boy would have none of it. 

The moment he stood on his feet he demanded that the Middle order and the lower order move away from his father’s kraal. Protestations of the sacrificises the lower orders had made to ensure that the young boy survived fell on deaf ears. The Middle and lower orders dismantled themselves and left the clay base and the spritley young match on its own.

Staggering from the new found freedom and vigour and never having stood on his feet the young matchstick tottered for balance, he tried to find his feet, he staggered, he tried for the sunlight but the warmth was too far. The jaundice was itching again.

He tried to jump towards the sun for more sunlight and he miscued, staggered, hit his match stick head on the hot black clay surface . The red phosphorus head that had been dipped into candle wax hit the hard surface and a flame sparked. The bright boy was on fire.

The surrounding match brothers kept their distance because their heads would catch fire if they went near. 

They walked away sadly.

X is for xenophobia . ( to be continued)

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