ANALOGY OF THE GARMENT

 A priest, of St Anthony of Padua, in Iraokhor, a rustic community in Edo North, told the congregants this tale. 

A poor peasant, a nobody, received a surprise invitation from a wealthy chief to attend a banquet. This special occasion was, of course, meant only for his clique of wealthy friends and other esteemed persons within and outside the community. This was unusual. How could this be? The peasant pondered. Just when he thought it was all a fabrication, he received confirmation of his reception at the event. 

The poor peasant was beside himself with joy. He must be at his best. But wait, what befitting garment will he be clad in not to be out of place? He went to his friends to borrow money to buy an ornate dress. No one was willing to lend him money or a classy dress. He returned home to himself. He must not dally. He stood in front of his wardrobe where his few aging clothes dangled on the line. He scanned through them carefully, one after another, until he picked the best of them, an embroidered garment. He was, however, sad that the garment was sullied by dust and rust, and rumpled up. He did not give up. He took out the garment. 

First, he flapped the garment vigorously. Dust clouded the air and tiny insects dropped or fluttered away. He put the garment in a pail, poured warm water into it until it was submerged. He poured detergent into the pail. He then with a rod stirred the garment, warm water, and detergent. This was in the evening. He left the garment throughout the night till the next morning. He arose at dawn by the glint of light from the east. He took out the pail containing the garment to his place of laundry, a stream called Ereda. He washed the garment lightly, squeezed hard to desiccate, and threw away the pail of water thick with grease and particles. 

When it appeared all was done, he doused the garment again in a bowl of water. He took a bar of soap and began to wash, scouring and twisting the material roughly. He never seemed to consider that the garment would get torn. When he was done washing, he rinsed the garment again and again in a fresh pail of water from the stream. Not still satisfied, he doused the garment in the stream, unafraid that he might lose it. He held up the garment and began to squeeze. He squeezed so hard that one would wonder why the garment did not split. He flapped it again and again and spread it on the dew-fresh shafts of a shrub. By forenoon, the sun was up and blazed down. The furious sun rays pierced through the earth. Plants shriveled. Every living organism sought shelter from it, from shades to burrows. But the garment left in the sun was not burned up. Under the burning rays and heat, it glistened. 

By evening, the garment was dry but wrinkled. The peasant folded and returned home with it. He made a fire stuffed with coals and fanned the coals into a flame. He stuffed a charcoal iron with the live coals. He then spread the garment on a smooth-clean mahogany board. When the iron had heated, ready to smother, he pressed the iron against the garment until every wrinkle was smoothed. When he was done, he sprayed perfume on the garment and the fragrance wafted all over the air. Satisfied, the peasant bathed and wore the garment. When he stepped into the banquet hall, with an imposing appearance from his outfit, everyone revered him. He was welcomed as one of them. 

"To be worthy to follow the master to the banquet, you all must be willing to undergo cleansing and accept suffering and reform like the garment. A word is enough for the wise.  Ōnò sò, nhò guê miê ênê á sò!" The priest admonished.