Identity Crisis: Your Heart Is the Compass, Your Life the Ship

By Adaora Edeani

We are ultimately responsible for the outcomes of our lives, irrespective of unanticipated circumstances.

IDENTITY CRISIS is a tale of Kene, a young man, who is enslaved by his depressing predicaments.

Having known dejection for too long, he becomes far withdrawn from hope and void of dreams and purpose.

In another point of dejection, Kene meets Yusuf who sees beyond the loser he believes he is. Yusuf knows the answer to Kenes many unasked questions. But Kenes rejection of the truths his answer reveals leaves him with the choice of either hanging in or giving up on him. Saadia, a determined teenage girl whose dreams are interrupted because of her daunting circumstances, bumps into Kene after four years of being separated from him. Their peculiar conditions create a bond between them that would result in an unforeseen outcome, proving no depth is beyond the reach of a miracle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512756883

Adaora Edeani

Adaora Edeani is a writer of inspirational fiction, well known for composing spellbinding stories. She is a pencil portraitist with great interest in detailed pencil portraiture. As a talented artist and a writer, her works of fiction have a unique way of captivating audiences with her peculiar style of converting anxiety and suspense into thrills; like carving an aesthetic statue out of awkward wood. Adaora Edeani lives in Lagos, Nigeria.

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Copyright © 2016 Adaora Edeani.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Credit for cover image: Gilbert Edeani

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-5687-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-5686-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-5688-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016915138

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/20/2016

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

Dedication

This book is specially dedicated to all the Yusufs in the lives of God’s children and to the many of God’s children who are still on this journey to the epignosis of God’s Word.

To the precious Holy Spirit who never leaves me to myself.

Until you change a man’s thinking, you cannot change his state. And until his state is changed, his estate cannot be changed— Rev. Chris Oyakhilome D.Sc., D.D.

Acknowledgements

This book is a testimony of the effect of Rev. Chris Oyakhilome’s teachings on the Word of God in my life. I am one of the millions of people that have been greatly impacted by your unique message of the Gospel. For this, I am eternally grateful.

To my mum and dad, my amazing duo. Thank you for your immeasurable love and guidance.

Iyke, my younger brother. You are super amazing! Thank you for your unquantifiable support. Gilbert, thank you for that breathtaking painting. And to the rest of my siblings, Obiora and Ukamaka, you guys rock!

To my friends, Ezekiel, Destiny, Paago, and the list would seem endless. Thank you for inspiring me to finish this book. Ezekiel, your passion for the story kept cheering me on. Thank you.

To my pastors, Pastor Vale Odu-Thomas, Pastor Gabriel Omorogieva, Pastor Dipo Isaacs, Pastor Sola Olubode, Pastor Obi Umeasiegbu, and Pastor Demola Onanuga. Thank you for guiding me through the Word. Pastor Furo Eziashi, thank you for encouraging me to channel my talent towards the right course.

Prologue

H e heard the sound of the door and glanced at his watch—7:49 p.m. Ebuka just came home.

Listening closely, he heard the door close and bunch of keys drop on the table. He heard his father’s footsteps as he came in; a few steps and no more—he apparently stopped in the sitting room.

Distorted chatter filtered into the bedroom; Ebuka had turned on the TV.

Few minutes passed, and he showed no sign of coming into the room—that was typical of him, Kene mused.

The smell of cigarette smoke began to penetrate into the room. And he sat gazing at nothing.

Back again to the first page of Chapter 1; "Changing the circumstances of your life." He stared endlessly at the group of words. He wished it were as true as it was written. How could he change his circumstances? he wondered. He had lost too many times, endured too much hatred. Nothing could ever change that, he decided. God’s factory reject! he called himself, directing his frustrations at the author.

He had thrown away all hopes for fear of the known and unknown, he admitted. But there was really nothing to hope for, he mused, as teardrops rolled down his cheeks onto the table. He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. The tears came again. He took his hand off his face. He didn’t want to wipe it away or hold it back anymore. The drops turned into a stream and flowed down his face. He sobbed profusely.

1

P eople hurried all over, clearing tables and counters. The clamouring increased with the dusty wind, and the clouds darkened even more. They’d seen the signs; the rain had been warming up for over thirty minutes. Why would they always wait for the rain to start before clearing their goods? Kene wondered as he closed the windows. He checked the broken window. He had recently glued the pieces back together after the last adhesive tape wore out and let them loose. They should still be firm, he supposed.

The wind ushered in the rain which began with an intensity that matched its preparation. Kene looked through the window one more time. Bare tables and counters with few people taking shelter here and there was all that was left of the busy small market square. Withdrawing from the window side, he moved towards the old bookshelf that also served as the TV stand.

The floor had become cold and the tattered carpet left it almost bare. Kene glanced around for his slippers but didn’t see it. He decided he didn’t need it, not being in the mood for a search of any sort.

He flipped the collar of his polo shirt to cover his chilling neck as he reached the bookshelf. Accepting Defeat. Life is a Game of Chance. Can’t Cheat Fate. He slowly read the book titles with his arms folded. You’re neither in the mood to read, he said to himself.

Reminding himself he had already read most of the books, he slowly released his arms and fiddled with the buttons of the TV for a moment before turning it on. He dragged a few steps backwards, then slumped into his father’s favourite cushion. The brown piece of furniture was perhaps as old as the one-bedroom flat itself. Kene knew he was born here. He knew his father grew up here with his grandmother but wasn’t sure if he was born here too.

He stared blankly at the TV, fiddling with the torn armrest of the chair. Another Sunday was rolling by slowly. He glanced at the adjacent two-seater sofa, wishing he could sleep away the rest of the day. He wasn’t looking forward to Monday either, he mused. He would be going to town for a job with his father. Working at the workshop was undesirable enough, he thought, but working alongside his father was dreadful.

The low rumbling of the thunder built up into a loud crack that jolted him up on his feet. Power ceased concurrently with the sound. Of course, he said, moving towards the TV to switch it off. Just then he heard the noise of the kitchen’s rusted aluminium roof, which had detached from the weak nails, being blown by the wind. He raced into the kitchen as fast as he could.

It was too late. He saw that as he stood by the kitchen door, his arms folded as he stared into the pool of water. How could I have forgotten? he muttered, rolling up his trousers. The empty bucket he would have used to avoid the situation was floating on the water. He bent over to reach for it, having taken hold of the dustpan by the door.

He glanced at the soup pot on top of the kitchen cupboard, thankful he hadn’t left it on the floor after cleaning the kerosene stove in the morning.

He stooped and began to bail the water off the bare cement floor.

~   ~   ~

With a toolkit in one hand, Kene held out a set of hand gloves in the other, spreading his gaze around as he stood by waiting to take instructions. The garage looked smaller than what he had expected of a huge shopping mall as this. But then it didn’t need a big garage, he admitted, since it wasn’t a mechanic garage like the one in which his father’s workshop was located.

Can you keep that box aside? Ebuka rebuked.

Papa, I thought you asked me to hold it.

That was a moment ago. And stop arguing. Give me that. He snatched the hand gloves from Kene’s hand. Loosen the other tyre. Misplace the lug nuts and be ready to replace them.

Kene walked to the back of the vehicle and kept the toolkit on top of a bench by the corner, then he searched the bag he had brought along for a wheel spanner but couldn’t find it.

He glanced around as he walked back to his father, hoping to find the wheel spanner before getting close. He stood by his father for a moment before bending down to take his spanner.

What is it? Ebuka glared at him, setting him back on his feet.

I didn’t see the other wheel spanner. I want to use this one since you’re done with it.

I hope you didn’t leave it behind! Have you checked in the bag?

Kene took few steps backwards as he noticed his father’s hand move towards the spanner, hoping he wouldn’t unleash it on him. It’s not in the bag; I’ve checked.

Get out of my sight and find a way to loosen that tyre!

He realised he had actually forgotten to bring it along, but he wasn’t going to mention that. He’d rather allow Ebuka to figure it out himself. He hoped by then he would have withdrawn far enough for his rage.

And bring that toolkit close to me. Adjust that wedge at the back tyre of this truck! Do you even have sense at all? You can’t just get anything right!

Hoping it would end there, Kene hurriedly paced about carrying out the instructions. He also brought the bag to his father; he didn’t need him to ask specially.

He glanced at a man that was standing next to the bench. He had noticed the man earlier, but he wasn’t as close. And he had been staring at him the whole time, he noted.

Sending him to loosen the opposite tyre gave Kene a much-needed relief. He strolled over to the garage, hoping he would be able to borrow a wheel spanner, wishing the job were simpler than changing brake pads. And if it were, they probably wouldn’t be here. But what part of fixing a car was simple? he wondered. Maybe none, he mused, but the hardest part of doing anything was doing it with his father.

On the other hand, borrowing a wheel spanner was easier than he had thought. He stooped in front of the tyre at once, glad he was out of Ebuka’s sight as also instructed.

With two lug nuts out and going for the third one, Kene picked the nuts off the ground and put them in the pocket of his coverall. Remembering the hole in the pocket, he brought them out, scanning around for anything that appeared to be able to keep them together.

Hello.

Kene looked up. Good afternoon, sir. This man again, he thought. And he was extending a small empty carton to him—exactly what he was looking for. Thank you. He collected the carton and placed it by his side.

The fairly small man with a pleasant smile, despite his physique, was probably in his mid-thirties, Kene thought. He could sense an aura of influence around the man, which seemed to make light of his look.

I’m Yusuf, a supervisor here. He maintained his smile, voice as heartwarming as his countenance.

Kene’s head was tilting upwards as Yusuf stood beside him. Yusuf bent over to stoop with him in front of the tyre, and Kene’s gaze followed him as he went down. Kene had the look of the man, he noted. But the man looked hefty, and Kene had the height. He might as well have the same physique, he supposed, though he wasn’t looking hefty—yet. Having taken a closer look, Yusuf figured Kene would be about eighteen.

Is he your father?

Yes, sir. Kene tossed the nuts into the carton, one at a time.

He was a more handsome version of his father. Yusuf could see that. He glanced at his dark, thick grown hair that almost resembled an afro, which wasn’t different from his father’s, wondering why he grew his hair like that.

Do you go to school?

Kene paused, with the spanner hanging down his hand, appearing to be weighing his response as his eyes narrowed and stayed fixed on the tyre.

No, I don’t, he answered, then fixed the spanner back in place and continued loosening the tyre.

Yusuf could notice a fresh bruise on his left knuckle which suggested he might have scratched the back of his hand against the ground.

You don’t seem to like your father’s job, he said, deliberately making a response easy.

No, I don’t. Kene stopped before he answered, but he answered honestly.

What’s your name?

Kene.

Would you like to work here?

Yusuf saw him smile for the first time, and the smile was an eruption. The response would be enough—in case he didn’t speak. And he didn’t.

Yusuf slid his finger into his breast pocket to reach for his business card. Handing it to Kene, he rose. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. With that, he was on his way, not waiting for the shock on Kene’s face to fizzle out for a thank you.

The smile lingered on his lips while he loosened the last nut. The thought of not having to cope with his father all day was consoling. But then he had to tell him, he mused, fearing a rejection, and perhaps an outburst. He needed time to summon that courage. But he had to be here tomorrow, he reminded himself.

Kene.

Grateful the call didn’t come earlier, Kene grabbed the borrowed wheel spanner, picked up the carton with the nuts inside and dashed off to answer his father.

We’re not going to spend all day here. I hope you know that. Ebuka seemed to be done, as he was replacing the tyre. I hope you’ve loosened that tyre.

Yes, Papa.

Rising, Ebuka took the carton from him. Tighten the nuts while I work on the other one. He picked the car jack beneath the vehicle along with his wheel spanner and headed to the other side.

Kene got busy. As he screwed back the nuts, he wondered if his father had heard his conversation with Yusuf. He hoped he did. That would make it easier to tell him, he supposed.

~   ~   ~

Kene glanced at his father as he cleared his dinner plates. He had done that more times than he could have counted since they came home in the evening. It was night and he still hadn’t told Ebuka. He had conveniently postponed it when they got back to the workshop in the afternoon. But he didn’t have that much time any longer, he reluctantly admitted.

Dumping the plates in the kitchen sink, he paused for a moment. Perhaps he should wash the plates now and gather the courage while doing so, he thought, hoping Ebuka would not have gone out before he’d return to the sitting room. And he definitely wouldn’t be back before he’d go to bed, Kene mused, hurrying into the sitting room at once.

He stood by the door of the passage behind his father’s chair. Ebuka was still relaxing in front of the TV. He should just get it over with, he thought.

Papa. He came in and stood beside his father.

What is it?

I met a man today when we were at Supreme … He came to me while I was loosening tyre.

Was that the person you were talking with?

Yes, Papa. Realising that Ebuka noticed made him panic a little more. But the worst he could get would be his refusal, he mused. He wants to give me a job.

What kind of job and where?

I don’t know, but I think it’s at Supreme. And he asked me to come tomorrow.

And what did you tell him?

Kene hesitated, his arms behind him as he moved backwards towards the sofa. I want to go; he’s expecting me tomorrow.

That’s OK. With that,