Vision in a Dream

Vision in a Dream

(A quick read)

By

Abubakar Sulaiman Muhd

17/07/1013

A complete annum since last I travelled out of the country. The second to last was a trip to Saudi Arabia for my pilgrimage and the last was a journey to Boston and Geneva all at once.

I was in my study around 3:45 in the morning flapping through a document I have recently finished working on when a phone call came through. I just glanced at the caller’s detail without picking until it rang one, two, three up to four. It was a call with US international code. I was confused. I had nobody from the US to give me such call at this hour. The only colleague I could have expected had not known my contact info and besides, we only communicated via email.

My wife Safiyya was a member of Nigeriene elite family. Safiyya was elegant in dress, impeccable in manner and brilliant in her profession. I met her at Uganda International Airport only few months before our marriage, on the course of her work where she was serving as humanitarian worker, practicing as virologist in the countries locating at Horn of Africa.

In the past one year I met her only once in Cape Town at airport. Then our plane landed before its final take off to our last destination, Boston. I was boarding and she, deplaning a flight from Mozambique where she went to check a newly discovered virus. She was one such medical professional called Doctors without borders. I hadn’t got time to speak to her. All I could do was waving at her. The modern world of techno-advancement has it that all human activities are to be programmed to run on schedule, working like automated devices.

As for our three children, Aliyu, Aisha and Sadiq, they were sent off to study at various universities abroad. Our meeting was rare. When they came for vacation I would, as if by planning happen to be out of the country on academic tour giving lectures to international students all over the world.

With my family, I maintained contact with them on phone and other social networking sites where we held video chat on facebook and Skype, and barely conversed on twitter or g+ plus. The only prob with the modern devices is that they separate one from his family and leave him with the false impression that he is making live contact with them. But the truth is that they deprive man of the  sense of humour and aroma of physical contact with their loved ones.

I was the only person now inhabiting my compound. I didn’t bother peeping my head outside even at once for a complete year. As for food, I had a restaurant at neighbourhood that offered e-service delivery. All I had to do to order my food was scrolling on my computer screen and put a series of digit number of my ATM card on the place they slotted on their page. As for prayer, I have registered with an online mosque where people around the world gathered on the cyberspace to say their prayer in congregation. E-religion is also another dictates of the modern world. No trouble, you can do everything with a click of a mouth.

“My name Helena, Director Institute of Art Harvard University, USA”, the woman on phone was saying. I felt downfounded. Where the hell did she get my contact number? “After studying your book with my students, I decided to invite you here to meet our students. As for how we got your contact, we traced the web address given on the cover of your book and there we found your cellphone line.”

But ma’m there was no contact info on the page. Www.abubakarsm4.blogspot.com. A voice in me was correlating.

“We have brilliant technocrats and scientists here working on high-tech equipments to eke out user’s contact from their page.” Oh!, modern world, I thought. “I will like to know if you can honour my invitation within fortnight, thanks.” The line hung up. She was precise and short.

Within two days I was sent the entire needed document for my travel. Since it was not a ceremonial journey, I only took what was necessary, packed and left for US.

Everything was arranged to happen within a week. A day after my arrival, I was taken in the chilly morning to the spacious theatre hall from my accommodation situated within the compound of the varsity. A two-minute walk from the room, the hall was already packed - with every inch of space occupied by jubilant crowd – students, lecturers, doctors and professors. Form the special guests’ seat, were seated art buffs and scholars, historians, sociologists, anthropologists, archeologists and scientists.

I was entered through a tiny back door and seated on a chair beside the podium along with other scholars form all schools of the varsity. I saw beaming audience in their exuberant impulse of enthusiasm happy to meet a black educationist as a person to give them lecture. In the course of study the colour of your skin is irrelevant. They knew one professor from Kenya and this one was from Nigeria.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen”, Miss Helena started “I’m happy to introduce,” she paused, “a university professor from Nigeria who is going to give you a lecture now. He is a professor of History and Philosophy of Science, Iconography and Symbology.” Where the hell did she get all this, my heart pounded. “He is also a scholar of Astronomy, History, Anthropology, and Archeology,” paused and continued “in fact he is a man of isms and ologies and if you like you can just call him a one-man university.” The hall felj into a cheerful ovation. “You see,” she raised a magazine up, to the level of her chest; “this is an international educational magazine assessing brains and intellengia all over the world. This year the magazine ranked him second among the best educationists across the world. So far he has seven publications to his credit: Religious Symbology in Modern Science, Science or Art, Where the Origin, Religion and Culture Convergence and Divergence, Science a Magic by Proof, just to name the few. And now I will give him the floor to deliver his lecture title: Influence of Modern Science in Culture and Religion.”

As she mentioned the title my heart leapt up. The name I arranged to give to my 350-page draft I have just finished working on lately.

As she stepped aside to give me the floor, I adjusted my Burberry turtleneck to make for the electronic podium.

A tap came on my body waking me up from my dream. A brother was waking me up from my sleep. It was all vision in a dream.