Zosofia Narrative

Zosofia “Curtis come help!” I screamed through the torn apart bed of yams. “I’m coming Zosofia! What happened?”

I explained to Curtis how the raccoons were on a hunt again last night. It was after the Sunday morning service. I just preached to the whole city. I always feel refreshed going to the garden after my services, but this time was different. I wasn’t prepared to clean up a mess. I told Curtis to stay watching the yams while I run to the store to buy some fresh soil and new gloves.

“Alright, Zosofia. I’ll keep my eye out for any raccoons. Next one is going down!”

As I was walking to the store I felt eyes upon me. I looked to my left to see an older woman eyeing me up. I heard someone call her “Ana.”

I decided to give her a shy

I know you nasty foreign people and the things you would do to get ahead.”

I tried explaining to the old lady how I am priest for the church down the street and I mean no harm. She ignored that and told me I was dangerous because of my ethnicity. I was once a Muslim back in my home. I didn’t agree with my family’s ways in Ethiopia. I decided to change my religion, my look, and my location. I headed to America to become a priest, and I have never been happier. I told Ana about my church. I knew she was skeptical, but I said goodbye and told her I had to

I asked the short man with big eyes where the gardening supplies are. He pointed me to the aisle full of shovels, gloves, soil, and bird feeders. I grabbed the two things I needed and headed to the checkout counter. I paid the young girl and headed out.

I finally got to my destination. Curtis was pulling out the weeds that were starting to grow in the garden. I gave him the new gloves and shovel.

He finally said to me, “I want to buy my own land plot. I want to impress my girl, Lateesha. She needs to see that I have grown up. I ain’t no little boy anymore.”

“Oh son. Just be yourself and she will see how much you have grown. Don’t take women for granted. Actions speak louder than words.”

A week has passed since we first planted the tomatoes. It was Sunday morning. My favorite day of the week. I was in the middle of my sermon when I noticed an old woman in the fourth row of pews. I know that woman. That is Ana.

After the last hymn was sung I went up to Ana.

She cried, “I am so sorry Father Domingo. I would have never thought that you had such grace and a beautiful