Righteous Indignation

My first serious fight was in Primary Four, serious in the sense that there was a bloody nose and a swollen eye, none of it mine. A boy in my class – the tremendously annoying Hussein – who sat directly behind me develop a knack for “finding my trouble.” He would always harass me by flicking my ear lobe hard with his middle finger teeing off from his thumb, or smacking the back of my head, or pricking my neck with a sharp piece of broom stick until I’d raise my hand to complain to Mrs Obikwelu, our teacher, or targeting me obnoxious schoolyard name calling during break-time, and so forth. It was constant.

The first fight in question went down one sunny afternoon as another classmate and I were walking home. I remember it in canny detail, even after all these years. Jude Onoja (not real name) had come from a rather impoverish background. It was tough enough for the poor lad that he had started school halfway through the term as a transfer student from a local public school, which made him seem distant and without friends. But this was compounded by his shabby, odd, old, torn, and ill fitted school uniform and shoes, which were more of hand me down from the son of his present guardians. And his halting English, interspersed with pidgin was spoken with a weird Midwestern accent. In few words he was a pariah. And as predictable, Hussein zeroed in on Jude, capitalizing on his social awkwardness with relentless mockery. Which was why when Jude and I were traipsing the hot dusty road after school, with Hussein and his cronies towing with giant steps behind us, a fight was preordained. All the days of built up anger and frustration started to boil up inside me as I saw them approach.

Ignoring me, Hussein moved in close and began circling Jude, taunting him, poking his forehead, pushing him around and jeering at his clothes. His buddies spurred him on.

I can’t recall how times I yelled “stop it, you stupid boy,” as Hussein swept him off his feet into the dusty clayey soil, kicking at his stomach as Jude writhed in pain and tears. Then, as I expected Hussein turned to me with a glare.

“Who are you calling stupid boy?” he barked, advancing toward me like a raged bull.

My raged boiled over like lava from an emotional volcano which I didn’t know existed until it suddenly stunned me. With my right leg drawn backward acting as a support and spring, the rage projected my body and my right knuckled fist into the air, and I hit him square in the face as hard as a projectile. Although, I was scrawny for a primary four pupil, I felt a sensation of power that I had never felt before as my fist cracked solidly against his face. In an instant it wiped out the smirk on Hussein face, and a sense of fulfilment eased into me as Hussein staggered backward, then landed hard on his buttocks. I wasn’t done, as I rushed over him, knocking his back to the ground, then I sat on his chest and began pummelling his face with more vicious punches, as he scratched and clawed at my hands. Eventually his cronies pulled me off him, as he laid there looking dazed.

That fight ended my troubles with Hussein and, as I recall, he nor his friends ever bothered Jude either. I must confess I got lucky that day. I won the fight because I caught him unawares, as it could have easily gone the other way. Truth is; I learned a valuable lesson about how to handle bullies. Standing up to them doesn’t always work, but it often does.

But that’s not the primary lesson I learnt that day. Yes, it is necessary and even righteous sometimes, to stand up and defend the weak and defenceless, but we have to do so in a righteous manner. Rage and a vengeful heart got the better part of me that day, which was why I won. Hussein, however, was just being his mean self, while I was out for blood and retribution for those times I was belittled. That frightening sensation of being controlled by anger (or out of control with anger) was what scared me. It was right of me to fight that day, but was wrong to seek revenge.

It’s good to protect or defend someone weaker, but bad to go beyond what’s sufficient to settle a squabble. Righteous indignation has its proper place, but revenge and retribution never do. For as long as I live, the memory of that fist fight and how I was engulfed by anger will remain an iconic reminder of the danger of letting base emotions overpower reason. It’s how bad decisions are made, how crimes of passions occur, and how permanent, irrevocable damage can be done to marriages, friendships, careers and one’s immortal soul (Romans 12: 19 – 21).