Manuscript Found in Accra

You will s

ee that you are about to arrive at a place where very few have ever set foot, and you will think that you don’t deserve what life is giving you.

You will forget all the obstacles you overcame, all that you suffered and sacrificed. And because of that feeling of guilt, you could unconsciously destroy everything that took you so long to build.

That is the most dangerous of obstacles, because renouncing victory has about it a certain aura of sanctity.

But if a man understands that he is worthy of what he has struggled so long for, he will realize that he did not get there alone and must respect the Hand that led him.

Only someone capable of honoring each step he takes can comprehend his own worth.

And a man who knew how to write, and who was frantically trying to note down every word the Copt said, paused to rest, feeling as if he were in a kind of trance. The square, the weary faces, the religious men who were listening in silence, all seemed part of a dream.

And in order to prove that what he was experiencing was real, he said:

“Speak to us about loyalty.”

And he answered:

Loyalty can be compared to a shop selling exquisite porcelain vases, a shop to which Love has given us the key.

Each of those vases is beautiful because it is different, as is every person, every drop of rain, every rock sleeping on the mountainside.

Sometimes, due to age or some unsuspected defect, a shelf collapses and falls. And the shop owner says to himself: “I invested years of my time and my love on this collection, but the vases have betrayed me and broken.”

The man sells his shop and leaves. He becomes a solitary, embittered individual, believing that he will never trust anyone again.

It’s true that some vases do break—a promise of loyalty broken. In that case, it’s best to sweep up the pieces and throw them away, because what was broken will never be the same again.

But sometimes the reasons why a shelf collapses and falls go beyond mere human intentions: it could be an earthquake, an enemy invasion, or clumsiness on the part of someone who enters the shop without looking where he is going.

Men and women blame each other for the disaster. They say: “Someone should have foreseen what was going to happen.” Or: “If I had been in charge, these problems could have been avoided.”

Nothing could be further from the truth. We are all prisoners of the sands of time, and we have no control over them.

Time passes, and the shelf that fell gets mended.

Other vases fighting for their place in the world are put there. The new shop owner, who understands that nothing lasts, smiles and says to himself: “That tragedy opened up an opportunity for me and I will try to make the most of it. I will discover works of art I never even knew existed.”

The beauty of a shop selling porcelain vases is that each vase is unique, but, when they are placed side by side, the vases exude harmony and reflect the hard work of the potter and the art of the painter.

Each work of art could easily say: “I want to be noticed, and I’m going to get out of here.” But the moment it tries to do that, it will be transformed into a pile of broken shards with no value.

And as it is with vases so it is with men and women.

And so it is with tribes and ships and trees and stars.

Once we understand this, we can sit next to our neighbor at the end of the day, listening with respect to what he has to say and saying what he needs to hear. And neither of us will try to impose our ideas on the other.

Beyond the mountains that separate the tribes, beyond the distance that separates bodies, there exists the community of spirits. We are part of that community, where there are no streets peopled with pointless words, only broad avenues that connect what is distant and sometimes have to be repaired because of the damage caused by time.

Thus, the returning lover will never be eyed with distrust, because loyalty accompanies his every step.

And the man who was seen as an enemy yesterday, because there was a war being waged, will now be seen as a friend, because the war is over and life goes on.

The son who left will eventually return, and he will return rich in the experiences he had along the way. His father will receive him with open arms and say to his servants: “Bring the best robe for him and put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet, because my son was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is found.”

And a man whose brow was marked by time and whose body was marked by scars that told of the battles in which he had fought said: