Jonah saw Nineveh before he heard of it.From a natural rise in the terrain, the walls emerged before his eyes like an open
wound in the earth. They were immense, taller than he had imagined, reinforced with
towers that seemed to watch not only the horizon, but also the intentions of those
who approached. The city did not hide. It asserted itself.
The wind carried the sounds to him: metallic clangs, voices mingled in different
languages, the distant bellowing of animals, the constant murmur of a crowd that never
truly fell silent. Nineveh did not sleep; it breathed voraciously.
Jonah stopped.
It wasn't fear that held him back, but the weight of reality. This was no longer just an
idea or a symbol. It was a living city, full of real people, intertwined stories, and good
and bad decisions accumulated over generations.
"Here I am," he thought. "Just as you asked."
He descended slowly. With each step, the city seemed to grow larger. The dust of the
road mingled with the smells of urban life: sweat, smoke, food, animals, hot metal. The
contrast with the silence of the desert was overwhelming.
Upon reaching the main gate, two guards watched him intently. Jonah made no attempt to hide
anything. He didn't lower his gaze or adopt a defiant stance. He simply walked forward.
"Your name?" one of them asked, in a harsh tone.
Jonah hesitated for a moment.
— Jonah —he answered—. Son of Amittai.
The guard assessed him from head to toe.
- Purpose?
There was the question he had avoided asking even to himself.
— I have a message —he said—. For this city.
The other guard laughed disdainfully.
"Everyone brings something to Nineveh," he replied. "Goods, threats, promises. Come in... but watch
your words."
The door opened.Jonah crossed the threshold.
It was like stepping into another world.
The streets were wide and chaotic. Carts sped by, merchants shouted their offers,
children ran through the crowds, and soldiers marched with purposeful steps, their
armor gleaming in the sun. There were towering temples with imposing statues and
smoking altars, symbols of gods Jonah didn't know or didn't want to know.
And yet, he felt no immediate hatred.
He felt something more disturbing: humanity.
He saw an old man hunched over, leaning on a cane. He saw
a woman wearily scolding her son. He saw a young man
carrying sacks heavier than he was.
Nobody looked like the monster I had imagined for years.
—This is the dangerous part—he thought. Seeing them up close.
He wandered aimlessly, letting the city absorb him. Each street took him further from the
Jonah who had fled, and further from the prophet who felt comfortable condemning from
afar.
He passed by a market where weapons and spices were sold. The contrast struck him:
instruments of war alongside pleasant aromas. Nineveh did not hide its contradictions.
A group of men were arguing heatedly near a fountain. One of them shoved
another violently. People watched, some with interest, others with
indifference. Jonah felt a knot in his stomach.
"There is injustice here too," he reminded himself. "I didn't imagine it."
The message burned within her, but she hadn't yet spoken it. Not because she didn't want to obey,
but because she understood that words were not trivial. Once spoken, they could not be taken back.
As evening fell, he found a spot from which to observe one of the main squares. He
sat on the edge of a stone structure and watched the ceaseless activity.
"How do you talk to a city that doesn't want to listen?" he wondered.He remembered the voice that had called him. It hadn't given him an elaborate speech,
just a clear order: proclaim the message he was told. That implied something deeper than
speaking: it implied trust.
The next day, Jonah woke up early. The sun had barely risen when he got up and
walked toward one of the busiest streets. His heart was pounding. His hands were
sweating. His throat was dry.
—Not now—fear told him. —Wait a little longer.
But Jonah already knew where that voice was leading.
He stopped in the middle of the street.
People avoided him, annoyed. Some gave him irritated looks. Jonah took a deep breath. The
sounds of the city seemed to amplify. The whole world seemed to concentrate on that
moment.
He opened his mouth.
And he spoke.
— Just forty more days… and Nineveh will be destroyed!
The phrase came out raw, unadorned, without introduction. It didn't explain who he was. It didn't justify anything.
It simply proclaimed.
There was a second of confusion.
Then, laughter.
"Another crazy person!" someone shouted.
"Go yell at your gods!" another one mocked.
Jonah did not answer. He walked a few steps and proclaimed the message again, with the same
force, with the same simplicity.
— Just forty more days… and Nineveh will be destroyed!
Some began to listen to him with curiosity. Others with annoyance. A man
insulted him. A woman threw an object that grazed his shoulder.
Jonah continued.
Street after street. Square after square.The message didn't change, but something did: the atmosphere.
The laughter became less frequent. The teasing, more strained. Some people
began to look at him silently, frowning, as if the words touched an uncomfortable
spot they preferred to ignore.
"Who are you?" a merchant shouted at him. "Why should we believe you?"
Jonah looked him in the eyes.
—Because I don't speak for myself—he replied.
He said nothing more.
That was enough.
As night fell, Jonah was exhausted. His voice ached. His feet burned. He sat down in a dark
corner, away from the main bustle. He thought that would be it. That the message would
be lost in the noise of the city.
"I did what you asked," he said to God silently. "The rest is out of my hands."
As she closed her eyes, she heard something different.
No shouting.
No laughter.
Whispers.
People speaking in hushed tones. Repeated questions. A disquiet that began to
spread through the city like an invisible crack.
Jonah slowly opened his eyes.
Nineveh refused to listen…
But something had begun to move.
And that, more than rejection, filled him with a new fear:
the fear that God would do exactly what he had always feared.