“Any Pastor Wey Dey Look Me Bad Eye as If Him Sef Be Saint, Na God Go Punish Am”
I imagined myself grabbing her waist and moving mine in and out like I usually do in the other room. It felt like a pleasant heavenly dream until I was awoken with a violent slap.
The building had gone quiet. I was faced with an angry and disgusted woman who had just slapped me. Pastors rushed up to me and ushers surrounded me like the DSS would a suspect. Members glaring at me as though I was an alien. In a split seconds, I realised my dream had been a reality all along.
I was in-between shame and pain. Shame because almost everyone witnessed a bit of my intimate skills. Pain because I didn’t get to climax before experiencing shame. What a wasted risk it was.
The way the pastors stared at me was annoying as though they had never suffered the same. Our Daddy G.O mounted the podium and began a rebuke sermon, clearly scolding me like a servant. What got me even more pissed was the way Pastor Edwin looked at me.
Daddy G.O had said that all fornicators and lustful members have their place in the lake of fire for eternity and he (Pastor Edwin) looked at me scornfully.
“What? How could he pretend to be a Saint?” my attention shifted from Daddy G.O to him.
This very Pastor Edwin has done worse than I had ever attempted. Just last week Wednesday, when we had our weekly hour of deliverance programme, a pregnant woman walked in few minutes after the programme ended. Because people hurried out to their business places, the crowd dispersed quickly.
This lady walked up to pastor Edwin with a white paper. I assumed it was some doctor’s report that was unfavourable to her safe delivery. She handed it over to Pastor Edwin, muttering some words. After some seconds of perusing the paper, he handed it back to her and uttered some an instruction afterwards she rushed out of the building and came back with another copy of the paper.
The sound systems were being turned off by the drummer whose responsibility was to ensure the safety of all equipment; so, Pastor Edwin’s interaction with this woman became audible enough for a strained ear to grasp.
“Whose report shall you believe?” he asked.
“The report of the Lord.”
Whose report shall you believe?” he added some enthusiasm.
The report of the Lord” she was faithed.
“Come with me” he raised her hope for a miracle.
I watched as she padded behind him.
The reason for my wait at the instrumentalist section went from charging my phone to observing Pastor Edwin and this woman.
He led her from the centre of the church up to the three-stairs altar and through the background of the altar- a curtain with a door behind it. I had never seen anyone walked past that curtain but I was certain that whatever was behind it was secluded to the ministers. I just couldn’t understand Pastor Edwin’s decision to take that woman there. Or even why she would willingly follow a man to a secluded place (forget pastor first).
As a smart guy, I had a premonition of sexual perversion and thought to draw the attention of the drummer to it; but then, I remembered how readily these guys were ready to defend their pastors like a hen would its chicks even if it cost them their friendship. How much more I that doesn’t even have a close relationship with them?
I kept my suspicion to myself and was determined to remain in church till they(Pastor Edwin and the pregnant woman) leave. Right from the onset, the title “pastor” has never clouded my sense of judgement. Maybe because ‘I be bad boy, too’ or ‘I just like to dey serve God my own way’, I can’t tell. ‘All I know say na, any pastor wey dey look me bad eye as if him sef be saint, na God go punish am.’
I almost ran out of luck when the drummer walked up to me and requested that I leave because he wanted to lock the auditorium. I was speechless for a while. “Was he not aware that there was another member in church besides me who was behind closed doors?” I thought.
I stood and looked south- the door he expected me to exit through- and decided to take the southwest door because it was the first part the pregnant woman would walk through to get to the gate when she exits through the outlet of that inner chamber.
As I was leaving the auditorium, I turned on my stopwatch app on my phone.
I got to the garage opposite the southwest door and waited in my car.
Impatience got the best of me when the stay exceeded my mental expectation. I looked at my phone and it was thirty-one minutes already and still counting. The drummer had gone and the compound had noises of distant roadside vehicles, chatter and city animals.
My mind went from sexual suspicion to murder because it was taking too long than I expected a mischievous sexual encounter to occur. Yeah.
About giving up as I made to start the ignition, there came my long-expected spectacle. I paused and observed how Pastor Edwin escorted her just before the garage with a victorious smile while she gave a miracle-believing nod to whatever he was saying to her.
“It is well with you” was the faint concluding words I heard him say to her.
By this time, I was reversing and did it in such a way that obstructed the woman’s way. Moving front and back, she waited for me to find my bearings so that she would proceed, but that was just the opportunity I needed to strike a conversation with her.
“Hello Sister, are you heading towards the newly constructed bridge?” I asked delightfully.
“Yes, I am.”
“If you don’t mind” I opened the passenger door beside her.
“Thank you, Sir” she said with relief and settled in.
“You look troubled” I said, finding my way out of the premises.
A quiet smile responded.
“You know, I, I,…” I stuttered. “I know this might feel a bit forward and it’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable about it; but I was going to say that if you need to talk about whatever transpired between you and Pastor Edwin behind closed doors, feel free to tell me.” I pinned my lips in the awkwardness of my offer.
The quiet smile followed again.
We were on the expressway with the noise of Lagos breeze filling in the silence when she tilted her head with a confused expression and said
“Is it right?”
I responded with an information-demanding look- (“Is what right?”)
“Placing the anointing oil in me”; she confused me further.
The reason why she chose elliptical conversation expecting me to manufacture the missing piece was perplexing but I attempted a nice response.
“Do you mean asking you to drink a bottle of anointing oil?”
“No”, she said. “This was what happened.”
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