By Jessica-Ken:

“B-but why?” My mouth shook.

“You are married to an atheist, Habibat. We cannot do this alone.”

I understood what he meant. But I hadn’t told him anything about Amos being an atheist. It must have been revealed to him.

“Brother Jerome?”

Brother Jerome brought his head closer.

“Call Evangelist Tayo and tell him we are on a dangerous mission!”

Brother Jerome agreed. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Sister Bisi?”

Sister Bisola answered the call.

“Put a call through to the rest of the band. The prayer band,” he said, “Make sure they are here… in not less than 20 minutes.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

They got busy. Sister Bisola put a call through, as Brother Jerome went about swiping the screen of his phone. With it put close to his ear, he groaned and moved his fist in the air, and brought it down.

“What is it, Brother Jerome?” Daddy noticed his anxiety.

“Daddy, Evangelist Tayo is not picking.”

I lowered my face. “What did daddy mean by ‘we’re on a dangerous mission’? Has the case gotten worse?”

“Daddy, Sister Kemi and the rest of the band are coming. They’re on their way. “Sister Bisola informed.

Daddy told everyone to come down and requested for a bottle of olive oil to be brought. The olive oil was brought and we walked to the gate. Daddy poured half of the oil on the ground right there, and he made to knock.

“Who be that?!” Usman called. “Na now I wan sleep una know you go come.”

I almost laughed, but held it in. Usman opened the gate and we walked in. “Ah! Madam! Long time oo.” he said with hands raised.

“Oga dey house?” I acted like I had no clue.

“Er… erm… erm…”

“Let’s just go in,” Pastor Vincent cut him short. He led the way, and we followed. Looking at the white building, with its two pillars standing out in front, he stood, as though admiring the beautiful design, shook his head, and signaled to us to follow, with his five fingers moving lightly in the air.

“Stop!” he halted, and we did.

All these delays… I thought within me, and blew the air with my mouth.

Daddy sprinkled oil on the ground, and asked us to walk over it. “Do not let your feet touch it,” came his instructions.

The front door was left wide open, and two kids came running, as angry groans filled the air.

“We cannot stay here, Jenna. Daddy’s gone mad.” the little one said.

“Where is your mother?” I asked, stunned.

“We don’t know.” Jenna, the girl, replied. I could tell her age now by looking well. She looked not more hethan 15.

“You don’t know where your Mom is?” I was shocked Gabrielle had left them.

“Auntie?” the little one called to my hearing. “Why is father acting that way?” the way he asked made me emotional.

“Ah!” Pastor Vincent cut his question short. “Where is he? I need to see him.” He went off in a flash, and was in the large living room before we knew it.

I told the kids to wait outside so they wouldn’t witness a thing. I walked behind and let Brother Jerome and Sister Bisi to go in before I did.

Amos was on the floor, spitting and growling. He was gnashing his teeth along, as he sat, bound to the balusters.

“Oh, my husband!” came my cries. Hot beads of sweat trickled down, as my face laid wet from the hotness the skin around that area emitted. My husband was in a terrible condition, I could see. Pastor Vincent began praying, and in time—the rest of the people joined.

Minister Ubaka… thank God! One of the Ministers in the church walked right in: A big bible was stuck in his hand, and a bigger bottle of oil lapped perfectly in his pit. He began speaking in tongues, as Amos snarled and uttered loudly. “Where is your mother?!” Minister Ubaka asked. “Step forth!”

I had no choice but to do as commanded.


A student of the popular Nnamdi Azikiwe university. A Human Anatomy stud—and a passionate writer, with the hope of one day making the world a better place.
~Authoress Ciara

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