1.



I still remember how loud the celebrations were when I first broke the news. My father was the happiest of us all, even happier than me who had seen myself sink into a pool of depression when I found out that the words that appeared on my admission slip spelt pharmacy and not the medicine I had applied for, which also spelt one year at home. But here I was, finally holding my admission letter, the right words written boldly inside. “My son is now an undergraduate,” my father had said proudly. “Not just an undergraduate, a medical doctor in the making,” My mother chipped in then proceeded to do a little dance in the middle of our living room. Remembering these event now, I wish I could back to those times. I would’ve had time to avoid the disaster I’m currently swimming in.After the admission letter came the tedious registration process that ended on a sour note with the enrollment officer questioning: “Medicine! How did you even manage to get this admission when you’re this slow?” I would’ve retaliated but the book of Ephesians says Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God has forgiven you. Not to mention; the woman appeared to be around my mother’s age and although she wasn’t family, I could hear the Honour your father and mother so that your days on earth shall be long passage ringing loud in my ears so I put on the friendliest smile my face could muster and let the matter find its way from my mind. What followed next was the accommodation process and God in heaven knew that after the trauma I faced in Akoka High, there was no way I was going to spend one minute of my seven years stay in the four corners of a hostel. Never, I remember telling my mother. They could afford it, so I begged, reminding them of the huge sores that had popped up on my legs during the time I’d spent in Akoka High.

They agreed.

2.

The hunt for accommodation took almost a week. Each lodge visited had something that managed to break off the deal. Battalion lodge was so dirty that I was surprised at the caretaker’s audacity to lead my mother and I throughout, showing us one filthy room after the other. Managing to smile throughout the ordeal, my mother politely told him this was not what we were looking for. The caretaker, a short man with bulging eyes that looked like they could fall off any time soon, merely shrugged his shoulders like he couldn’t care less if I joined them in their dump of a lodge. Talking about it now, I can feel the putrid smell powering up my nostrils. It reminded me of the pit behind green house during my days in Akoka, where every trip down there required a cloth or hanky placed firmly over the nose to dampened the foul smell. Kings and Queens was next. A befitting name considering the sight we were welcomed with. The girls went around in skimpy dresses. Skirts that hiked up their legs anytime they took a step, shorts that rode up to reveal things of private. The man leading us was still explaining the rooms that were going to be vacant by the time we resumed fully when we came face to face with the ungodly sight. Here was a girl, bent over, lost in the rhythm of the blaring sensous music, grinding away passionately, her partner’s hands firm on her waist. I knew from the way my mother’s nails dug deep into my skin that I should avert my eyes. “This,” she said pointing at the miscreants still engaged in the lecherous act, “This is where you want my son to stay. These are the kind of people you want him to mingle with. Tufiakwa.” I could see the embarrassment in the man’s eyes. He knew she was right. He might have tried to deny it but my mother was right. Even a blind man could see it.

They must have noticed my mother’s presence ’cause the music had been switched off leaving an uncomfortable silence permeating the air.

“And you, do your parents know these are the kindof ungodly activities you are engaging in?” She said to the girl, who appeared so stiff and stricken that I began to think I had imagined the debauchery sight. The boy had disappeared from the scene. I wondered briefly when he did. Dragging me by the hands she led me out the lodge forcefully. Peering eyes followed our trailing footsteps. When we were outside, the lodge towering over us ominously, she bent down and said to me: “John. John. John. How many times did I call you?”

“Three times ma.” 

“Good. For no reason should your legs ever find its way into this place, you hear?”

“Yes Ma.”

Kings and Queens indeed. The only queens residing here were the likes of Jezebel.

3.

What’s that thing people usually say? Three is a charm… abi is it the third time is a charm? Anyways I agree. Did Jesus not walk this earth for 33 years? Did Peter not deny him three times? How many men visited Jesus at the time of birth? Three, that’s how many. The holy what? Trinity. It was on our third trip back to the town, almost three days after the Kings and Queens incident, when we stumbled upon it.The building was hidden from the street, away from eye’s view like it was trying to hide itself away from the ugliness and decadence that seemed to spread across the street. It was my mother that called the building to my attention: “Come, let’s check that one.” The lodge was called St Nicholas. The first thing I noticed about St Nicholas was how much the structure resembled that of a church. It had that pyramid-like architectural design mostly associated with churches.The outside walls were tiled but the entrance felt warm like stepping into the house of God. If there was a place God existed, I knew it had to be within these walls. Overhead, there was a man sitting at the balcony. A book was opened on his laps, I imagined it to be the holy book. Him up there studying it, glancing occasionally at us while my mother discussed with the caretaker, it filled me with some euphoric feeling. Finally, I had found my home for the next seven years. And when eventually we were shown the rooms, I knew it was a done deal, a forgone conclusion. Even my mother could tell: this was the right place.

4.

How terrible wrong I was. It was the case of not being able to tell salt from sugar. Merely looking at both of them, it’s hard to distinguish. My first day was calm. My nights were punctuated alone by the sanctimonious sounds of my praying. But by the end of the week, I began to see things clearly. Things weren’t calm, not in the slightest bit. I had resumed early but by Saturday, when a sizeable number of them had returned, I began to hear all sorts of devilish music. Songs about fornication. Songs glorifying murder,encouraging drug abuse. I even heard one that was just straight up demonic. One particular lyric stood out from the chorus: And the devil and I danced away in the cool embrace of the night. Before I moved in, I figured that no place would be one hundred percent pure, a Judas must be present but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks rolled into months I began to wonder it was the other way, whether I was the Jesus in the midst of Judas’s. Two months gone by and I began to see St Nicholas for what it really was: A modern day facsimile of Sodom and Gomorrah, where all sorts of promiscuous and lecherous acts were allowed to manifest and take place. No different from Kings and Queens. Why would God send me here? Why would he allow me fall into this type of environment? I reckoned there had to be some reason. It was not until my altercation—does it even qualify as an ‘altercation’— with the caretaker that it came to me. How could I have missed something so conspicuously glaring.

I had filled my kettle ready to set it on the gas when I noticed I’d run out of matches. Luckily for me, the caretaker’s shop was open. I greeted her quietly as I walked in.

“Abeg do you have matches?” I said.

She nodded. “Na the full box or just one.”

“Full one.” 

It was as she stood up to bring the pack of matches that my eyes caught it; Different brands of condom lined up on a stand put out boldly for sale. I was aghast. Was this not the same woman my mother had spent hours talking to about frivolous matters? Had she not asked God to see my mother home safely? Why then was she now here promoting, no, encouraging sin. I tried to ignore it but the thing is, I can’t be witness to a sinful act and be expected to avert my eyes, pretending nothing was amiss. No. That’s not how I was brought up. So I confronted her. I told her did she know she was encouraging fornication with these things—I pointed at the unholy items that seemed to be glaring at me with the way the sunlight bounced off their shiny covers to reflect into my eyes. She said nothing at first and I was worried that I had, maybe, embarrassed her. An 18 year old talking to an elder in that manner? It was unheard of. Yes, unheard of but it was a necessary decision that had to been undertaken.Instead, she burst out laughing. “You’re still a small boy so I don’t blame you. You never experience life na why you dey talk like this,” She said in between chuckles. When I tried to push it she shoved the matches in my face and asked me to leave if “I didn’t have anything reasonable to do.”

It was then it dawned on me, when the light bulbs in my head went off. If the head of a household was this corrupt, how much more the body.Nothing ever happens without a reason. I was clear God had put me here to restore purity and performing religious cleansing. 

I got to work immediately. By the end of my second month, when the fear of looming exams had bought the lodge to its full strength, one thing became clear: Music was going to be the only constant. No devotions. No prayers. No fellowship. Nothing.

Something had to be done. Things had to change.

I made a point about it in the lodge’s WhatsApp group. 8-9a.m on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Just brief praise and worship sessions, I said.We could start from there and gradually build up momentum to strengthen the programme. I could feel that initial warmth I felt when I first walked through those black gates surging through my body. Five minutes later it was quenched, soaked with the negative comments:

—@Randking: People no dey come out for sanitation, na devotion dem go gree come. Dey play.—@Richie_m: Item seven go dey?.

—@Amakasexydiva: Abeg make una host party, no be all this one una dey do.

My request got buried under the sea of facetious and fatuous comments. But I was determined. I was sent on a mission and so help me God I was going to accomplish it. Next, I decided on going house to house, Jehovah Witness style. People could always hide under the blanket of groups but when it came down to individuality, the answers were bound to be different.

The first room I visited was down the hall, about four rooms away from mine. The idea was to eliminate each room on my line, descending down to my place before branching out to the left wing and then eventually block B. That way I would be sure of the rooms I had already visited.

The door gave way to a stern looking face. His thin brows furrowed at the sight of me.

“Ehen?” He said, taking in my full view. “Wetin you want?”

I switched to pidgin.

“Sorry Boss, AbegI fit just talk to you for one minute. E no go take time.” He eyed the black strapped bible settled in my hands.

“About what?” His eyes were still settled on the book.

“Its… it’s about God.” I could already see the dismissal, could hear it before it finally escaped his lips.

“Sorry but I dey busy now. Later abeg. No vex ehn… Ah dey do something important now. Even God go understand.” It was followed by the slamming shut of the door.Well, not everybody succeeds on their first trial. I went over to the next door. It took my several knockings before the door swung open. Immediately I saw her expression, I knew it was already over before I spoke a word. She threw her hands in a quizzical way. What did I want.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you. I was wondering if I could take some of your time to study the word of G—” 

She was shaking her head and waving me away. Two down. Two more.Third time is always a charm, right? The third door had a peeling sticker of T.B Joshua’s let love lead. This was it. I knocked, urged on by its presence.

Kpokpokpo

I heard a muffled sound.

Kpokpo—

“Come in. It’s open.” A voice called out from inside. 

I opened up to see a man bent over a green smooth table, hands scribbling away.

I coughed to announce my presence.

He looked up and smiled at me. His eyes had a type of kind glow to them. He felt like the sort of person you could warm up to.

“Ehen. How can I help you?” he said.

“Um… sorry but I was hoping you could borrow me some of your time to discuss about Jesus.” I tapped and raised the book so he could see. 

He shrugged indifferently. He pointed to the blue plastic seat behind me. I was about to read a passage from Genesis detailing the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah when he—

“Look,” he said, “I don’t mind you preaching the word but let me just be upfront with you, I don’t believe in it.”

“In it?...you mean the bible?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I’m an atheist.”

I must have been gaping at him for a long time because he began laughing, asking me to close my mouth before a fly perched inside.

My heart quickened. So this is the reason. This is why I’vebeen getting dismissed since morning. God wanted me to bring his lost sheep home.

I closed the bible and settled it on the lap. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

He laughed. “Well I found religion contradictory. In conflict with itself. ‘Thou shalt not murder' on one hand and we have God on the other murdering people. Is he exempted from the “laws”, if yes, then why? Plus Christianity”— he made air quote marks —“had a very toxic energy to it. They rejected anything that didn’t align with their cause. Refused to see things from a different perspective. In fact I think to be considered an upstanding Christian, you’d have to leave some sense at the door. You’d have to dull down your senses.”

“Haba. That’s too—you’re going too far now.”

He smiled at me, then turned around to face the open book on the green desk..

“I think…I think there’s a reason why God lead me here.”

“Ehenn is that so?” he said sarcastically, without looking up from the table.

I ignored his tone. “Yes, Brother...”

“Ezekiel.”

“ Yes, Ezekiel, you see, everything happens for a reason. God has brought me to you. Has lead me here to bring you out of this darkness…to bring you home. I was wondering why I had been getting rejected since morning, It’s because of you. The book of Isaiah 14:24 says the lord Almighty has sworn saying ‘Surely just as I have intended so it has happened and just as I have planned so it will stand.’”

When I finished, he turned around to look at me. Without saying a word he pushed his chair back, got up and moved across the room towards the mini shelf that was placed at the far end corner. He shuffled through the books noiseless. After a while he withdrew a red book with a silhouette of a man running.

Sitting across me, he asked, “Have you read this?”

I shook my head. No.

He nodded absentmindedly. “If you’ll permit me I’ll just read an excerpt from it.”

I gave him the go ahead. “Sure.”

He flipped through the pages. “ Okay. Okay, here it is,” he cleared his throat, “’if the rule you followed led you to this, what use was the rule?’” He closed the red book.

“I don’t understand” I said.

“You said it’s God that led you here, right?”

I nodded.

“But what if I were to lock this door now and proceed to bashing your skull in, would it still be an act of God? Won’t you considered it to be the work of the devil? Surely you don’t believe your time here is up?

I kept quiet. I didn’t quite get the point he was trying to make.

He sighed. “ Look. What I’m trying to say is everything doesn’t happen for a reason. It’s all random. Constantly changing. If I were to beat you to death right now, and since you claim God led you here. Would it not be safe then to say that he—God led you to your death?”

I chuckled. “Brother Ezekiel you…you have to stop thinking in this manner. There are some things that transcend our understanding. These are not concepts that we can fully grasp. The book of—”

“What even drives people to churches is not God. No, it’s the constant presence of the devil that forces them to believe. They think 'If there’s all this evil then surely there must be some light. Some good out there.’”

There was a distant look in those kind eyes.

“So you do believe there’s a force at play here then?”

“No. It’s all random.” he laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “You know, Pastors might just be the greatest conmen to ever grace this earth. Exploiting people’s desperate attempt at believing that there’s some deity watching over them, up in the sky. Rewarding them for obeying his commandments when in reality,” he laughed, “There’s no one up there. Silence being interpreted by mere conmen as “the word.”

“There’s a word in the English dictionary I want you to look up for me, Brother Ezekiel. Do you have one with you? A dictionary?”

He raised up his phone at me.

“Check for mystery?”

He bent over typing. “Mystery: Something that baffles understanding and cannot be explained.”

“Good.”

“There’s a verse I’ll like to add to make sure I’m painting this picture well for you. Hebrews 11:11. It says ‘Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the convention of things not seen.’”

He smiled at me, like he couldn’t believe how naïve I was. “I also have a word for you,well, two words. One: Science. Two: Con men. Are you getting my picture or should I keep on painting?”

How was I supposed to lead him home when his heart had been blackened almost to the point of no redemption. I asked God how. How? This was proving to be tougher than I expected. It was becoming a case I didn’t think I handle but I also remembered that God would never give me a task he didn’t think I was strong enough to handle. 

Suddenly his phone rang out. The ringtone was Mercy Chinwo’sChinedum.

He picked up. “Ehn. The class still dey hold?...Now? Okay Okay…Ehn I dey come now now. No worry. Pencil …A3, ehen. Okay, anything else? Oya na, make I wear cloth…yes”

Turning to me, he said “Omo, sorry but I have class now. You can come next weekend for the preaching, that’s if you’re still interested.” 

I said it was okay. I would come. “Your ringtone?” I said when I was at the door.

He laughed. “I just like the music. There you Christians go again, making connections out of random things just to fit your narrative.” 

What narrative, I thought but I didn’t ask.

I went out feeling surprisingly relieved and refreshed. Nothing was wrong but I felt uneasy discussing with Ezekiel. What if I bashed your skull… Did I really want to go back. I was preaching, fine, but Ezekiel was preaching as well. Dropping his atheistic ideologies in my head. If I went back continuously, it was certain one of us would have to fold for the other, and I wondered if it would be I doing the folding. How could God trust me with this gargantuan task? What did Ezekiel say about Christianity and requiring you leaving your senses at the door...No, I should not be thinking of his unholy words.

***

I did not want to go back. Ezekiel posed a danger to my faith. Besides what did Proverbs say “Above all, guard your heart, for everything you do flows in it.” Yes. I was protecting my heart from evil. But then, what of my mission. What of changing the lodge with God’s word. But if I didn’t do anything, did that mean my landing in the lodge was just random? Didn’t mean anything?

No. It’s just random.

No, it can’t be random. I’ve been trying to reach God to find what path I should trudge on but everytime I conclude my prayers, instead of being filled with grace and feelings of satisfaction, I hear the voice of Ezekiel taunting me, telling me it’s all random that none of this matters.

Silence interpreted by conmen

But I hold on, no, I cling onto Jeremiah 29:12

“For I know the plans I have for you” declares the lord, “plans to give you a hope and a future.”

I must protect my heart like Job. These are just passing trials and tribulations. I’ll conquer them.

But whose hands were you lead down with to Ezekiel’s door?

Wouldn’t it be safe to say he lead you here to your death?

Would you still consider it an act of God? Won’t you consider it the work of the devil?