MESSENGERS OF MEN
I never
liked sitting in front of the class, hence I
carved out a niche at the 3rd row towards the end of the class. I usually go very
early for my night reading, as early as 5pm. This is because I detest reading
in a class with a chockfull of students. I was perhaps the second student to
arrive the class. It was already 25 minutes past 10pm. I was tired of reading
hence I started a chat with a friend.
 |
| My chatting friend, Benedicta |
I
thought our conversation would be awkward and
boring but thankfully it wasn’t. I did not want unnecessary
silence during the discussion hence I drafted
out the agenda for my discussions on a small
sheet before meeting her. My friends, especially Victor, have the habit of making fun of me for not being able to sustain a discussion with a lady for more than a minute.
After a
chat for about 35 minutes with Benedicta,
there was a long silence which lasted for
nearly 45 seconds, I scratched the back of my
head as if it would help me recollect any
forgotten chatting skills, but it didn’t. Anyway, I knew victor would
be proud of me, as I had made a new ‘chatting record’.
“I
am off to my seat, see you …,” I tried to terminate the protracted silence. “Osahon, which church do you attend”? She cuts me off before I
completed my sentence. She usually calls me by
my middle name, adding that my first name —-Ezekiel, does not sound well on her tongue.
 |
| My very good friend Victor. |
“The
name of my church is, The Church of God…, please do not add mission,
just, The Church of God,” I said, looking straight into
her eyes. The eye contact lasted for a few seconds before she turned her eyes away. Victor had also taught me to maintain eye contact when chatting with anyone especially ladies. “Eye
contacts show how virile you are as a man” he would say.
Just
then, a student walked in, his hairs were as
black as the suit he put on. He had a red
colored bible in his axilla and with just
three swift strides he was at the front of the
class. A young girl stood beside him.
“Good
evening all, I won’t
take more than 5 minutes of your time…, let us prays”. He was the 3rd preacher to patronize this class. Most night class preachers usually don’t
finish on time, as they commonly promise, let
alone this preacher who gave himself just 5
minutes.
His
female partner was a little taller than he
was; her complexion resembled that of the
branded butter—blue-band.
Her attached hair almost got to her waist at
the point where her trousers seemed unironed.
Her shirt was colored like the sky when the sun shone in its full strength.
The
color of her hair was lightly brown like someone
who consistently used locally made soda to
bathe. Her trousers were saggy, the tighter it
became as the trousers traveled towards her
foot. Her facial expression and the color of
her eyes showed that she was still in her
teens, she looked innocent and precise.
Her
eyes scanned through the class before her
colleague started praying. Her ‘Amen’ was the loudest, she had a
Yoruba accent that unnecessarily stressed the
first syllable of the word, sounding like; ‘Are….min’. Her English was a faded lilt.
The
first two buttons of her shirt were opened as
if she was trying to expose something on her
chest. A light incision was made on her left
cheek, like an exclamation turned upside down.
The mark made her beautiful but not as beautiful
as Benedicta.
 |
| Benedicta |
Benedicta
was a slim beauty. She hid her smiles behind
her face and her set of neatly spaced tooth
were exposed whenever she smiles. Her hair was
long, each of the braids that hung down to her
neck ended in a soft fuzz. She smiled easily;
her teeth were the same bright white of her
eyes. She wore a short sleeve shirt that look
crisp from ironing. Her high level of
intelligence was reflected on her spoken
English as she utters every word with
composite inventiveness.
“The
love of God is wonderful, it is powerful, it
makes you express yourself to God because God
is Love and Love is God. That was the reason
he sent his son to die”… I followed his message with
rapt attention. He sounded like the pastors of
these new generational churches. No wonder his hairs were permed and oily curled. His
gesticulations made his tie swing this way and
that.
“Love
makes you free, free from the chain of the law”… he continued. “You are free, don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t
put on trousers as a lady or you can’t put on earrings as a boy,
these things affect only the flesh and not
your spirits”, as he said those words he moved away from the front of the class and was walking in the aisle towards my seat. My ears tingled, and I wondered if the love of God makes us ‘free’ to put on earrings?
This
rhetorical question was written on my face as
I stared at this educated ignoramus. He had
drawn the attention of the whole class including Benedicta’s. Everyone looked at him in awe.
After
several episodes of ranting, he progressed
further into another unknown direction, “there is a boy here, your name
is, no…
no… noooo”! He stressed the last “no” like someone being scared out of his sleep by an evil spirit. “…
You are
in 300 level and you are being caged,
spiritually, financially and academically. God
is telling me to call you out”. This caused a little stir as a student cried “please, tell us the name of the
student”?
This
student wore a black polo, the name ‘2
PAC’
was written boldly on the shirt, he had the
hair style people commonly referred to as ‘afro’. He was dark in complexion, very dark indeed; just like the back of a roasted yam just after pouring water on it. His lips were big; maybe that was why he had the courage to challenge this controversial preacher to tell us the name of this “financially,
spiritually, and academically challenged
300-level student.” The
preacher continued as if he never heard the comment.
Just
then NEPA interrupted power. Hisses and
sighing followed the ensuing darkness.
This
preacher never relented as he raised his voice as if the power supply to the
class was channeled to his voice. The preacher
was still speaking in loud tune when the school generator was turned on. The fluorescence above his
head refused to come on and it threw a glassy
shadow on his face.
A while
later, a female student walked out of the
class. She wore a mini-skirt, a sleeveless top
with long earrings, her hairs were loosely tied and seemed unkempt, and her
hand bag was hung on her right arm. Her mouth moved from side to side in a slippery
manner, perfectly simulating ruminants when performing their regurgitating
schedule. She was chewing a gum. The male
student who was seated beside her accosted her
as she made her way out.
A few
moments after they passed, the preacher commented, “They are going to commit
iniquity, children of Jezebel!”
the whole class erupted in laughter. I almost joined in the laughter but when I
noticed Benedicta didn’t join the crowd I sealed my
lips.
“Bariskamadaaadevus”… still lost in his unknown
world. He suddenly stopped as if trying to
hear from an esoteric force. He swayed his
body back and forth, jerked forward and bent
over the young lady sitting in front.
He
screamed, “You!” His index finger was firm in my direction. His eyes were annoying and he was sweating profusely. I imagined his
heart beating so fast, and he expressed
anguish in his face like someone having a
running stomach and unable to get to the
convenience.
His
suit has been flung opened as a result of his boisterous gesticulations,
revealing his inner white shirt. I looked at
Benedicta to confirm if I was the one he pointed at, she wore a warm smile which indicated she knew the finger was
for me. I touched the left part of my chest and nodded lightly, “Me”? “Yes,
yes, you”. The whole class turned
to my direction.
“You
have a sister who wrote UNIBEN Post JAMB, her
score was not up to the cut off. I want you to
tell her that, she would be admitted with that
score”. I smiled, and tried very hard to cover for his lies. I never had a sister, not to talk of one who couldn’t
pass UNIBEN Post JAMB.
These
young preachers who want to imitate their
pastors embark on a lost pursuit of fame and
miracles. When God has not sent them, they
would run; when they didn’t
hear from God, their voice would be the loudest; they claim to be men of God when actually they are men of men!
 |
| Yours sincerely, Osahon. |
“Osahon,
why did you lie to me, why did you tell me
that you didn’t
have a sister”?
I had to convince Benedicta that the preacher
was seeking cheap popularity by showing her a family photo; of which she could not find any female except my mom.
“You
were saying something about your church” she said. “Oh, the preacher has made my explanation a lot easier. The preacher is opposite of the Church of God. From his appearance, misinterpretation of God’s love, glossolalia to his false
prophesies, all these never feature in the
Church
of God.”
I gave
her a warm hand shake and the broadest of
smiles, my smile was ricocheted on her face. We
exchanged smiles as if it was the air we
breathe. I watched her as she made her way to
her hostel. She wanted to know more about The Church.
Would
she yield, would she drop the old path for the
new, was she really interested in the Church
or was she just trying to generate a discussion?
These
were my musings as I lay on my bed.
will remain guilty of negligence until the day we safely bring you back to the society.
