Sunday morning. I wake up in Ado-Ekiti. No intention to go to church. The body needs rest. Tired. It traveled all night. You must go to church, my host insists. What church are we going, I ask, reluctantly. MFM, he says. What?! I am not going, I retort. I know about your experience with MFM jor, he smiles. But erm, this one is a youth parish. And today is thanksgiving service, there wont be go and die by fire prayers. So, put that your worry aside, he assures me. Years ago, one of my aunts was mistaking my radicalism for hooliganism. This boy needs deliverance, she would say. One night, she came to drag me from sleep, and to MFM we went. It is a special program, she said. I was in my nighties. She wouldnt even allow me wear something better. The program started for 10pm. At least, by 12, this program should end, so I thought. Rains of prayers. People were praying with so much aggressiveness. Every prayer point ended with, die, die, die, die by fire! Say O God; that old witch in my village frying my destiny on a coal-pot, oya die by fire! I just didnt know how to tune in into the prayers, I found my chair, and sat, resting my head against the chair so I could sleep. Immediately, somebody walked to me. Brother, you cant sit. He would almost pull the chair off my buttocks, when I didnt want to adhere. I attempted to sit again. No way. 10pm to 4am, I stood. No, I wasnt praying. There are no witches in my village using coal-pot to fry my destiny. All the old women people take for witches are now busy with their blackberries and i-phones, chatting with their children in America. I was just there, watching as the congregation roast these witches to ashes. This will be my first and last time in MFM. I said to myself. Today, however, I am joining my host to attend MFM. Beautiful church. Cool atmosphere. Their women dress simply well. No earrings. And their faces are not Marykayed and pancaked, as we see in [liberal] pentecostal churches. I am ushered to sit in the front. I am enjoying the service. Suddenly, one of the ministers assumes the pulpit. It is time for Violence Takes It By Force prayer session, he announces, tightening his face into a frown. We all rise, on his order. Now, you will hold your head firmly; oh you my head, reject bewitchment by fire!... Add more aggression to your aggression, the minister urges as the congregation prays. I sigh. I throw my gaze across, to where my host is. Our eyes meet. He has been looking at me. I take my eyes off him, and then, I look around. In search of the nearest exit.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Nov 2014 15:15:06 +0000
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