The enigma called Man

Man, the very image of the Almighty, the breath of the living God. With the power to dominate, subdued and subjugate whatever dwells in the world, man subjugated the earth all right but at an enormous cost to his fellow man. Man turned what God designed to be a paradise into a living hell.
The Almighty blessed man with everything. He planned for man never to lack a single thing. For all this, He demanded only obedience to a simple instruction from man. Everything I created I give to you but keep away from only one thing.
The creature called man chooses to listen to the voice of deceit; he did the very thing his maker forbade him not to do. Man instead of feeling a sense of remorse turned around and blamed another for his disobedience. Why do men fail to take responsibility for their actions?
A man would smile and pat another man at the back. He would not bat an eye to stab the same man when his back is turned. What is wrong with our nature? Why is the milk of kindness missing in our make up?
Those who climbed the ladder of success made sure the ladder cease to exist. No other must find their way up there. Many at the bottom don’t care to climb at all but want to lay their hands on the ladder to crash land those sitting up there. If I catch up with him I kill him, if I don’t I smash his heel that is the way of man.
Why, why, why? Why is man never happy to behold the success of another? The one that succeed, schemes to stop another from finding the way?
Man created money to aid transaction, to enable him exchange things among his kind without the encumbrances of trade by barter. What man created to serve him becomes his master. Man will kill, he will maim, and he will go to any length to acquire this creation only to waste it on the ephemeral things of his world. The world that is only but a fleeting shadow that shows momentarily and disappeared.
The injunction that it never profits any man to gain the world bounces off man’s brain like a ball kicked against a concrete wall. He pushed and shoves. He uses both foul and devilish means to achieve his aim. At the end of the day, he ends up six feet below the ground.
Why is wickedness part of our make up? The Holy Book said everything created by our make is perfect. Why then is man such an imperfect creature? A lion is a ferocious animal, so also is the leopard. This is a well-known fact so we keep our distance from them. With men, no one is sure where he stands. An amiable and a benign character may well turn out to be a deadly killer.
You cannot tell a man’s construction from his face. This saying of Shakespeare is true in all aspect of man’s interaction with his fellow man. The smile of a brother may well turns out to be a veneer covering the deadly poison of a rattlesnake. That offer of help from a friend may signify the beginning of a journey to the bottomless pit.
Oh! Man contributed a lot to the development of nature, but for every positive step, he replaces with five negative ones. While he enacted laws to protect the animals, he gleefully constructed weapons of mass destruction not to kill the animals but his fellow human beings. He justifies his actions and calls it war. What is war if not a political murder?
He pleads and cajoles his fellows to give him power with a promise to better their lot. He promises them the good life and a foretaste of paradise. He pretends to care, he even decry their suffering and admonish their tormentors. Put me up there and I’ll guarantee you life abundance.
The day he gets there is the day he cease to care. Woe betides those who remind him of his promises to better their lot. Promises he made but not fulfilled. He would stop at nothing to teach such ignoramus that he is no more in their league. Why should he bother to fulfil promises made at the heat of electioneering? Who does not know that such promises are only made to be broken?
Those who don’t know where to draw the line, he puts under lock and key mouthing slogan that it is for the good of all. The interest of the ruler is synonymous with the interest of all.
Oh! Man what a pitiable creature you are.

The Evil Cult

KNOW THE GOD YOU SERVE

Sound of footsteps had been following Evangelist Solomon for the better part of thirty minutes. Looking back will not do any good. He had done that several times. He quickened his steps. He had been trekking for the past thirty minutes without coming into contact with a soul on the street. Where is everybody? Can the town be celebrating another Oro festival? The only time the town looked like this is very late in the night. Why did they not announce it on the radio?
Ikorodu town is notorious for one fetish festival or the other. Hardly a month passes without the town celebrating a festival that will disrupt commercial activities in the town.
Ikorodu was not celebrating another Oro this time but a more sinister festival that requires everybody to stay at home from nine o’clock onwards. Evangelist Solomon was unaware of this.
When an important chief in the town is dead, the Ogboni confraternity performs the Arula ritual before his burial. The Ogboni is the most powerful confraternity in the whole of Yoruba land. Whoever sees the procession of the Ogboni during this ritual dies instantly. This is not a myth but a fact known to all Ikorodu dwellers.
“Why am I the only one on the road at this hour of the night?” The thought that something may be happening of which he might not be aware made Evangelist Solomon shook all over. To banish the fear already taking hold of him, he started to sing, “The blood of Jesus set me free,” He held his bible tightly to his chest. The feel of the holy book on his body gave him a feeling of security.
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely, he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…” The words of the Psalm calmed Evangelist Solomon nerve. If God be with us, who can be against us? He smiled at the assurance the word of God gave him.
Evangelist Solomon suddenly collided with a man carrying what initially looked like a calabash on his head. The force of their collision sends Evangelist Solomon reeling on the ground. “I am sorry,” he started to say and stopped when he beheld a procession of about twenty men clad in white cloth drabbled over their shoulders behind the man. The pot which the man in front carried lay broken on the street.

No one said anything. The ritual pot bearer lay sprawling on the ground unable to get up. The procession behind him stood facing Evangelist Solomon as if a force held them to the spot.
Evangelist Solomon picked himself up. He was not hurt. The man he collided with was groaning in pain. He took hold of the man’s right hand and drew him to his feet. He shook dust away from his body.
“I am sorry; I did not realize somebody was coming towards me.” He apologized to the man who fell down.
The man shrank away from him with a look of horror on his face. He did not say anything but was looking at Evangelist Solomon as if he was something from the pit of hell. He fled the scene without a word. He ran without looking back while his companions still stood rooted to the same spot.
Why did the man look at him with that look on his face? Evangelist Solomon could not understand. Why was the man looking at him like that? He heard a voice telling him to leave the place immediately. He turned around and left without looking back if the Ogboni confraternity were still standing rooted to the same spot.
Evangelist Solomon prayed and thanked God that he was able to survive the encounter with the dreaded Ogboni cult that night. Everyone knows the implication of an encounter with the Ogboni during night ritual. He would not tell his Pastor. The man would be scared and worry unnecessarily for his life. The blood of the lamb covers him so no evil can befall him.
Evangelist Solomon was still sleeping off the effect of the previous night vigil when he heard a knock on his door. Who could that be at this early in the morning? He was not expecting anybody. He got up from his bed.
A man he has not seen before stood at the door of his sitting room. So he did remember to close the door yesterday. It must be because of the tiredness he felt after the night excitement.
“Good morning sir, I am not sure we have met before. What can I do for you that make you to visit me this early in the morning” Evangelist Solomon said rubbing sleep away from his eyes.
“Good morning Evangelist Solomon, so you did not recognize me again? Tell me, did you deliberately collided with me to disrupt our ritual or was it a mistake?”
Evangelist Solomon felt cold all over. Not only did he have an encounter with the dreaded Ogboni, he was now talking to one of them in his own house. He rubbed his eyes again to confirm he was awake.
“Was it” the man repeated.
“Was it what” Evangelist Solomon asked confused.
“Did you deliberately collide with me yesterday or was it a mistake?”
“I did not deliberately collide with you. I was singing a song that so much moved me that I was not looking at where I was going”
The man sighed. He looked troubled. “Were you afraid of us?”
“I was not afraid. I was terrified! Who will not be afraid of the dreaded Ogboni? I thought I was a dead man”
“We were more afraid of you than you may ever be of us. A huge lion stood behind you with fire on his head. He looked ferocious enough to tear all of us to pieces. He looked at us with so much hatred in his eyes. We were afraid you will order him to tear us to pieces”
“Lion?” Evangelist Solomon asked, his face a mask of doubt. Did the man said lion? He actually said so. He did not see any lion.
“You mean you did know a lion is protecting you?” the man asked his face could not hide his surprise. “Then you did not know the God you serve. I could not sleep throughout the night. Nothing like what happened with you ever happened before. No one sees us and live. You should have died instantly. No only did you see us, you broke our ritual pot. I have decided to serve your God. Our own god is powerless. All of us saw the lion guiding you. That was why we all froze and I later ran.”

Evangelist Solomon was stunned. He could not say anything. The Ogboni man turned and left leaving the door opened. So it is true that those that God protects can come to no harm. He raised his hands up in praise to the Almighty God. He would serve God now more than he has been doing before and he would know Him as he has never known him before.
When we serve the living God, he protects and guides us. It is inconsequential that we realize this fact or not. The important thing is that His banner is always over us. “Those who know their God shall do exploit…” If you serve God diligently and devote your time to him, He will protect you even if you don’t realize it. To be able to do exploit in his name, you should know that He is able to do all things and believe that there is nothing impossible for him to do.
Though Evangelist Solomon devoted his service to the Almighty, he fails to realize the enormity of the power God placed in his hands. He should have known that one thousand Ogboni cannot do him any him any harm. God created man in His own image. This implies that we are above all other created beings which include the gods and the demons. They cannot do us any harm as they do not possess as much power as if we have.

Random Musing

When we were kids, our father ruled us like a royal despot. His words became law to all of us without exception but I knew otherwise. I received great pleasure then to know that Dad’s bravado did not extend to our delectable mother.
An attack of small pox in his youth that left his face with permanent scars marred my father’s handsomeness. The story behind that attack made him one of the few survivors of the small pox epidemic that nearly wiped out our village in those days.
The severance of the epidemic reached an alarming proportion when people died in hundreds in our town and the surrounding villages. Grandfather Giwa and his family bared the brunt of the epidemic in the Giwa’s compound. One sad day, he lost five children. Grandfather had fifteen wives and many concubines. He could have married more if he wanted. His friends literally begged him to marry their daughters. He alone owned five houses in the Giwa’s compound; each consisted of twelve rooms. He had so many children that I don’t know the actual numbers of my uncles and aunts.
Many families fled their home for their farmhouses. When the epidemic became uncontrollable, the British District Officer in charge of our area sets up a commission of inquiry to unearth the remote cause of the epidemic, arrests its spread, and if possible eradicates it.
They discovered that the worshipers of Sanponna (the Yoruba malevolent god of small pox) facilitated the spread of the disease.
As custom demanded, the family of anyone who died of smallpox must notify a Sanponna priest who would bury the dead.
The priests would carry the dead body to the evil forest. In addition, the priests would carry away every earthy possession of the deceased. No family member dared touched anything belonging to the deceased for fear of affliction by the dreaded decease.
This practice made the priests greedy. The more people died the more loot to share. Since they could not rely on the god to kill people fast enough, they devised a way to help the god.
They would collect the water used to wash the body of a deceased person. This they would use broomsticks to spray during the night into any area where they wanted the decease to break out. Since small pox is an air borne decease, it would infect anybody that inhaled the dust-infected air during the day.
The fact that the country lacked the knowledge to tackle the decease at that time made the inhuman act a big business for the Sanponna worshippers.
The livid District Officer swore to deal with the priests when they intimated him of this fact. He ordered an outright ban on the worshiping of the god. The government arrested and sent to prison anybody found to be a priest of the deity.
The priest because of the easy wealth they acquired at the expense of unsuspecting populace defiled the order of the District Officer. Not until he sent many of them to prison before they could bring down the epidemic.
While Dad remained the engine that kept the family going, Mum represented the oil that kept the engine in good working condition. Dad’s incurable optimism contradicted mum’s realism. Dad never learned from his mistakes. On several occasions, he escaped making disastrous investment on the express advice of our mother.
I will never forget one particular investment that nearly brought us to ruin. My father sauntered into the living room one afternoon with Uncle Philip in tow bubbling with excitement. “Mama Moses, where are you? We have arrived. We just cut a sweet deal with some farmers to supply us with as many tons of cocoa as we can pay at half the price we buy now. Where the heck are you?”
My father kicked Alice who rested her head while watching television out of his way when he noticed the absence of mother in the dinning room.
“Where is everybody?” inquired Uncle Philip.
“Where is everybody Moses,” my father repeated the question when he saw me reading a book in the sitting room. His speech was impaired. He must have taken some palm wine or beer.
Dad being a social drinker could not hold his drink; unlike Uncle Philip who someone said could drink a brewery to bankruptcy! Mother detested Uncle Philip because of his drinking habit. Anytime Dad came home tipsy, Uncle Philip would be there to tag along. Mum suspected he induces Dad to drink.
Uncle Philip dropped with a loud thud into one of the padded chairs, my Dad’s favourite. My Dad segregated his own favourite everything that only he must use as a rule. He owned his favourite chair, plate, spoon, cup etc. that are exclusively his. No one must use them as a rule except Mum who chooses to disregard such rules.
“Philip, will you move to the other chair?” said Dad thickly, “I feel as if someone is singing ‘Arise O compatriot’ in my brain, the only problem is that I cannot rise right now talk less of being a patriot.”
“Dad, why you drink when you know you cannot hold your drink like Uncle Philip?” I asked moving out of Dad’s arm reach.
“What right have you to query me about anything?,” Dad asked his eyes looking for the nearest object to throw at me. The nearest object was his favourite jug, which he looked at with regret. I moved out of his reach in a moment. “My Sango strike you down dead,” he swore.
Dad with his exposure is an archetypal Shaile man who would rain curses and abuses on anybody without battling an eye. People said that a Shaile man’s curse is as effective as water on the back of a duck. If the Shaile man’s curse is ineffective, what does that make his prayer?
One day Dad cursed a man he had an argument with in annoyance that the man would not live to see the next three days. The man died two days later. Those present informed the wife of the deceased who reasoned that if a witch cried yesterday and a child dies today, definitely yesterday’s witch must be responsible.
The police promptly arrested dad. Before they discovered he knew nothing about the man’s death, he spent three weeks in police custody.
One would think Dad would learn from that incidence, he never did. It is too deep in his Shaile blood. Is it not a marvel that someone would invoke Sango the god of thunder to shrike his only son dead?
“Welcome Joe. Did you just come in?” Mum greeted my Dad with a smile as she emerged from the kitchen with Aunty Taiye. Only mum dared calls Dad by the abbreviation of his name. Dad detested the abbreviation of his name, but mum cared less. Whatever mum wanted, she gets. Nobody can dissuade her from doing anything she wanted no matter the consequence.
“Hi Papa Faith, how is your family?” We have not seen you these past three days. Hope all is well,” Mum asked Uncle Philip in a tone that clearly said, ‘I don’t care what happen to you and your lousy family, you servant of Bacchus’ but she kept on smiling.
“They are all well thank you,” Uncle Philip answered
He knew Mum was just trying to make conversation. He was aware that she cared less if he and his family fried in the deepest part of hell. In fact, she would love that to happen. This did not stop Uncle Philip coming to our house as often as he likes, sometimes at the most ungodly hour of the day to see Dad concerning one business deal or the other, most of which turns out bad.
Dad told Mum about his new deal. He lowered his gaze unable to meet mum’s eyes. He waited for a reply. Mum face was blank
“How much are they asking in advance?”
I had come to know that tone of voice. Anytime Mum speaks in that tone, I wanted to be somewhere else because a storm would brew. Aunty Taiye would rather to be somewhere else too. She took my hand and led me out of the sitting room.
I did not know what transpired later but contrary to mother’s wise counsel, Dad went ahead and does the deal. He lost one hundred and twenty thousand Naira to the farmers. The farmers because he paid them in advance, packed the cocoa beans into bags before they were dried. This made them go bad after sometime in the warehouse where the Dad stored preparatory to shipment. My gullible Dad sent them to his overseas buyers. The importer sent them back two months later.
Dad fled to Togo where he spent three months before he came back to Nigeria by which time Mum’s anger had subsided. As for Uncle Philip, we did not see him until the following year.
My Dad was the favourite child of his mother who sent him to school at an age people his mates were not old enough for school. His school was only two blocks of classroom with six classes. All the student and teachers dreaded a single block attached to the first building. This was the headmaster’s office. He was next to god. He was accountable to no one, so the students thought. They call him Mr. Cane because his hands were never empty of at least two canes.
Two other smaller buildings consisting of the toilets for the teachers and the students sat at the extreme end of the football field.
Father told us one day they caught him playing father and mother’s game with Aunt Deborah-one of our beautiful maternal aunt. Dad was six years old then. A teacher marched them straight to the headmaster’s office. That was the first time Dad would be in the office.
Books of various sizes covered the four walls of the headmaster’s office from bottom to the top. Mr. Cane sat behind a table so long and wide it occupied half of the room. He was writing when dad, Aunty and the teacher came in. He did not look up or give any indication that he saw them. They stood in front of his long table. Maybe he would ask them to get out of his office. He went on writing. The teacher cleared his throat to draw the attention of the headmaster.
“Yes,” the headmaster barked at them.
Hot water flowed all over dad’s legs. The front of his short was all wet. Dad had never been more afraid in his life. Though he did not see what they did wrong, their presence in the headmaster’s office brought him to the reality of being in more trouble than he imagined.
“Sir, I caught these two in the toilet lying on top of each other.” The teacher replied as if he was the accused rather than the complainant.
Mr. Cane sat up straight in his chair with interest. He closed the book on which he was writing.
“Is that so?” he twisted his cane round and round in his hand. Dad stomach turned to jelly. His legs shook. His intestine contracted in his belly. His heartbeat increased like a locomotive engine gone berserk.
“What have you to say for yourself young man?” The headmaster asked looking at Father. Dad searched his mind for a lie; he could not think of any that Mr. Cane would accept. He kept quiet.
“So it is so.” Mr. Cane’s eyes seem to be shining. The man smiled as if he secretly amused.
“Were you trying to play Mum and Dad’s game?”
That is it. Why did he not think of that before? That was exactly what they were doing. Maybe Mr. Cane would let them go after all. Dad opened his mouth to answer but no word came out. His eyes moved down to the front of his short. He looked up and caught the principal looking straight into his face. He quickly averted his eyes. For an unexplainable reason, he blushed.
“You two have been bad children,” Mr. Cane said looking at Dad and his cousin. My Dad nodded in agreement even though he did not have the slightest idea why playing Mum and Dad game could be bad. After all, his Mum and Dad play it all the time. Could it be because they were playing it in the wrong place at the wrong time?
It took the patient explanation of grandmother Ibidun to make Dad understood that what they attempted doing was wrong. I sometimes wondered how dad could remember that incident since he was too young then.

I Piss on Your gods!

A man who puts aside his religion because
he is going into society, is like one taking off
his shoes because he is about to walk upon thorns. –Cecil

1–DEFIANCE
“Anetor, Anetor, Anetor,” the Ovia High Priest voice floated above the din of the town people who came to watch the ‘court’ in session. He pointed a finger sporting a dirty looking fingernail at me. “You, you you,” he shook like a banana leaf in a violet whirlwind. His piercing eyes the colour of burning coal ran over my body from head to toe. I shivered. Cold fear seized me. “How many times did I call you?”
“Three times sir,” I answered, staring at my shoes. “God give me strength. Fortify my spirit. Do not let these unbelievers intimidate me with their ridiculous costumes,” I prayed under my breath. I shook my body to calm my frail nerves.
The Ovia High chief dressed in the full regalia reminiscence of the yearly Ovia festival, sat on a high backed chair facing the town people. Eight other chiefs sat by his sides. They glared at me with eyes red and rolling in their sockets. The High Priest in his Ovia festival day dress, starched and bedecked in native decorations could intimidate mortals and non-mortals alike.
I faced them with my hand held behind my back. My big worn out bible nesting in the cup my fingers gave me comfort and confidence.
Cool breeze caressed my face as leaves dried by the harmattan dropped from the big Iroko tree on my hair. I ignored them.
Underneath the Iroko tree, the remaining chiefs sat behind the eight senior chiefs facing the crowd. I stared at their eager and anxious faces. They looked too ready to pass judgment on those who by their action or inaction offended the gods of the land. That day, only one culprit stood before them.
The whole town gathered around in a semi circle to watch the ‘court’ in session. I looked at the placid faces of the town people. I shrugged. I will show these people I worship a living God. I will open their eyes to the reality that Ovia-a beautiful ornamental bonze carved in the image of the devil-cannot by itself punish any man.
“What devil made you disobey the elder’s instruction?” The High priest asked looking directly into my eyes.
I stared right back at him without blinking. “I did not sir,” I shifted from one tired leg to the other. I waited for their pre-determined ‘justice.’ This they dispense with gusto on behalf of a god that cannot defend itself.
“You mean you were part of the team that cleared the market road?”
“No sir,” I would love to kick the stupid face of the High priest in, stuff the blood into his monkey looking mouth and watch him beg for mercy. The thought warmed my spirit.
“I told you he is stubborn,” the most senior elder said, his voice replete with satisfaction. He clenched his fist. He would love nothing better than hit the stupid boy who became a Christian yesterday, who now thinks he could disregard the instruction of the elders with impunity.
“Sir, how could you say such a thing about me? You know I am a law abiding citizen of this town who would never disobey the elders without cogent reasons.”
“Why then did you refuse to take part in clearing the market road,” the elder asked. He nodded at the other elders as if for confirmation or approval, “please tell us.”
“Because today is Sunday.”
“Tuah,” the High Priest spat, “but you do eat on Sunday, don’t you?”
“That is different sir,” I opened my bible. I browsed for an appropriate quotation to back me up. “It said here that we should honour the Sabbath and keep it holy,” I cleared my throat. I tried hard not to laugh at the ridiculous outfit of the High priest.
“My fathers,” I continued, picking my words as if talking to little children, “you all know I am a pastor and a founder of my own denomination, as such, I cannot be seen doing any work on a Sunday.”
“May thunder break your head,” one of the elders I could not remember his name kicked the empty keg of palm wine placed before him. He looked at the broken gourd, his face a mask of fury. He glared at me as if somehow, I broke the gourd myself. “Is it not just yesterday you went to pastor school? Is it what has gone into your head now?”
I covered my face with my palms. The man’s head reminded me of a big cocoyam. To call anyone a cocoyam head is to say the person is a dunce. People knew the chief as not too brilliant, which makes cocoyam head, suits him perfectly. Laughter built up from the bottom of my stomach, ready to explode. I turned my face away from him, and held my sides. I placed the two palms of my hands on my face. I held my lips together with my fingers. If I released my lips by mistake, the laughter would come out in torrents. I brought my bible to my face to prevent the elders seeing my merry face.
“Will you put that stupid book down!” the High Priest shouted with venom in his voice. “You dare tell us you cannot work on Sunday. Is it not in that bible of yours that you should obey your elders and give unto Caesar what is Caesar and unto God what is God?”
I was not surprised that the man could quote the bible so eloquently. Even the devil can quote the bible.
“Anyway,” the High Priest continued, “we have killed a fowl and prepared it, but the fowl belongs to Ovia. You know what that means.”
Ovia is the most powerful god in the town. Everybody dreaded the god. No one swear falsely by Ovia for fear of retribution. The god laterally rewrote its own code about crime and punishment. It meted out automatic punishment to those who swear falsely by it.
The custom of the town forbade any man to turn down the elder’s invitation to clear the market road. Whosoever refused this invitation buys a goat or a fowl for the elders. In anticipation that I would buy one as a fine, the elders grabbed the next available fowl. This fowl had already been dedicated as a sacrifice to the god Ovia.
“My elders, I don’t know what that means, but it is said in this bible,” I lifted it up for all of them to see. “‘Thou shall not steal.’ You elders grabbed a fowl that does not belong to you and roasted it. This is contrary to the law of God and the teachings of the bible. You expected me to replace this fowl. I cannot do this because my bible also said, ‘thou shall worship no other God but me.’ If I replace this fowl, it would amount to providing a sacrifice to your god, which my bible forbids. I am sorry my elders, I cannot do this.”
The eyes of the elders changed from brown to red. Some opened their mouth unable to close them. Noah could not have uttered those words. Who is Noah? They shook with murderous rage. If they had the power or if it were in those bygone days, they would sacrifice me there and then to their gods.
“You dare call us thieves and insulted the gods of our father’s land?” the High priest asked, his face registered his unbelief. “If a child says his mother will not sleep, he too will not know peace. Elders, let us go. The gods he insulted would deal with him.”
Their threat did not move me. The gods did not scare me. By themselves, the gods are powerless. The course of action of the elders scared me a little. They would go to any length to prove that the gods dealt with me.
The elders left one by one, shaking their fist in my face to indicate I was in trouble.
“I am not scared of your gods, neither I am sacred of your threat. I have the living God as my shield. Wood and iron gods are nothing where the Almighty lives. I piss on your gods. I dare them to fight me. Jesus the son of God is my witness, if I do not make all your gods prostrate to me; I am not the son of my father.” I murmured to their retreating back.
The people in the town believed anybody cursed by the High Priest dies after three days. No one could remember since the inception of the town, one incidence of disobedience to the elders.
No one would dare refuse to buy a fowl for the elders on demand. I not only refused to buy the elders a fowl, I refused to replace the one dedicate to Ovia which the elders killed.
The whole town discussed in hush tones the imminent death of Noah before three days. It was not a question of if Noah would die but how and when.
They waited for my demise. The elders visited me in the night in different kinds of forms. Masquerades appeared in my dreams with cutlasses to harm me. I fought them and defeated them. Sometimes, they appeared not in my dreams but in the daytime. I still defeated them. Twice I opened my wardrobe to find a black mamba-an African deadly snake- coiled inside. I would dip my hand into my pocket and came out with snakes. When I called Holy Ghost fire, they disappeared. Fire ignited on my bed a couple of times. I invoked the blood of the lamb and it dies.
To counter the antics of the elders, I embarked on a three days dry fasting. I asked the living God to throw confusion into the midst of the elders.
When I lived the life of sin back in 1992, something happened to convinced me God loved me. I became a Christian at an early age because my father was one. My father believed Christianity does not compel one to abandon his tradition. He sacrificed a goat once in a year to his personal god in his room.
One Sunday, I came back from church, and prayed as usual. That day, I prayed as I never prayed before. I did not know why, but something kept urging me on.
In a vision that night, a man appeared to me and told me to stop smoking. He slapped me several times.
“Stop your life of sin and give your life to Jesus Christ.”
“How do I do that?” I asked.
He slapped me again, “Just give your life to Christ.”
When I woke up, I became a changed person. I became born again.
A big timber tree demarcated my landlord’s land and the High Priest. My landlord cut down the tree. He claimed its ownership. This act infuriated the High Priest who summoned a meeting of the elders to call my landlord to order.
The elders instead of doing that declared that the timber belonged to my landlord. The High Priest shot at my landlord when he saw him on the land the following day. He vowed to deal with the elders one by one.
Many of the elders took side with my landlord because of his wealth while few took side with the High Priest. This incident created confusion among the elders. They forgot about my case while they tried to settle the rift my powerful prayers created among them.
When I did not die after three days, I became the talk of the town. Many people trooped to my house to see me. The church I started in my house with only my relatives no longer contained the people that came for worship and prayer.
That night after Sunday’s service, I knelt down and thanked God for His miracles.
An incidence that happened in my own village few years back after my pastoral training confirmed me as a man with great anointing.
There lived a paralytic woman of many years of suffering her disability in my village. One day in my dream, I found myself in the woman’s house. Many demons with horns surrounded her. They bowed down and parted for me to pass on my way to the woman’s bed. I prayed for her and healed her.
The next day I informed my brother that God instructed me to go and cure the paralytic woman. When we got there, I said to the woman, “Madam God sent me to you to pray for you so that you could receive your miracles. Do you believe Jesus can heal you?”
“I believe,” replied the woman.
I prayed and commanded the woman to walk. As I prayed, the woman fell down. She cried as soon as I touched her. She screamed I should stop cutting her legs with razor blade. I prayed until sweat covered me all over. I commanded the woman in the name of Jesus to walk. The woman stood up and walked.
The following Sunday, twenty-five souls converted to Christ in my church. Praise God. The room we used as church could not contain all the people that turned up for service. Many stood outside the windows to listen to the sermon.
The following day, I rented a six-room apartment in the town, which I converted to my church. Less than six months after, three Pastors came under my tutelage. Everything went without any ugly incident until the event that made me fled the town for Lagos occurred.

Ps. This is the first part of the story of a man whose anoiting is so great he performs miracles that would confound many people. You can read the rest at http://www.lulu.com/account/1233231 or  http://www.esnips.com/web/ajibolaolutisnrsBusinessFiles

Wicked Sacrifice

Sacrifice the son of the god!!!
Chief Olokodana looked at the other chiefs standing with sorrowful faces
and nodded, “the man who voiced an opinion don’t necessarily die where he made his suggestion.  Since this has happened, we have no choice than to tell the king.”
Chief Runkawe took the child from the midwife who held it up to no one in
particular. “Such a pretty child; If only you were a boy,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“The king would be devastated. He placed a lot of hope on this,” Chief
Oluwo intoned his voice laden with emotion.
“Oluwo, you said the oracle favours the king for a male child this time
around. What happened?” Chief Olokodana asked.
“I wish I knew. I saw a male child, and it was from the king’s eighth wife.
Who knows what happened?”
Chief Olokodana bent down, and peered into the beautiful face of the
king’s wife who slept peacefully on the decorated mat. The labour had been long and suspense full. They had all prayed silently for the Olori’s safe delivery. She delivered safely all right, but contrary to their collective expectation. The midwife wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She bowed slightly, and left the room.
“Maybe the gods are no more all seeing as they used to be,” Chief Oluwo
suggested, looking at the other chiefs for confirmation. .
“What? Oluwo, how can you say that,” Chief Runkawe’s face registered
his shock. He hit the mud wall with his fist. He winched in pain. He frowned in surprise as if he expected the wall to be as soft as a banana tree. “Don’t commit sacrilege; the gods are still all seeing. You of all people should know that.”
“I am not so sure anymore,” Chief Oluwo said in a voice barely
audible. “Remember what that man who says there is only one god said.”
How can they forget? They had all laughed at the stupidity of the man.
One god indeed! How can there be only one god? No one god can cope with the various duties the gods has to perform!
“He said the king would have a male child but the child is not conceived
yet. This child whom our gods said would be a male child turns out exactly what the man said it would be- a female child. His idea of one god may be
preposterous, his god sees well, maybe better than our gods.”
“Oluwo” Chief Runkawe shouted, his weather beaten face red in anger,
“what has gone into you today?” Chief Runkawe stole a look around the room as if the gods were in the room with them. “Beware; beware of offending the gods by your foolish words.”
“I don’t know about that, I have served the gods faithfully for thirty years.
What do I have to show for it according to the man of the one god? Nothing,
absolutely nothing. They even denied me the only opportunity to shine. I am
seriously considering serving his one god and see what happens.”
Chief Runkawe placed the child gingerly beside her mother on the
decorated padded mat. The other wives would be secretly pleased. They had all been scared silly of the implication of the eighth wife being the one to give the king the much desired male child. The king promised to send all his other wives away and make her his sole ‘Olori’ “Who will tell the king?” He asked no one in particular.
“Who will tell me what?” The king’s voice boomed from the doorway. He
stood looking at his chiefs, and the new born baby sleeping on the mat. “Is the child dead?”
“No, kabiyesi,” Chief Oluwo could nor meet the king’s eyes.
The king, followed by five hefty looking ‘eso’ walked to the child. He
removed the wrapper around the child. He stood looking at the child lost in
thought. He dropped the cloth, and walked out of the room without another word.
The king sat on his throne dejected. The news of the king’s latest girl was
already circulating all over the palace. All the first class chiefs that came to
felicitate with the king in anticipation of a male child sneaked away one by one leaving only Chief Oluwo and some elders.
“Everybody leave now. I need time to think,” the king ordered.
Everybody left leaving the king and Oluwo the chief priest. The king sat
with his palm covering his face. His beaded crown sat on a stool by his side. His staff-the symbol of his authority- laid on the floor.
Oluwo stood up; he retrieved the staff and placed it by the king’s stool. He
bowed to the king without saying anything.
“Why, Oluwo? Why?” The king asked in a sad voice.
“I wish I can answer you my king, but what I know is that the gods never
lied. Iya Osun (Osun priestess) said the king would have a male child by his
number eight wife. I did not expect anything different. I know if the gods foretold it, it must be so.”
“This time the gods lied.”
“My king,” Chief Oluwo protested in a feeble voice.
The king raised his hand to silence Chief Oluwo. “I can see it in your eyes.
The doubt is written all over you. I am disappointed but not as much as it would have been. I had prepared my mind to the possibility of this happening.
Remember that man we nearly killed because of his blasphemy said a
hunchback would help me to have a male child. Maybe it is time we took him
seriously and look for the hunch back.”
“My king; May you live long, the crown will stay long on your head. The
royal shoes will remain for long on your feet. I have thought much about that man since the Olori delivered. Looking for a hunchback will not present any problem; we have some of them in this town, but finding the particular hunchback. The man actually said the hunchback would come to us. I think we should wait.”
The king stood up suddenly sending his footstool crashing to the floor
below the throne. “How long would I have to wait?”
“Gently, gently, my king,” Oluwo said bowing down low. He retrieved the
stool where it fell and placed the king’s legs on it.
“I am sixty five years old. How long do you think I will live? I will give
anything, up to halve of my throne for me to have a male child. In spite of the heavy reward I promised anybody who can help me get a male child, nobody has been able to do it.”
“Maybe we should wait for the hunchback,” Chief Oluwo chipped in.
The king rubbed his clean shaved head with his left palm. “For how long
are we to wait? When and if he comes, how would he come into the palace? It is forbidden for a hunchback to enter the palace.”
“It is forbidden by tradition. Who makes tradition if not the king?” Chief
Oluwo whispered into the king’s ears.
Two Eso (palace soldiers) roughly pushed a man who struggled to free
himself from their stranglehold inside the room. The man fell. The two Eso pull him to his feet. He shook their hands away.
“What?” the king shouted at the two Eso. “Are you mad?”
The two Eso prostrated. They laid on the floor with their faces pressed to
the mud floor. The stranger remained standing. He raised his head proudly as if unaware of the presence of the king.
“May the gods break your head stranger” Chief Oluwo kicked the
stranger’s legs, sending him crashing on the floor. A pouch of cowry shells flew out of his tunic. Chief Oluwo placed his foot on the stranger’s back, and pressed him to the hard floor. The stranger cried out in pain. Chief Oluwo stretched his hand to pick up the pouch on the floor; he shrank back in shock. The pouch was as hot as an ember! “Who are you? What do you want here?”
“I am an Ifa priest,” the stranger replied his voice muffled by the floor.
“Stand up,” the king commanded. “What is your mission in the palace?”
“I come from a far away land to deliver a message to the king.”
The king hardly heard the man. He was looking at the man’s back. Praise
Obatala. The hunchback the man of the one god foretold stood right
before him. He could not see his hunch before because he thought the man
was short. He was short because of his hunch! The king could hardly
contain his excitement.
“Speak stranger, what brings thou to our land?”
“I know what the king must do to have a male child,” the stranger replied.
“You do?” Chief Oluwo asked puzzled. The man looked like a beggar, but
he could not deny the power in his pouch. Better play along. If they found out he was up to no good, they would sacrifice him to the gods. “Speak stranger before we detach your head from your neck.”
“I worship a god in my land to which we make sacrifice once in five years.
Yesterday was the day of worship. My god told me what I must do to make the king have a male child.”
The king beckoned the head of the Eso who by now stood with head
bowed beside the hunchback. “Take the stranger to the head of the Olori, tell her to feed him and prepare a special place for him to sleep in the palace tonight.”
The stranger bowed low and followed the Eso out of the palace.

When they were out of earshot the king said to his Chiefs, “what do you think?”
Chief Olokodana who came in with Runkawe in the middle of the drama
with the hunchback, looked right and left as if to make sure the stranger was out of earshot. “What is there to think my king? The gods brought the answer to our prayer right inside the palace. Orisa be praised.”
The king stood up from his throne. “I thought so myself. Anyway, we will
go along with him to see what he has to offer. Runkawe.”
“Yes my king; may you live long,” Chief Runkawe answered.
The king looked at his watch. “Call the meeting of the Council of Chiefs
immediately. We still have time to hear what the man has to offer.”
‘Yes, second in command to the gods,” Chief Runkawe bowed.
The stranger arrived at the meeting of the council of chiefs with all the
chiefs in attendance. Chief Oluwo waved him into a vacant seat facing the chiefs.
The stranger looked out of place in the midst of the well dressed chiefs. Even in the damask buba and sokoto given to him by the head Olori, he still looked like a beggar. The chiefs surveyed him in silence. He did not look much as an ifa priest.
What could such a scraggy looking hunchback offer them?
Chief Oluwo stood up and addressed the gathering. “My fellow chiefs, this
is the Ifa Priest I told you about. He should now tell us in his own words how he hoped to give the King a male child. Speak stranger,” Chief Oluwo barked at the stranger.
The success of the stranger would compromise the position of Chief
Oluwo as the custodian of the town customs and gods. He would try as much as possible to make the man fail.
The hunchback stood up to address the gathering, “Greetings to the king
the second in command to the gods. My Chiefs I greet you all. I am the Chief
priest of Ifa in my town as well as the priest of the most powerful god in my town.
During our yearly festival this year, the god said I should come to your town and solve the problem that has been causing your king serious concern.”
“Stranger” Chief Oluwo snapped, “Enough of the sermon. How are you
going to give the king a male child?”
The stranger smiled at Chief Oluwo who glared at him. “I am not the one
who is going to give the king a child. Who am I? It is the gods that will do that.”
“Then tell us how they are going to accomplish that without much ado.”
Chief Oluwo shouted at the Ifa priest.
“Oluwo,” Chief Runkawe who felt embarrassed by Oluwo attitude shouted.
“Give the man a brake. Let him say his piece.”
“I am used to that sir,” the stranger said, his voice calm.
“The king will prepare a room no one has slept in before. He will fill the
place with foodstuff to last for seven days. He will place a chair that must look exactly like his throne in the place. No other item should be in the room. You will look for a hunchback. On the seventh day, the king would put his best cloth, shoes and royal beads and crown on the hunchback who will sit on the chair placed in the room. All the chiefs including the king would prostate on the floor before the hunchback, and say ‘long lives the king’ the hunchback would die shortly after that. We don’t need any other prayer after that. The king would make love to his favourite Olori in the room that night. She would start to carry a child from that very day.”
The chiefs looked at themselves and nodded. They told the hunchback to
go ahead with the preparation. The chiefs dispersed. They scheduled another
council of chiefs meeting for three days. The king instructed the Eso to get hold of a hunchback for the ritual. The Eso searched everywhere without success.
The entire hunchback in the town and environs seemed to have disappeared.
On the seventh day, the king called his chiefs and some town elders very
early in the morning for a meeting. “My chiefs and elders of our town, you all
know that we’ve been unable to lay our hand on a hunchback for the ritual for the past seven days. Today is the last day. If we don’t get a hunchback today, all the preparation of the Ifa priest will come to nothing,” The king coughed, and took a sip from the palm wine in the calabash placed on a stool by his side. He looked at the blank faces of his chiefs. “I worried over this throughout the night. Early this morning, I realized that what we are seeking in Sokoto (a town) is already in our sokoto (pocket).”
“Chief Olokodana scratched his head. He stood up. “May the king live
long. May his reign never end. My fellow chiefs and elders I greet you all. Since the second in command to the gods said they have found the hunchback, what are we waiting for? Our elders say ‘no need to delay a task that does not want be delayed’ let us call the Ifa priest to proceed with the sacrifice.”
“Not so fast Chief Olokodana. I told you I found a hunchback but I did not
tell you where I found it,” The king waved his horse tail; the symbol of his
authority at Chief Olokodana.
“My king,” Chief Runkawe said looking at the other chiefs, “it does not
matter where we got the hunchback as long as he or she is a stranger.”
“My Chiefs, in this case, it matters. The hunchback in question is the Ifa
priest.”
The chiefs looked at themselves. All stunned. The king cannot be serious.
How can they use the Ifa priest who is going to perform the sacrifice for the
sacrifice?
“My chiefs, the sacrifice of the Ifa priest ended yesterday. He already told
us what to do. We don’t need any other thing from him. What do you think?” The king smiled at his chiefs.
“My king,” one of the oldest among the elders stood up, “I don’t think this
is right. The gods would never accept such sacrifice.”
“Shut up old man,” The king stood up. He kicked the keg of palm wine at
the side of the throne in his annoyance. The keg broke sending white liquid all over the floor. “It is because of your attitude that my father demoted you as a chief. You will never learn.”
The gathering fell flat on the floor in prostration to the king. The king has
the power of life and death. He can have anybody executed at his will. The king is next to the gods. All the elders and the chiefs remained on the floor until the king anger subsided.
Chief Oluwo stood up. He coughed. “My fellow chiefs I greet you all. I
don’t agree with Chief Arigbabu that the gods will reject the sacrifice if we use the Ifa priest. The gods demanded a hunchback; the Ifa priest is a hunchback,”
“Point of correction,” one of the Chiefs raised his hand without standing
up, “Arigbabu is no more a chief. He is an ordinary person.”
“My mistake Chief Oriola, forgive me. As I was saying, who else but me knows what the gods will accept or not? I say we sacrifice the
hunchback; the gods will not reject the sacrifice,” Chief Oluwo concluded.
“If we all agree, I will call the priest, and inform him we have found the
hunchback. My chiefs would be ready for him as soon as he enters the room.
They will overpower him, and placed him on the chair.” The king laughed.
They called in the hunchback who unaware of the chief’s evil intention
hurried to heed their call. They offered him to a seat while they placed a
calabash of already drugged palm wine in his hand. Drugged and disoriented, the Ifa priest fell down flat on his face. They chiefs whisked him to the room already prepared for the sacrificed. They placed him on the spiritually poisoned throne.
The king and the chiefs prostrated before him and shouted, “Long live the
king.” The Ifa priest because he was a powerful medicine man, opened his eyes during the ceremony and placed a terrible curse on the town.
“The gods will accept your sacrifice but because of your treachery, no
male child born of any woman in your town will live to celebrate eight days. Your town will never be free from strive and tribulations until such a time when the gods decide to purge your land of this atrocity.” He slumped and died.
The chiefs sneered at the hunchback. They told the king the gods had
accepted their sacrifice. The old man stood up to speak.
“Old man, what is your problem this time? You already told us the gods
would not accept the sacrifice. You have been proved wrong. Even the
hunchback said the gods would accept it.” Chief Oluwo shouted at him.
“At what cost? Remember the Ifa Priest’s curse. I dread the aftermath of
this abomination committed in this town today. I know you don’t like the man, but he is a very powerful medicine man. I see death, plenty of death to atone for the sacrilege committed in our land today.”
The king stood up and pointed his staff of office at the old man. The old
man fell down on his face in fear. He prostrated flat on the ground in front of the king, “May the king live long, may his linage continued till eternity. I did not intend to annoy the king. I only pointed out what I saw. If it displeases my lord, I withdraw it.”
Nine months later, the king’s favourite Olori gave birth to a bouncing baby
boy. There was much celebration in the town. One the eight day, the king spared no expense in celebrating his son’s eight day. The heir to the throne was born; the king would now die in peace.
Few years later, bad things began to happen in the town. Young children
died in large numbers. Epidemic of different origins kills people in hundreds.
When the elders could not bear the happenings in the town any longer, they
consulted Ifa oracle. Ifa told them the town had committed abomination by
sacrificing the son of a god to the gods. The town had not even seen anything yet. By the time the gods finished with the town, not a single soul would remain.
The chiefs trembled before the Ifa oracle. “We have all sinned. We agree
that we have, but what can we do to appease the gods,” Chief Runkawe asked.
“Nothing. The gods wants nothing but revenge. There is one other thing
though, an eye for an eye. Three sons of Uroaya for one of their sons” The Ifa
priest told the chiefs.
The chiefs and the elders of the town had no choice but complied. They
sacrificed two sons and a daughter of the town to appease the gods. The death stopped. They decided on their own to offer a peace offering to the hunchback. It became a yearly sacrifice. They still offer the yearly sacrifice until today.