Senami watched as Fadaka changed into an old adire gown, cleaned off her make-up, and removed her jewellery. All Aunty Kike’s instructions. Apparently, the plainer your dressing, the more spiritually connected you become.
“If you go in this angry state, you’ll sabotage the prayers,” Senami said in a soft tone.
Prayer Saboteur. Fadaka kissed her teeth. One more title for Pseudo Mama to throw in her face. “I’ve told you to please leave me alone.”
After covering her hair with a scarf knotted under her hair, Fadaka picked up her overnight bag and moved towards the door.
Senami blocked her path with his arms stretched out. “Hug? I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”
Once she told him yes, Senami transformed into an extra-attentive husband. He did chores before she said anything. “Your aunty’s waiting.”
Senami sighed as he moved out of the way.
Aunty Kike spoke up when Fadaka picked up her car keys from the table. “Leave that behind,” she commanded. “The bridge to the church washed away during last month’s heavy rains.”
“But how are we going to get there?” Fadaka asked.
“There is something people call public transport,” Aunty Kike said. “We will take it to Loburo and walk the rest of the way.”
Fadaka was not in a trekking mood. She turned to Senami. “Can I park nearby?”
“I wouldn’t take my car,” he said. “It might not be there in the morning.”
Fadaka dropped her keys. “Then maybe you should drive us.”
Senami began scratching his head. “I’m sorry I can’t. In the morning, I have an important business meeting.”
“Fadaka, we have to go,” Aunty Kike interjected in an impatient tone.
Silent, Fadaka gave Senami a dirty look. One night, and it would all be over.
***
A deep orange sun sank below the horizon as Fadaka held up her gown and ran across the busy four-lane Expressway at Loburo. Minutes later, she and Aunty Kike walked up to a weathered concrete bridge.
Didn’t Aunty Kike say the bridge had washed away? She glanced at the woman. Her brooding expression conveyed that she was not open to questions. They stepped off the bridge, and she followed Aunty Kike down a wide, untarred road that seemed to have no end. Fadaka’s feet ached as they walked past incomplete buildings overgrown with wild bushes. She should have overlooked her irritation with Senami and insisted he give them a ride to the church.
Finally, they arrived at the end of the street. Aunty Kike stopped in front of an unpainted bungalow. Fadaka was relieved that the wide wooden plank placed across the open gutter held their weight.
Due to the fading light, Fadaka squinted at the sign in front of the building. The bold black lettering read: ONE CHANCE CELESTIAL MINISTRY.
The empty courtyard astonished Fadaka. Where were her fellow miracle seekers? “It’s quiet,” she said.
“This is where Prophet Ananias conducts his special prayer sessions,” Aunty Kike said. “The main church building is on the next street.”
“What do you mean by special prayers?”
Aunty Kike broke their gaze. “Deliverance sessions for barren women.”
They turned at the sound of footsteps. A rotund middle-aged man walked out of the church building. Barefoot, the edge of the flowing, pristine white robe he wore was the colour of dirt.
Aunty Kike’s expression turned bashful. “Greetings, my Celestial Lordship.”
Prophet Ananias grinned. “Sister Kike. I have told you several times. I am a servant, a mere messenger. Such lofty titles belong to vineyard labourers who are greater than me.”
The prophet’s mouthful of sharp, spike-like teeth made Fadaka recoil.
The adoring light in Aunty Kike’s eyes glowed. “Yes, Prophet.”
She gave the pot-bellied prophet a closer look. Food fasts could not be weapons in the man’s spiritual arsenal. The prophet turned in her direction. “You must be Sister Fadaka.”
***
At the stream bank, the prophet stretched out his hand. Fadaka ignored it. She gasped after stepping into the unexpectedly cold water.
Prophet Ananias tugged on Fadaka’s arm, and they waded further into the stream. When he stopped, the water was several inches above Fadaka’s knees.
In the dim light, the prophet’s face blurred. But she could still smell him. The musky odour turned her stomach. To ease the tightness in her chest, she took a deep gulp of air.
The prophet began giving her a bath, humming as he rubbed the sponges in circles on her skin. As he scrubbed Fadaka’s face, gritty charcoal particles from the soap got into her mouth. She spat them out.
The prophet pushed his hand between her thighs and scrubbed hard. Fadaka cried out. “Please…stop.”
Prophet Ananias panted. “Um…we have to make sure you are ready to receive the visitor.”
Fadaka frowned. There was going to be a visitor?
Seven times, the prophet circled the sponges above her head. He threw them far into the stream. Fadaka’s teeth chattered from the cold as she watched the sluggish water carry the sponges away.
Prophet Ananias’s sudden shout made her jump. “Someone praise Jah Jehovah!”
She stared at him as Aunty Kike’s loud hallelujah echoed in the distance.
_
In Our Own Ways is written by Yejide Kilanko and published by Narrative Escape.
