Daddy

"Praise Master Jesus!"
"Hallelujah!!!"
"The spirit is moving. Can you feel it?"
"Yes pastor!"

The energy in the church was palpable. Women were chanting meaningless words and men were dancing like snakes in a witch's festival. It was a strange scene for me. I had been an Anglican all my life until last month when my father died and I had no one to blame but God. I had done everything the church asked me to do. All the prayer groups and holy oil did nothing. I could not continue in a church that did not provide my most basic needs.

Sister Titi, a colleague at my office had noticed that I did not make my usual silly jokes at work anymore, and she probed. I was a little embarrassed to tell her, but I was glad that I had someone to share my pain with. The least I could do was finally honor the invite she had tendered weekly since she was employed.

"Come to my church," she said after asking how I was coping. It was two weeks after we had our heart-to-heart talk.

"Just remind me on Saturday," I replied.

I arrived late that Sunday. Sister Titi was an usher and she was manning the entrance. I signaled her and she led me to a seat close to the front.

"I am glad you came. I want Daddy to see you," she told me.
"Your father?" I asked in confusion.
"My pastor. He will pray for you."
"Oh."

Daddy did more than 'see'. He also blessed me with douses of saliva while his eyes bored through me, daring me to to complain. As I sat in the midst of strangers and tried to acclimatize to the raucous, an usher tapped me.

"Brother," she said sternly. "You should not sit while others are standing. The Holy Spirit is moving."

I stood while mumbling like an overgrown baby.

I am never coming back here.

The gyration ended and we all sat. An old man was invited to the front of the church. He sat in a wheelchair and the right side of his face drooped like a wet painting. There was also a keloid on his jawline, but it was hidden by his posture.

"Do you want to heal, brother?" the pastor asked. He nodded. He looked fairly familiar, but I doubted that I knew him. I would have remembered his distorted features.

The pastor laid a hand on the man's forehead and shook it vigorously while showering his face with blessings and sputum. A stream of inconceivable words (tongues) was accompanied with an amen from the congregation. Slowly, but surely, the man stood and took a few steps towards my pew. Then, he jumped excitedly and the church exploded in praises. I was in awe. I had seen a miracle.

Maybe I would come back after all.

The cycle continued. Praise, worship, offering, preaching, prayer, healing, offering, repeat. I stood a million and one times, but I never complained. The spirit was moving around after all and I had seen him in action.

The service finally came to an end and Sister Titi sent me a quick text. She wanted me to go to their office building and meet Daddy. She had told him about me earlier and I only needed to introduce myself. She promised to join us shortly.

I followed her explicit directions. While I walked past a small room, my wristwatch fell. It belonged my father and although it had stopped functioning, I could not detach myself from it. I bent over to retrieve it and voices filtered through the door.

"Madam settle me, make I no act film for una here o!" someone said.
"Relax. This is seventy thousand. You will get the balance on Thursday."
"That ninety thousand no go do again."

Pause.

"100 and that is final. "
"E go well."

I laughed while I imagined a back story for the conversation. She probably could not pay for her handbag and her creditor followed her to church.

The door opened and the 'miracle' walked out with his glaring keloid. Behind him was the woman that had sat beside the pastor throughout the service. They did not notice me.

"Tell pastor say my brother go come do epilepsy for Sunday," the man called and walked away briskly.

My jaw dropped.

A few doors away, a large crowd had gathered in front of a door. They came to see Daddy too.

Bunch of fools.

#TheRitaSide