THE STRANGE PROPOSAL (A SHORT STORY)
Part 2
©Franca Uwuigiaren
The moment I stepped outside the church with Damian, I told him how I felt about his pastor.
“He is not a real pastor. That man parading himself as pastor or prophet is an occultist… a voodoo priest or whatever they call them. He is a fake man of God.”
“How?” Damian asked, getting offended. “That man is powerful and sees deep… and… and solution is available. You’re not the only person I have referred here to see him. Don’t tell me he is fake; I don’t like it. He is genuine.”
Damian was angry and his facial expression said it all.
“He is not genuine,” I said. “He is a juju man who is hiding under the umbrella of the church. He is fetish. He is among those the Bible refers to as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He talks about Christ, but he is not really a follower or disciple of Christ.”
If I were a little boy, I was sure Damian would have beaten the living daylights out of me for the way I described his pastor.
Damian walked ahead of me angrily and stopped where he had parked his car. With his hands folded across his chest, he looked me squarely in the eyes.
“I don’t care what you think about him,” he said. “That pastor is my saviour, and he carries great grace. “Great grace!” he emphasized. “He is anointed and sees visions. When I was poisoned and thought I would not survive, this pastor did things that made me alive today. If not for him, I would have been six feet below the ground and forgotten. He has done so much for me, Obiama. Pastor Samson is operating under God’s grace. His kind of grace is what many men of God are looking for.”
I was quiet for some time as I tried to absorb all he said.
“Listen, Damian,” I said, “he may have done so much for you, but that doesn’t rule out the fact that he is a voodoo priest or occultist who packaged himself and opened a church to make money. He is not using the power of God. Which kind of great grace is that?”
“Who made you judge over him?” Damian asked, blowing hot. “Wait… is it because of the spiritual work he… come, don’t you have a pastor? Why didn’t you go to your pastor for prayers if he were that powerful as Pastor Samson?”
“Damian, that man is a magician,” I said. “When I followed him to the back of the church where the spiritual work was to take place, there was no bucket there, but suddenly it was there with dirty water and soap.”
“Relax, Obiama,” Damian said. “It’s part of the spiritual work. Yours is dirty water and soap… for some people, it’s more than that… rituals or sacrifices are involved. Caesar has to be given what belongs to him.”
I was speechless, listening to my colleague.
“What happens to the power of God?” I asked. “Is He not all-powerful?”
“It’s God who gave my pastor the power to operate,” Damian said.
“What about the staff that appeared on his hand?” I asked. “He asked me to kiss it. Do you know I was scared, but I held myself, pretending it was no big deal, but I was afraid.”
“Did you kiss the staff?” Damian asked.
“I… I… did,” I said. “I didn’t want to anger him. That man is powerful and shouldn’t be underestimated.”
Damian sighed and rested his back on his car.
“I don’t want you to care whether he is fake or not. Call him a magician, but care about the result. At least, your job will be intact. No power will tamper with it. Think of your wife, children, and other things if you lose your job. Life is difficult without a job and money. As I am, I will do anything and go any length to secure what belongs to me. Trust my pastor and stop the complaints.”He said almost whispering.
I sighed deeply.
“Now I feel bad bringing you here. All I wanted was your progress, but you succeeded in making me look like the bad person here.”
“It’s not like that,” I told him.
“Result is key. Whatever will bring you results, go for it. I can go any length to uproot anything that threatens my progress, and I won’t look back.”
I sighed again.
“Don’t make me look like a bad person.”
“I’m sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Trust him!” Damian said. “Tomorrow, you might need him for his help. The most important thing is the solution.”
“I’m just worried that I kissed that animal head on the staff,” I said.
“If that’s the problem, you can always ask God for forgiveness, and surely He is merciful and will forgive you,” Damian said.
“Hmmm!” I exclaimed.
“If you lose your job, it’s a bad market, Obiama,” Damian said.
“Yes, it’s a bad market,” I agreed. “I have mouths to feed and school fees to pay, among others.”
“So forget whether the man of God is juju or not,” Damian said. “Just obey his instructions and do as he said.”
“It’s alright,” I said.
“Enter the car; let me drop you off at the nearest bus stop to your house,” Damian said, and I did.
In the car, I kept feeling bad for kissing the staff. I shouldn’t have. I should have told the pastor outrightly that I wouldn’t kiss it. I scolded myself for not being man enough to voice my concern. I concluded in my heart that Damian’s pastor relied on that staff for power.
When I got home, I explained everything to my wife.
“Well, what your colleague said is true,” she said. “All we should care about now is the result.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes, except that you shouldn’t have kissed that staff,” she said. “Kissing that staff means pledging your allegiance to the power behind the pastor and staff.”
“God forbid!” I exclaimed.
“We go to church, and now kissing that staff is like serving two masters,” she said.
I became worried. I know that I am not that versed in the Bible, but I know what the Bible says about serving two masters. I remembered the day I stumbled upon 1st Corinthians 10:21; I was shocked. I stumbled upon that verse because I kept money inside my Bible, and as I was flipping through the pages, I came across the verse. It says, “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot participate in the table of the Lord and the table of demons.” I shuddered, remembering that verse. It was a verse I pondered for a long time, but it was a long time ago. That day, I concluded that you can’t be friends with someone and also treat them like an enemy. You can’t work for two companies that have opposite goals and expect to succeed. You can’t be in a romantic relationship with two people at the same time and expect it to work out. It is a verse that encourages us to choose one path and stick to it, rather than trying to juggle two opposing beliefs or practices.
“What’s in the nylon you’re holding?” Oroma asked, bringing my mind to the present.
“Oh! The pastor asked me to put this pot under the bed,” I said, bringing out a black clay pot from a black nylon.
My wife looked at me with a mixture of confusion and fear as I placed the pot on the floor. She rushed and closed the bedroom door.
“What’s this for?” She whispered.
“The pastor said it’s for protection from evil,” I replied.
I could see fear registered on Oroma’s face. She refused to come closer.
“Do you think I should put the pot under the bed?” I asked.
“I…I…” she stammered, then stopped.
We were quiet, trying to think critically and make a decision. I thought of what would happen if my dream manifested. What would happen to my family? How would we cope? Ha!
“Oroma, I can’t just sit and wait for that dream to come to pass.” I told her. “I have to do what is needed.”
My wife nodded her head slowly in agreement.
“Okay, let’s do it.” She said.
“I’m going to place it under the bed as instructed.”
“Okay!” I said.
“The kids must not play near or under the bed. Make sure your eyes are on them,” she said.
“Alright!” I replied.
After securing the pot under the bed, my wife told me that we must ask God for forgiveness. The expression on her face made me laugh.
“Pray?” I asked. “When a pot of charm is under the bed? Who are we deceiving? What then would be the prayer points?” I asked, wondering.
“I don’t like deceiving myself, Oroma,” I said.
Without responding, she opened the door and went to the sitting room to sit. When it was time to sleep, we were afraid initially, but we faced our fear and lay on the bed.
Severally, I jumped out of bed, thinking I heard my children calling me. I ran to their room, checking up on them, and they were soundly asleep. At a time, I had to wake Oroma and tell her someone was outside calling my name.
“Can’t hear anything, dear,” she said.
“But someone is calling me.”
She stood up, peeped through the windows, and then went to the sitting room and did the same thing.
“There’s no one outside. Come, my darling. Place your head on my lap and sleep. I think all these bad dreams have taken a toll on you.”
I did as instructed. She rubbed my head and caressed my face, and we chatted until I fell asleep.
After that night, I didn’t hear my name again, but each time I entered the house, I felt there was a presence. When I told my wife, she laughed it off. I tried as much not to bring up the topic again, yet I knew there was something living with us in the house.
I even told Damian my observation, and he told me not to be afraid, that it could be the charm doing its work. The fear I had literally disappeared. Each time I felt that presence, I believed it was the charm in the house at work.
The weeks soon went by, and I had no more bad dreams. I was glad. I proceeded on a two-week leave. During this period, my father fell ill and wanted me home, but I resisted the urge. Instead, I sent money to my mother to take him to the hospital.
“Stop relying on the goddess for healing. Take papa to a good hospital for treatment.” I told mama.
Whether she listened to me, I don’t know, but each time I called to ask how papa was, she would tell me he was fine. I tried calling papa to hear his voice, but mama was the one answering the call, and she would tell me he was asleep. For the number of times I called, papa was sleeping.
One morning, grandma called, crying, and I became alarmed.
“What’s it, grandma? Why are you crying?” I asked.
“No evil will befall you, my grandson. Anyone who sets a trap for you will go six feet below for your sake,” she said.
“Amen, but grandma, what’s going on.”
“The enemies are after your life,” she said.
“Grandma, wipe your tears. I am well-protected,” I told her.
“I need to plead to the river to protect you, Obiama. I need money… or else my enemies will laugh at me,” she said.
“Grandma, I don’t have that kind of money for sacrifice.”
“Obiama, you have. Check those places you used to hide money. Bring good money, let me offer a good sacrifice to our mother, the river goddess,” she said.
“I can’t do that.”
“Send the money to your mother’s account, and she will give it to me,” she said.
As soon as the call was over, I sank into the chair, so angry. When my wife returned from work, I told her about grandma’s call.
“Give in to her request, na. She’s the one offering the sacrifice, not you. Send her the money for the sacrifice. Whatever she wants to do is for our good. If you could put charm under the bed, why can’t you give your grandma money to offer a sacrifice to appease the goddess? See, dear, I am still a young woman… I… I don’t want to be a widow. Just do the needful,” she said.
I let out a loud sigh. I sent my mother money immediately and then asked her to give grandma the money. I wasn’t happy sending her money, but didn’t I transfer an exorbitant service fee to an occult pastor for spiritual work?
The month of June was so cold. My leave was ending that weekend, and God knows I enjoyed every day of it. Each time the kids and wife went to school, I had the house to myself. I didn’t travel, so all I did was eat, watch television, press my phone, and sleep.
It rained all through the morning, and I was on the bed like a pregnant woman. I soon jumped out of bed because I had slept enough and needed to prepare lunch for my kids and wife, who would soon return from school. I had promised them that I would cook something nice for them. I entered the kitchen and saw a tuber of yam there. I was happy as I decided immediately to prepare yam porridge. I had peeled the yam and put it on the fire when my phone started ringing. I left the kitchen to answer my call. I looked at the caller; it was from the office.
“I’m resuming on Monday, nah,” I murmured as I answered the call.
I listened to the female voice instructing me to be at the office the following day.
“Alright!” I said.
Immediately after that call, I called Damian and told him about the call.
“Tomorrow is still my leave day. I should still enjoy it. After all, I will be resuming on Monday, nah.”
“Congratulations, man,” he said. I could feel his excitement on the phone.
“Congratulations for what?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard… some people are being promoted.”
“Did you receive any letter… were you promoted?” I asked him curiously.
“I was waiting for lunch break to break the good news to you. I got my letter today.” He said excitedly.
“Wow! Congratulations!” I told him.
“And you too. Hope to see you tomorrow.” He said.
“Sure!”
I was very happy. I put a call across to my wife and informed her. She was excited as well.
“What the enemy meant for evil has turned to good. That’s how God will keep disappointing powers from our fathers’ house.”
“Amen!” I said strongly.
That evening, mama called, reminding me about what she told me about appeasing the gods.
“It’s just to avert the anger of the river goddess.”
I laughed.
“Relax your mind, mama. I have not had another dream about her and won’t ever. Moreover, the money I asked you to give to grandma was for some sacrifice to the goddess.” I told her.
“Oh… I didn’t know it was for that purpose.”
“Well, she talked of offering a sacrifice, and I have done my part and has asked God for forgiveness.”
My mother laughed and said: “You are on your own, Obiama.”
To be continued…
