He wiped his brow, and paced back and forth, shouting gibberish. Sbo looked around at everyone. They all had their eyes closed, their hands in the air. Some had tears streaming down their cheeks. One woman in a quite theatrical fashion fainted, her body convulsing, her breasts shaking. The pastor, Father Miracles or Baba M as they all called him, smiled and licked his lips, wiping his sweaty brow with his silk handkerchief. “Bring her to me! Bring her to me!” He shouted to his ushers though Sbo thought of them as henchmen rather than church ushers.
They ran to her and practically dragged her to Baba M’s feet. He wiped his brow again. Sbo knew what was coming. She grimaced and immediately felt a hard pinch on her arm. She stared at her mother who looked livid. She smiled apologetically and began to join the singing that was going on as Baba M started speaking ginger tongues again.
Sbo sighed, and as she always did, she looked to the ceiling, waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike her for she dared to question the methods of the messenger of God. How dare she? She looked to Baba M again, and he was now kneeling over the allegedly comatose woman. He wiped his brow again; his lime green handkerchief had darkened with all the sweats on it. “A miracle is about to happen!” He said theatrically. People cheered. Some sang and others clapped, their eyes shining with adoration, their chests heaving as they took quick excited breaths, hungry for the miracle, hungry for something that could give them a bit of hope. Something that could save their marriages, give them money, cars they wanted, houses, women, you name it.
He lifted his hand dramatically and the noise lessened. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. “Sarah,” he said, “Are you there?” Sarah laid on the ground unresponsive, eyes closed. He took a deep breath again and started swaying on his knees. “Bring her husband here,” he said, “I see she is married; I feel her partner. Bring him here.” As though it was an action movie, the ushers ran into the crowd, and dragged a distraught looking man to the front. Baba M looked at him and nodded. The man nodded too, his eyes wide, but his mouth twitched. Sbo scoffed, earning another pinch from her mother.
“You are her husband?” Baba M asked the man. “Yes Baba M,” the man replied in a shaky voice. Baba M closed his eyes and nodded. He told the man to hold his wife’s hand, to anchor her. “I see a dark presence,” Baba M said. “But I see twin lights trying to fight it!” The husband exclaimed and threw himself on the floor in a similar fashion to his wife. “Baba M, we had twins, but they died at birth!” The whole church exclaimed. Sbo’s mother cried. “Praise be to God!” Sbo silently watched the spectacle.
“Sarah! Your children are with you. Fight this darkness, fight this evil, your children are here to help you!” Sarah convulsed on the floor and then opened her eyes. Suddenly, the convulsions stopped. A mic was quickly procured for her as she looked around the church. There was no ounce of recognition in her eyes. The mic was given to her. She held it in her hand, looked at it for a few beats, and brought it closer to her mouth. Everyone was silent. The tension in the air was thick. The cameraman zoomed on her face, splashing it across the TV screens mounted around the room so that those in the back could also see her.
“I am here. I am not leaving. The world shall feel my rage,” she said in a rough voice. People exclaimed. Sbo’s mother started praying, tears streaming down her cheeks while other people were screaming, “Fire!”
“What do you want from this woman?” Baba M asked. Sarah, or rather, whatever dark entity was inside her responded, “I want a body to stay in. This is my home; I will never leave now.” Baba M laughed darkly. “Yes, you will,” he said. He then took his soaked handkerchief and started beating the woman with it. He slapped it across her face and though it could not have been that painful, she let out a scream while somehow still keeping a tight hold on the mic.
“What is this?” She yelled into the mic, her voice booming out of the speakers. “It is Holy sweat! The tears of my hard work against the darkness in the world, darkness like you! Leave this woman!” He smacked her across the face with the wet handkerchief and while Sbo didn’t hear it over the pandemonium, she imagined a wet sounding splat from the soaked material hitting the woman’s cheek. She imagined it stuck for a beat, held on by sticky sweat, before slowly sliding down and spreading its wetness across her cheek. The woman fell back, and the mic fell from her hand with a loud thud. She started convulsing again, her eyes rolling back. This went on for a few minutes with Baba M yelling, “Leave this woman!” until she stopped. She sat up slowly and a mic was immediately put in her hand.
The woman looked around and saw her husband. She let out a sob. Conveniently holding the mic to her mouth, the man went to her and hugged her. Everyone in the church cheered loudly as the woman was helped up by her husband. “Thank you, Baba M!” The woman said using the mic, “Thank you so much for your help. The darkness was eating away at me.”
Baba M looked at her intently, “This had been with you for a while?” The woman nodded, tears in her eyes. “When my twins died, I was so lost and hurt and angry. It slipped in and I didn’t notice it. I just thought it was depression. It only completely came out today!” Baba M nodded, looking down, “You are free now, daughter,” he said even though he was clearly younger than her. She sobbed and yelled “Praise God,” to which people responded with cheers and enthusiastic clapping. After that, both Baba M, the husband and the wife left the room, walking down the walkway in the middle, waving and smiling.
Sbo decided to relieve herself now that the miracle had been done. As she walked past her mother, her mother gripped her arm and hissed, “Where do you think you’re going?” “Going to the toilet,” Sbo murmured before her arm fled from her mother’s vice-like grip and left. After relieving herself, Sbo wasn’t quite ready to go back into the building full of hopeful and zealous believers. She just walked around the yard towards the back of the building.
As she was rounding the corner, she heard Baba M’s voice and immediately stopped. She was pinning herself to the wall of the building, her heart racing, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. “You did well, my friends. Thank you. Here’s a token of my appreciation; go and buy the twins some clothes.” “Thank you, my brother,” she heard Sarah respond, “You are doing great things here. We are proud of you.” Sbo heard a chuckle. “I try, sister,” Baba M replied. After that, she heard footsteps retreating. She was shocked. She was on the verge of a panic attack. She’d had her suspicions but those were mainly because she hated the long services. She entertained herself by being antagonistic. She thought there was an unnecessary level of theatrics, yes, but she didn’t fully believe he was fooling people, let alone hiring actors!
Oh Lord, she had to go. He was coming! Sbo’s brain screamed at her to leave, but she was frozen against the wall. Baba M finally rounded the corner. Sbo still hadn’t moved. Their eyes met; his wide in surprise, hers wide in horror. What was he going to do to her? Her life was officially over. “Sbo,” he said, smiling. His head tilted. “Your mother is a good woman, a believer, but you, you are a shrewd woman, the very type of woman a man like me needs.” Sbo’s eyes widened even further. What was he saying?
“Your mother, believe it or not, came to me asking that I pray for you to find a husband. She bought holy matrimony potion to slip in your tea which is why she’s been making you tea so often.” Sbo gasped. Baba M was right. Sbo’s mother had been insistent on making her tea the past couple of days. “Let’s make her dream come true,” Baba M said with a smile, stepping into Sbo’s space, “Marry me! You being here, seeing this, you’re part of it now. You might as well be my wife while you’re at it. You and your family will lack nothing.”
What had she gotten herself into?
Read – Daddy G.O. was Right – A short Story by Olabode Oluwabukola, Nigeria
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