From the roadside, I heard the baritone
voice of Pastor Josiah Obazu as he led the congregation on some prayer points.
I paid off the commercial motorcyclist who had just dropped me off and, after a
quick glance at my belt and sparkling shoes, marched confidently to the church.
I was accosted by an usher at the entrance. She was dressed in a red
long-sleeved shirt which was firmly tucked in a white skirt. With a white tie
around her neck and high heeled red shoes which illustrated her firm calves,
she was every inch smart looking.
‘You
are welcome, sir,’ she said in a sweet voice, flashing me a smile. ‘Please,
follow me.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I replied and
followed like a sheep to the slaughter.
She led me to a seat in
the front row, a row I had never sat in before. I didn’t argue with her; it was
actually a vantage position for my plans. I sat down, closed my eyes, bowed my
head and muttered some gibberish – feigning prayers. I opened my eyes and made
sure to wear a big smile for effect as I sat up to see a lady from the choir go
to the space between the congregation and the altar. She was holding a red
capped microphone which she lifted to her lips with her left hand while raising
her right above her head. She was dressed, like every other female member of
the choir, in a black top and skirt with a gold coloured tie to match. The male
choristers were in black suits with gold coloured shirts inside. They wore no
ties. From my position, I could feel their egos emitting forth.
The lady shut her eyes
and made a face like one about to purge. The pianist was already playing an intro
and the drummer beating an accompaniment when she broke into a song.
That is why you
are called Jehovah…
That is why you
are called Jehovah…
What you say you
will do…
I slyly smiled as I
watched the congregation join her – some swaying like palm trees left at the
mercy of the wind. The drama seemed funny to me – I who hadn’t been in any
church for about ten years. So why the change of heart?
No comments:
Post a Comment