The Miracle Peddler

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2:30 p.m, tuesday and the expected call just came through. Being the last week of the month, Pastor Kay was coming into Uyo from Port Harcourt and that was good news. Here was another chance to hustle him, have fun and rake some cool dough in at the end of the week; a chance Valentine wouldn't miss for anything in the world.

These dealings are not supposed to be expressly discussed over the phone, so whenever pastor's PA, the burly Matt calls, painstakingly elucidating what the pastor's visit to Uyo meant- as if he had not always been the contact man- and what he needed to do, Valentine usually felt a surge of anger course through him. He was not a numskull and hated being treated like one. He knew his schedules.

First, he had to book for accommodation in a hotel different from the one used the last time. Pastor Kay is a materialist. The accommodation had to be a first class suite. The two girls the pastor would spend thursday night with had been pre-arranged. Recently, it has not been as tough for Valentine to get girls for him as it used to be at the start. Pastor is always generous with his money and very suave with his fun; the university being a small community, these girls go back and spread the gossips.

"Valentine is a procurer for some rich and extravagant pastor with excellent bed skills. The pay is as good as the fun and 'good-ol' Val charges no commissions", they would tell others.

The result of this: fresh ones with swaying hips stalked him to lonely corners and begged for a chance- to be carried along- nowadays. For this particular racket, he choose to deal only with students of the prestigious University of Uyo. These ones are a- wee more sophisticated than their Polytechnic and College of Education counterparts. They needed the dough alright, yet they knew how to spread the fun. The tingly-diggly type of fun that made Pastor Kay erupt into elongated bellows of laughter. The type that made him ask for more.

Then, he'll have to call Nkasi, his lines-man from the Polytechnic, in Ikot Osurua and give directives. Nkasi will have pre-arranged between ten and fifteen students from the Polytechnic for the programme. They had to be different from the ones used the last time. Miracles need not be repeated. He will hire a bus and commute them to Angler's Hotels, where they will be lodged- thursday night- against the friday morning trip to PH.

***
5:30 p.m, thursday evening and Pastor was already in town. By 6:00 p.m he was sufficiently lodged in an exquisite hotel along F- Line in Ewet Housing Estate.
The two girls were ushered in by Val and as they flirted and giggled seductively, Pastor sitting on one side of the giant twin- bed, sized them up. He was the lion; they were his prey. Signals were sent and understood, looks were exchanged, hush-hush talk and Valentine was out of the suite in no time.

***
5:30 p.m, thursday evening and the sixteen-sitter Hiace bus was sufficiently boarded from Ikot Osurua to Uyo main town. By 6:00 p.m, the twelve students had been lodged- in pairs- at Angler's Hotels. 6:15 p.m and Valentine was driven into Angler's by pastor's driver. Valentine and Nkasi met, hush-hush talk and Valentine addressed the pack.
"Welcome, fellow Nigerian students. We are here on a purpose; while you eat free, drink free and make as much merry as you deem fit, remember that by tomorrow morning we shall be on our way to a church programme at Port Harcourt. There, we shall be told how to help our benefactor, all towards the success of his programme. If we shall do as we shall be directed- which I have no doubt, we will- then we should be smiling home on Sunday morning with good monies in our pockets. Enjoy your stay".

***

Dusk was fast approaching and preparations were in earnest. The students had arrived Port Harcourt in the early afternoon hours. They were taken to the church camping ground: a large warehouse-type building along Trans Amadi. Loud prayers were heard as they were being herded towards a hall behind the main building. There, Valentine had addressed them. He was not surprised when none of them expressed any sort of astonishment after he told them the secret behind their trip and explained what they had to do and how to do it well. He smiled to himself. Nkasi had done his job well. He had systematically told them of what business brought them there long before they set their feet on the church camping ground.

The big Pastor came in next, dressed in black suede pants, an exotic body- fitting leather jacket over a green paisley shirt. His tie was noosed in the half- Windsor style with a dimple at the bridge. His Italian shoes accentuated the looks more. He was a generous dresser. As he strode gingerly towards them, he began to mutter in strange tongues- the language of miracles- swaying this way and that. He hissed and suddenly screamed "receive it", whooping the air instantaneously towards the students pack. All but one fell down uncontrollably. The only one just stood there, his attention on the cell phone he had in his hands, as he typed away.

"O! Ye of little faith", Pastor Kay shouted as he pointed towards him. Then he walked briskly out.

Anointing oil was brought by someone- probably an assisting pastor- and rubbed on each of the fallen students forehead. They rose like zombies. It felt weird to observe the unnerving calm that came over them afterwards. The magic had already worked.

As the students regained vigor, they were divided into two groups of six each. A team of miracle tutors attended to one while make-up coaches attended to the others.

The miracle tutors told the one team how to receive healing for minor ailments like stomach ulcers, pile, non- ceasing migraines, movement around the body etc. and how to render great testimonies.

The coaches taught the other team how to limb as cripples, totter like the blind and whimper like the dumb. Roles where assigned, wheel-chairs, crutches, black googles and other such gadgets where brought; they were all dressed in disguise, with make ups- balms and caulk rubbed on supposedly blind eye-lids, dust rubbed on pretentious lame legs. The students filed out into the bus; they bus headed out towards the church- venue for the miracles that will transform them to their normal forms again.

***

It was 7:45 p.m and the massive church auditorium was already packed to capacity. Large crowds had occupied the whole church area. Buses loaded with miracle seekers turned in their numbers into the venue. Traffic gridlocks had no end as the only access road was on a lock down. One could hear passersby- in taxis and on feet- chattering about Pastor Kay's 'Night of a Thousand Miracles'. This was the last friday of the month. Tonight was the night.

The students alighted one after the other, each with their gadget, burdened with the diseases assigned to them.

By 8:30 p.m, the air was already tense and the people ready for miracles. Totems of devotion were sold by the walk ways. Holy water, anointing oil, crosses, handkerchiefs, good luck stickers, hand bands, Tee shirts dorned with 'Night of a Thousand Miracles' insignia, even special protection perfumes.

By the time the pastor started speaking in strange tongues- words that sounded like 'robo la robo, o' sala mala tu! Robo o! Jesu; teknon mele mele shaback tani'- the church had erupted into fierce prayers. This was really an atmosphere for miracles. Pastor Kay momentarily dipped his right hand into his coat pocket and produced a white handkerchief. With his left hand firmly clutching the microphone to his mouth, he booed deeply in eerie baritones, the effect booming over loudly over the speakers. Each boom was accompanied by a fling of the handkerchief and the resultant falling over of most members of the crowd. It looked like a strong wind, a tsunami worked through the crowd pushing down people as it swooshed pass. Miracles started happening.

The students waited turns, each screaming out loud over his healing. From different locations, each was taken to the altar to give his testimony and show the world what power of healing abounded in Pastor Kay's works. Other members of the crowd joined in. The lame walked; blind eyes were opened. Tithe and offering boxes were perpetually emptied and replaced as they quickly filled up again. 

The congregation praised and praised. Shouts rented the air in bits. The lone student stood away at a corner with his cell phone recording the events of the night. It was all so unbelievable how Pastor Kay could use twelve students to rent such a huge crowd.

***

7:00 a.m in the morning and the students were ready to commute back to Uyo. Wide smiles were perpetually plastered on the lips of most as they reeled in the events of the past night. Each had an experience in miracle peddling. The twenty thousand naira wads in their individual bags and pockets were proof that they partook of the miracle of healing. But one student stood out different from the others. He had been taking pictures before settling into the front seat of the bus. He was sober. He didn't engage in any conversation.

Before the bus rolled out of the camp ground, the big Pastor had sent for Valentine and Nkasi. In his small office, a fifty thousand naira bundle was given to each of them. Pastor Kay expressed his appreciation for the manner both procurers always stood by him to make his programme a success. Then, he had told them of some detractors; very wicked enemies who wanted to bring him down. At the end, he had warned them sternly not to board the bus. His driver would convey them back with one of his numerous SUVs.

When they emerged from the office, the pastor had walked to the bus. He stood by the rolling door, scanning faces.

"O! Ye of little faith. The son of man shall not be put to shame", he had exclaimed.
The bus drove out. One of Pastor Kay's SUV'S drove behind. The students were in the bus, Val and Nkasi were in the SUV.

***

"There was a mishap along East- West road this morning. Nobody knew exactly how it happened, but a bus filled with student coming back from a church programme in Port Harcourt skidded off the tarmac and ran into a tree in the nearby bushes. One student died on the spot, the others have been rushed to a nearby hospital. It is suspected that the driver must have dozed from exhaustion".

This was the news broadcast over the car stereo even as the driver drove the SUV into the hospital's parking lot that afternoon. Valentine and Nkasi rushed into the crowded OPD. They were led to the two wards holding the students. Few of them had sustained very minor injuries. Others were just suffering from shock.

Valentine had asked to see the dead student. He was taken to a separate section- a morgue. There he saw him- the same student that was typing away on his cell phone, the one that didn't fall when the Pastor wielded his powers- he lay there without physical injury. But he was dead.

***

It was about 3:00 p.m and the driver was racing the SUV back towards Port Harcourt. They had to reach the site of the accident and access it. Moreover, Valentine hoped to recover the personal effects of the victims. The sun was still hot when they located the bus in the bushes. The damage was not severe as told on the radio. Apart from the wind-screen which was shattered by an over hanging tree trunk, there were just few scratches on the body. They opened the doors and started searching for belongings. Bags and shoes lay tossed. Valentine went to the front passenger side and opened the door. There was a phone tugged at the fold between the seat and the back rest. Valentine took the phone and started scrolling through. He went to the picture folder and saw pictures of the Pastor in different poses of healing. There were also those of the other students being made-up for the programme.

Valentine was confused. He scrolled to the message folder and was shocked to read a string of smses sent to a certain number all about the pastor's pretentious healing.

Just then, revelations hit him. The one student sat on the front seat. He was the enemy pastor was referring to. He was the mole- the reason why Pastor Kay asked him and Nkasi not to board the bus back. Maybe he was a student- journalist who came on to expose the pastor's hyprocrisy.

Somehow, Pastor Kay knew about his real intentions...and killed him.

****************END****************

Things That Leave Scars

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Evelyn had her first experience yesterday. So today, when Besse visited- her smallish form propped up on a St. Luke's bed- she had peered into her mother's face- worry creases splayed up on her tender brows- and asked that same question Besse had asked her own mother, Evelyn's grand-mother, when she was barely eight, twenty-three years ago;
"Mommy, will it heal? Will there be a scar?".

Evelyn is almost four and her skin is still soft and supple; Besse is thirty one now and as she looked back at her daughter, gazing intently at the blistered part of her left cheek and neck, a scald caused by the hot water she accidentally splashed on herself, the mother began to doubt whether the daughter's face will truly heal without leaving a scar behind. The doctor had said it was a superficial second degree burn and assured her that Evelyn will heal within few weeks and that the scald will leave no permanent scar. The mother could only hope he was right and though she entertained doubts, she heard herself say:
"It will heal, dear and I'm sure you'll be as smooth and beautiful as you were before".

Usually, wounds do not heal out all smoothly, but her daughter's fears had to be allayed. Her hopes had to be affirmed. She needed to be told that a scald will not leave any scar on her. There are more responsibilities attached to these affirmation of hopes. Besse had to ensure that a second degree burn left no scar on her beautiful daughter's face, no matter the cost.

***

As Besse sat at the edge of her daughter's hospital bed, recollections and reminiscence washed over her like a shower of cold water. Goose- bumps followed on its wake as she remembered a story told to her by an acquaintance about a friend's daughter- a teenager- whose face was bathed with concentrated sulphuric acid as a result of hand-wrenchings and boy-friend struggles. Her assailant as well as the boyfriend she got maimed for had taken to flight immediately after. The story-teller had taken pains to describe the contorted amoebic boll that became the girl's face when she was eventually discharged from the hospice she had been rushed to. Her poor parents couldn't afford reconstructive surgery; so, thus went her beauty and ambitions. Acids too burn and leave scars; but all scars do not come from physical burns and scalds alone. Scars come from various other things.

Besse had scars too and it came neither from fire, water nor such things. Below her waist lay an orifice scar that came with an awakening at age eight, from the maiden circumcision- blade. She is one of the lucky ones who came out from the fattening rooms with a mere sore and ask her mother- Evelyn's grand-mother if it will heal and whether a scar will be left behind. She came out with an ever present obesity. Some others never came out to live normal lives. Their sores turned fistulas and thus, their womanhood ruined, they've been left to waste away in VVF hospitals- passing water and feaces from one big mutilated hole. From their generation, Besse and some few others are the ones that bear the scars of the incision. The unlucky ones have no scars- for their wounds never healed. So, she promised herself that Evelyn will never be scarified in such manner.

"If my daughter came with a full bouquet of roses, none of her petals shall be clipped. She shall come out to the world, proud of her fullness", Besse had sworn to herself. She also promised to absolve her daughter of other scars; more especially, the ones she could tell.

 ***

One cannot tell of all things that leave scars- the broken heart or the bullet wound- but Besse knew that memories leave scars too. Fond Memories are a blessing. Painful memories leave thick scars. In this again, She is a victim.

Before Evelyn came to be- a child who has never met her father- Besse had a man, a bed, sex, a couple of months in-between and a bulging tummy. In between these months, challenges popped up: nausea, a near- expired rent and ante-natals.

Then things started vanishing in reverse order- first, the sex, then the bed and finally the man. The man had to be found. Providing the bed or sex-as the doctor prescribed- to widen up the fetus' birth passage- was not paramount on her mind; Catering for her protruding tummy was. Eventually the son-of-a-bitch was traced to a home, at home with a wife and four kids. Besse packed in immediately. The wife had threatened fire and brimstone and on the seventh month of the pregnancy- a week before Evelyn was born- she had driven her threats home by beating the heavily pregnant Besse senseless. When Besse woke up on a bed in the labour ward of same St. Luke's with induced labour pains and no man besides her, she had resolved there was no point making her daughter meet a father who didn't care about her. She doesn't need to share the memories that scarifies her mother's heart- even when it involves the very delicate issue of concealing her paternity. Abandonment leaves scars. The memory of being abandoned- together with her daughter- by a man who was supposed to be there is the wound that left the biggest scar in her. These are Besse's memories- so she keeps them to herself. There are her scars, not her daughter's.

***

Scars come from painful memories. While Besse has been lucky not to wear the markings of abuse, the memories of rape or the cuts of child labour; she still imagines and knows how it would feel.

Scars are the coats spread over deep and painful emotional and psychological blisters. Some are mere coverings over wounds that will never really heal. Beneath them, lies festering sores which oozes beyond redemption. Deep oozing sores.

"The deeper the cut, the bigger the scar", it is often said.

Yet, humanity must learn to brush over and dust its scars. Let these scars be seen as beauty marks that make humans who they are- distinct individuals that have learned from various bitter experiences.

Be it those from hot water- like Evelyn's or acid-bathes; though it be in the hearts or on bosoms; let the pains that these scars bring be transformed into life lessons that can be taught to the world.

Let the stories told of them show the strengths that humans possess to heal the festering wounds that are hid beneath the scars.

N/B:

The deeper the cut, the bigger the scars.

Let's show the magnitude of our hurts by the sizes of our rebounds. Let's commit to make something beautiful out of ugly situations; so our wounds will heal us and the world we live in.

***************END***************

©Anny Justin,

January, 2016.

A Different Kind Of Heartbreak

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9:30 a.m, Saturday,
December, 19th, 2015.

St. Polycarp's Cathedral,
Lagos-Island.
*********

Rivulets of tears, in hot streaming gushes. These tears occasionally run loose-whenever Kendy hears the priest pronounce those words.

"What God has joined together, suffer none to put asunder"

Kendy's hot tears. They came again yesterday as he watched Pete exchange marital vows with his newly betrothed. They had finished reciting their vows, so they hugged briefly. The hug lasted longer than necessary and when they broke it off, it left diverse countenance behind. Pete's, as well as his spouse-to-be's glowered like an angel's while Kendy's face twitched like a fiery ball. The hugged more, she, literally melting into his chest. Her milky laced- satin gown clung to her body and drew every contour in picturesque forms. She must have looked beautiful, even glamorous to the eyes of those that saw beauty in women. She must have even been desirous- by Pete's new standards. Their eyes twinkled- her's and Pete's- the fire of desire burning brightly in their sockets. Kendy could tell the passion steaming between them. He was close- sitting on the front pews of the church- and he could swear he saw the heat waves radiating off them.

Their hug was compulsive too. Impulsive at first- till the yearning in Pete's frame beckoned and transformed his emotional needs to a dire compulsive instinct, to reach out- though they waited for the priest's command: a signal, a kind of whistle to be blown by the umpire of nuptial matters- and kiss.
***

Kendy recalled the day Pete told him he had kissed a woman and was getting married. It was hard to comprehend. It was even harder to believe. Kendy had never kissed a woman before. He didn't have the chance to. He had loved Pete- only him- from the boarding house of their boys secondary college through the university. They had shared hostel bunks and later, beds. The beds had been shared literally and in the deep sense of the word. Kendy had learnt to loved him completely- even now he was getting ready to kiss his bride.
***

The priest gave them go ahead and Kendy's heart jumped over a cliff. He wanted to look away. He wanted to break gaze, but couldn't. He looked on believing that seeing Pete kiss her might finally set him straight. Set him free from the love he felt for Pete.
He sighed briefly as they locked unto each other. Pete kissed her so passionately, his lips completely enveloping hers. Those lips had kissed mine too, Kendy thought. The kiss didn't last for a day or two; it spanned almost a decade. Those lips where no more mine to kiss. Kendy's tears flourished in their thickening rivulets till the lady, who sat beside him- the nicely smelling one that wore big dangling trinkets and loud coloured heels- whose attempts at couquettry had not caught his fancy till that moment, reached out, took his hand, squeezing his palm lightly and muttered between sobs: "Don't cry, baby. Your time will come. Soon". Kendy looked at her, shook his head and smiled slightly. She didn't understand. There was his man- his lover of many years- kissing a woman and here he was longing for him. Here he was wishing he could stop the matrimonial service and remind Pete of what a waste of affection women were. He wanted to remind him of all the times they spent together. All the persecutions and stigma they suffered through college and university. He wanted to remind him of the joy they had felt when the US pronounced the LGBT law- and the hope they had that Nigeria might soon follow. Yet, he couldn't- even then, some moments back, when the priest had asked anybody who had anything against the union to say now, or remain silent forever. Kendy had remained silent.
***

He momentarily looked back at the lady by his side and asked coyly after her name. "Call me Betty", she had answered effeminately, hoping to please me. She was trendy by any fashion standard, yet Kendy was repulsed. Female couquettry didn't appeal to him; But, he had to pretend. It was clear she hoped to warm his heart into craving that brief moment, even beyond the wedding service.
***

Maybe he had to warmed up to a woman, for Pete was no more his. Pete had changed; he was very comfortable kissing a woman, even infront of him.

Kendy wiped the tears away. He had to effect a change too, for homosexuality had lost its taste in him. He had to get married soon, he thought as he squeezed back on the lady's palms and dragged her out.

**************END*********

©Poet Razon-Anny Justin.