In the evening, she was on her way to Segun's residence, the house fellowship centre for those living around Onikoko. Both surprise and doubt gripped her as the blue, one-storey building started coming to view. The time was quarter past five, they should be fifteen minutes into the meeting now, but no sign of any ongoing activities inside could be seen. No two cars – Brother Wale, the centre coordinator's blue Datsun 120Y hatchback and a cream flat-boot Benz 190 saloon belonging to Deacon Agbaye – were parked outside and no worship filtering out of the room to welcome her. AY was a habitual but timely latecomer – fifteen minutes past, no more no less. In the church she was a celebrated, near-venerated, worker but at the centre, a notorious benchwarmer. Her late-coming was part of her tactics to free herself of any commitment in the group. Fifteen minutes was enough time to have apportioned all the responsibilities available to those present.
Her bewilderment deepened when even Brother Segun's face wore a look of astonishment on sighting her.
‘What's the problem? No house fellowship today?' she retorted.
‘Good evening Sister AY. Nice seeing you around.' Segun attempted breaking the tension.
'Ah! Ah! Please pardon my poor sense of courtesy, Brother Segun. Good evening. But I'm actually at a loss. What's happening to the house fellowship?' She was never done with her confusion.
‘Un-hmn! I was wondering myself because this is the actual time you normally surface at the house fellowship. You really come for the house fellowship?'
Though she felt the question was a bit stupid she gave a nod all the same.
‘If you were not at the service this morning I would have understood. But now I'm stupefied.'
AY quickly changed her approach knowing quite alright that she had missed something in the morning announcement.
‘I'm sorry. I was busy during announcement. Was it announced that there would be no fellowship today?' she asked pitifully.
‘Yes, we were to use the time for personal evangelism in our neighbourhood. In fact, I was just preparing to go out for that when you came in.'
‘Ah! Pardon my ignorance. I'm sorry for delaying you. Let me be on my way then.' She stood to go.
Segun would not let her. This is a sister admired by almost all the single brothers in the church. An audience with her is a golden privilege that must never be allowed to be short-lived. So, she must not go just like that.
‘No, not so soon. Not until I have treated you to light refreshment with soft drink. And if you wouldn't mind we could then go out together for the witnessing. At least, the Bible too said he sent them out two by two.'
Though they both laughed over the witty allusion, she tried to put up a feigned resistance to the intended treat. Segun's persistent enthusiasm ensured it did not go through. He kept her busy with his album while he dashed out. In no time he was back with a bottle of fizzy Fanta pineapple and a package of sumptuous pie, looking professionally baked by a Mr. Biggs-standard fast food joint in the neighbourhood.
‘Sister AY, I'm sorry this is all I could offer o. You know this is a chronic bachelor's place. But really, if not for my pot that was on holiday I would have made you a lump-less pounded yam as smooth as the earlobe, with good Amaranthus soup garnished here and there with powerful balls of egusi, and a big fresh catfish carrying a big egusi ball on the floor of its mouth.'
‘Um! If all the ingredients are here right now, can you cook half as good as you just have painted?' She beamed and the radiant face threw up its elegance. Segun was spurred on to be a good laugh.
‘You try me. Just enroll me in this year's National Maggi Cooking Competition and see how I will defeat chefs from Mr. Biggs, Tantalizer, Sweet Sensation, Mama Cass, just name it. You go know say khaki no be leather. I was not my Mummy's special assistant in kitchen matters in those days for nothing. I bet, with due respect to your royal and precious majesty, if I will not beat you hands down in a cooking contest.'
‘Whaoh! Unbelievable!'
‘The unbelievability is my pleasure, Madame. By the way, Sister AY, I must confess that the praise and worship session you led this morning was something else – it was electrifying, soul-lifting and heaven-rendering'
‘Ah-ah! I'll take that for flattery. Who am I and my talent to deserve such an accolade?'
‘No! who has the time to spare on flattery. I mean every word of it. You are a rear gem to the church. May God continue to increase you to bless our generation the more.'
‘Amen !' She responded laughingly.
‘I mean I was really, really, really blessed by the ministration.'
AY was all giggles till she finished the light refreshment provided. Straight after, she freely offered herself to be his witnessing partner.
Not that they didn't face what they set out to achieve – in fact they led five to six people to Christ – but their partnering off naturally ended up a date. A relationship was established; platonic or more, only time would tell.
The second encounter was an offshoot of the first and was as coincidental as the first. In their course of seeking out souls to bring the Good News to, AY had informed Segun of her upcoming birthday on Friday and wanted him to be her guest. She was only marking it and not celebrating it, she had stressed. Segun should therefore not expect much:
‘Just to take sobo and some groundnuts with friends.' She had jocularly said.
Friday is here. Segun put on his best shirt – a light blue packaged shirt sent to him by his cousin abroad. He was proud of the top because of its Marks and Spencer label. With a pair of navy blue plain designer trousers, well-buffed, black, narrow-toe shoes and a black Versace belt, he completed the dressing. He contemplated knotting a tie but dropped the idea after amusing himself with the question: ‘Segun, are you the ministering MOG of the occasion?'
* * * *
Baba mimo mimo mimo mo wa sope o oba nla
Baba mimo mimo mimo mo wa sope o oba nla
F’ore to o se laye mi o po oba nla
F’ore to o se laye mi o po oba nla
The popular track of Tope Alabi, a Yoruba Gospel music performer nonpareil, charged the atmosphere of the mini-hall from the background, as the items on the birthday programme were happily carried out with a romp. The generator of the music was the Ore ti o Common album disc turning in the CD player of a 3500-watt Sharp stereo standing as tall as the third of an average man's height. The stereo stood at one angle of the hall designated DJ's corner while its two woofer speakers were placed high on corner-braces, one adjacent the DJ's corner and the other opposite it. A ring, with the celebrant's chair and a cake-carrying decorated table at its head, was the seating arrangement. Brother Sola, popularly called Wonderful Brother, was in the centre turning here and there to compere. From time to time he cracked side-splitting jokes and the assembly found it difficult not to get their teeth into them.
‘The brevity of the chronological mensuration cannot accommodate the longevity of the provisioned thingamabob for the programme...'
‘Eh-eh, oyinbo poju!' one lady ejaculated from the audience.
‘Please, sir, can you help us break it down? Abeg, no give us migraine, dear professor emeritus!' another, a brother, requested.
‘Anyway, what I'm saying in essence is that though we have a lot of things to do, the time is short, OK?'
‘Effico! The hall roared with amusement and applause.
You mean you can't remember this brother? He is the one and the same person that gave the medical testimony. Who knows whether he studies his dictionary, medical or English, more than his Bible.
‘Thank you, thank you. Don't mention it. What are enemies for!' His ironic use of ‘enemies' caused another fit of giggles to permeate the audience.
‘The basket has been passed round and you must have picked something. Now if I point at you, just walk up here and tell us what is inside the piece of paper you picked.'
He pointed at one brother but that one said the basket did not get to him. He pointed
again and the lot fell on Segun. He came out, unwrapped the paper and read out what he foud therein.
‘Dance and gist with the celebrant for two solid minutes!'
‘Whaoh! That is phantasmaglorious! Hold on, please hold on DJ. None of us should be left out in this networking. This is what we are going to do. Get someone beside you and you too can interact with him or her for those two minutes. No dancing in your own case however.'
He turned to Segun and AY who were now standing together. ‘And to both of you, “Holiness to the Lord” o?' He feigned a baritone, ‘Thou shall not tamper with the holiness gap.'
The two beamed with enthusiasm.
‘I request the DJ to play us a soft, slow-moving gospel. They can't be dancing marcossa and still be able to colloquize. Yes or no?'
The echo was in the affirmative.
‘Meanwhile, if you can't find anyone to spin a yarn with, I'm very much available. Let the music roll.'
It was time to continue where they stopped on Sunday evening as they rocked lazily to the music. When it all ended the two minutes seemed two seconds. Segun craved for more.
* * * * *
Segun got to his door but could not put the key in the lock. He bent to the peephole and discovered another key hanging in the lock from the inside. Definitely Sister Kemi is around. He knocked at the door and Kemi was prompt to open. They held hands and got inside. She had come with the progress report as usual.
‘Brother Segun, the good news is that Daddy's attitude is getting more and more favourable by the day. From the look of things he will give his full consent with one or two more delegations'.
She noticed Segun was not showing interest. It was taking him unnecessarily long pulling off his shoes. He was bent double to the task and would not even lift as much as his eyes when she mentioned ‘good news'.
‘Brother Segun!' she tapped him on the back, ‘it seems you are not even interested in what I'm saying. You are not saying anything. Is anything the matter?'
Segun jerked up his head, managed a reluctant smile and spoke with an interest that was only skin-deep. ‘I'm interested now. Nothing is wrong, it's only that I'm tired. I'm sorry.'
‘Then say something to the issue on ground,' Kemi queried.
‘I'm happy. Yes, I'm happy that Daddy is responding. I just pray that the Daddy upstairs will grant us good speed.'
‘Amen. He will. But you know God's time is the best. He makes all things beautiful in His time and ours shall not be an exception. God will help us. Let's just hold on to Him till the end.'
Segun concluded the dialogue with, ‘It is well.'
Somebody else is beginning to steal Segun's heart. A real-life osmosis is taking place across his heart – love is moving from an area of higher concentration to that of lower concentration. But then, when the two sides are balanced, one must be discarded, for the heart understands romantic love only in the language of elimination by substitution. There can be no greater confusion in the heart than that of love.
CHAPTER 5
3 – 2 = 1 heart praying 4 u. 1 + 1 = 2 eyes looking at u. 3 + 4 = 7 days thinking of u. 7 + 5 = 12 months asking God to protect and bless u, because u're special! How is ur day? The Lord is ur muscle. Shalom.
Segun finished punching in the short message and was about sending it when he caught sight of the figure 269/2 at the top right hand corner of his Nokia 1100's LCD. That suggested the message had spilled over to the second page, meaning an additional cost. Segun, a shrewd and thrifty SMS-sender, could not tolerate it. The service is called short message and it should remain as such. He looked for ways of trimming down the text to one page. After reading through twice he discovered he had been too generous with spaces. He removed the space immediately after every punctuation mark and operation sign. Still the character-and-page number indicator was reading 279/2. What could he do? He removed the ‘g' ending all the present participle verb forms. He abbreviated ‘months' to ‘mths' and ‘because' to ‘cos', then ‘at' was transformed to its internet sign, ‘@', and the conjunction ‘and' to its popular symbol ‘&'. When it would still not go for one page he finally decided to delete ‘shalom' and was happy with what he saw at the corner – 300/1. No wonder some of his friends called him SMS Ijebu. On several occasions he had sent texts with too many contractions. It would take the receiver several minutes of logically slotting in the missing letters for the meaning of the SMS to flow out. He could receive a 3-page text and resend it in just one page. He had to be this generous with the text because of the recipient involved – AY. But ironic enough, he was a well-known magnanimous giver among brethren.
He keyed in AY's number offhand – no need of going through the search option in the terminal equipment's phonebook. OK. In about twelve seconds the screen read, ‘Message sent', and ten more seconds, ‘Delivered to AY' flashed on and off the display unit. AY flashed back to acknowledge the receipt of the text. Segun's gaze had stayed on the petite, black-and-silvery Nokia expecting the flash.
Terminating a call while still ringing, before the called could pick it up, had become a cheap form of sending warm but dumb greetings and acknowledgment to friends and loved ones. The verb ‘flash' was whimsically coined out for this special service maybe because of the speed involved. The flasher must be on the red alert – his ear on the receiver-mic and his thumb on the red button – or else he has himself to blame.
Actually, flashing costs nothing. You must have airtime validity and a few kobo of credit left though. With that, one could go ahead to flash the whole world. But if one of those flashed prematurely picks the call, maybe accidentally or deliberately – as a sort of punishment or mischief – your flashing credit goes down the drain. So it is a game of speed.
An extended use of the flashing technique plays out when the younger intend sending the older a free electronic SOS which could be equivalent to a telegram message that sounds like: please call me.
Segun flashed a smile and then withdrew to his sofa to reminiscent on the series of happenstance, as the Americans will say, that had brought him thus far with the beautiful and talented AY. Only a month into the relationship and the developments seemed built over years. The way nature arranged the events and their rolling out, scene upon scene and act upon act, made Segun conclude: ‘God is arranging the circumstances to prove a point.'
‘And what is the point?'
‘This lady is meant for me.'
‘Are you sure? Has that conclusion passed the joy and peace test?'
‘My peace seemed a bit withdrawn about it. But does it really matter? Time can take care of that.'
‘You are treading on a dangerous path, Segun, you are!'
‘Allow me please!' and with that he ended the conversation with his conscience.
His mother, Mama Sola, came visiting two hours later. Her furrowed face bore the concern of the severing relationship between Segun and his father. Baba Segun lay critically ill at the General Hospital, Oke-Ijeun. He had been there for two weeks but Segun did not bother to send a word, much less a visit. The gap between him and his father, created at the pre-introduction, yawned by the day. Things were making a turn for the worse and Mama Segun could bear it no longer. She had come in the company of her last born, Sola.
‘Ah! Segun! You are wicked. Did your younger brother not deliver my message to you that your father is sick and bedridden?' her emotional outburst characteristically feminine.
‘Deji delivered your message. But I can't come,' Segun said bluntly.
‘Why, Segun, why?' Mama taken aback.
‘What do I have to do with him again, Mummy? He had denied me. He did. He said he is not my father. He said it with his own mouth and I've made myself to come to terms with it. The denial sank so deep and I lost all feelings toward him. I had to actually force myself to even pray for his recovery, and that once. I struggle with my conscience daily but visiting him is too much an honour I can't afford, Mama. He went too far to shame me only to carry me farther to shear me of
all feelings and honour I hold for him…'
‘Segun! Segun!' his mother cut it, ‘My Adesegun! If we forget not yesterday's grudge we will have no one to take to the game.'
The crown that brought me conquest
The Alani who is no fool
In a single swipe
He splits eko, the half-solid gruel
Twenty wraps down the gut
And he still wants more
Adesegun, their son in Igbein
The Igbeins, the sons of Ojowu
And Ojowu, the son of Sikiki
Who would bring home produce
If the farmer he met on the farm
Even in the farmer's absence
He would still cart the produce home
But then in superfluity
The farmer's cursing
Ranting and raving
Never took a toll on your ancestor
And cursing never does
On your lineage ever since
Son of …'
‘Oh! Please, please, please, Mummy. You know I don't like all this ancestral praise-singing. Please stop it…'
‘Adesegunfunmi, my one and only! Eh! For the sake of this my womb that bore you for nine months; these my knees that bended to bring you to birth; these my two breasts that nourished you in your first year and for the sake of this my back that carried you for two years, please forgive your father. Jo oko mi. My son that is like a husband to me, please. Everyone has his day of blunder. Agreed that your wedding pre-introduction day was his day of blunder, eh? But Alani ogo, Alani is no fool, please find a place in your heart to forgive and let bygones be bygones. You need to bury the hatchet my son.'
The atmosphere dripped with emotion. Even Sola, the 13-year old, caught the current. Her eyes, fixated on the mother-son scene, were saturated with the tear-gland fluid ready to trickle down any moment. Mrs. Toriola had succeeded in infecting every occupant of the sitting room with emotive germ. Segun contracted the endemic and a lump was stuck to his throat. He was gradually getting mollified as he succumbed to the feminine tear-power supplying the atmosphere with the electricity in high horsepower. He is no wood, how will he not succumb! Yes, it will only take a wood to stand unyielding when mother's tears start yielding in squirts. He dropped his head, shook it vigorously and was still for a while. When he finally lifted up the bloodshot eyes, his exasperation had been defused.