I never liked sitting in front of the class, hence I carved out a niche at the 3rd row towards the end of the class. I usually go very early for my night reading, as early as 5pm. This is because I detest reading in a class with a chockfull of students. I was perhaps the second student to arrive the class. It was already 25 minutes past 10pm. I was tired of reading hence I started a chat with a friend.

I thought our conversation would be awkward and boring but thankfully it wasn’t. I did not want unnecessary silence during the discussion hence I drafted out the agenda for my discussions on a small sheet before meeting her. My friends, especially Victor, have the habit of making fun of me for not being able to sustain a discussion with a lady for more than a minute.

After a chat for about 35 minutes with Benedicta, there was a long silence which lasted for nearly 45 seconds, I scratched the back of my head as if it would help me recollect any forgotten chatting skills, but it didn’t. Anyway, I knew victor would be proud of me, as I had made a new ‘chatting record’.

“I am off to my seat, see you …,” I tried to terminate the protracted silence. “Osahon, which church do you attend”? She cuts me off before I completed my sentence. She usually calls me by my middle name, adding that my first name —-Ezekiel, does not sound well on her tongue.

“The name of my church is, The Church of God…, please do not add mission, just, The Church of God,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. The eye contact lasted for a few seconds before she turned her eyes away. Victor had also taught me to maintain eye contact when chatting with anyone especially ladies. “Eye contacts show how virile you are as a man” he would say.

Just then, a student walked in, his hairs were as black as the suit he put on. He had a red colored bible in his axilla and with just three swift strides he was at the front of the class. A young girl stood beside him.

“Good evening all, I won’t take more than 5 minutes of your time…, let us pray”. He was the 3rd preacher to patronize this class. Most night class preachers usually don’t finish on time, as they commonly promise, let alone this preacher who gave himself just 5 minutes.

His female partner was a little taller than he was; her complexion resembled that of the branded butter—blue-band. Her attached hair almost got to her waist at the point where her trousers seemed unironed. Her shirt was colored like the sky when the sun shone in its full strength.

The color of her hair was lightly brown like someone who consistently used locally made soda to bathe. Her trousers were saggy, the tighter it became as the trousers traveled towards her foot. Her facial expression and the color of her eyes showed that she was still in her teens, she looked innocent and precise.

Her eyes scanned through the class before her colleague started praying. Her ‘Amen’ was the loudest, she had a Yoruba accent that unnecessarily stressed the first syllable of the word, sounding like; ‘Are….min’. Her English was a faded lilt.

The first two buttons of her shirt were opened as if she was trying to expose something on her chest. A light incision was made on her left cheek, like an exclamation turned upside down. The mark made her beautiful but not as beautiful as Benedicta.

Benedicta was a slim beauty. She hid her smiles behind her face and her set of neatly spaced tooth were exposed whenever she smiles. Her hair was long, each of the braids that hung down to her neck ended in a soft fuzz. She smiled easily; her teeth were the same bright white of her eyes. She wore a short sleeve shirt that look crisp from ironing. Her high level of intelligence was reflected on her spoken English as she utters every word with composite inventiveness.

“The love of God is wonderful, it is powerful, it makes you express yourself to God because God is Love and Love is God. That was the reason he sent his son to die”… I followed his message with rapt attention. He sounded like the pastors of these new generational churches. No wonder his hairs were permed and oily curled. His gesticulations made his tie swing this way and that.

“Love makes you free, free from the chain of the law”… he continued. “You are free, don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t put on trousers as a lady or you can’t put on earrings as a boy, these things affect only the flesh and not your spirits”, as he said those words he moved away from the front of the class and was walking in the aisle towards my seat. My ears tingled, and I wondered if the love of God makes us ‘free’ to put on earrings?

This rhetorical question was written on my face as I stared at this educated ignoramus. He had drawn the attention of the whole class including Benedicta’s. Everyone looked at him in awe.

After several episodes of ranting, he progressed further into another unknown direction, “there is a boy here, your name is, no… no… noooo”! He stressed the last “no” like someone being scared out of his sleep by an evil spirit. “…

You are in 300 level and you are being caged, spiritually, financially and academically. God is telling me to call you out”. This caused a little stir as a student cried “please, tell us the name of the student”?

This student wore a black polo, the name ‘2 PAC’ was written boldly on the shirt, he had the hair style people commonly referred to as ‘afro’. He was dark in complexion, very dark indeed; just like the back of a roasted yam just after pouring water on it. His lips were big; maybe that was why he had the courage to challenge this controversial preacher to tell us the name of this “financially, spiritually, and academically challenged 300-level student.” The preacher continued as if he never heard the comment.

Just then NEPA interrupted power. Hisses and sighing followed the ensuing darkness.
This preacher never relented as he raised his voice as if the power supply to the class was channeled to his voice. The preacher was still speaking in loud tune when the school generator was turned on. The fluorescence above his head refused to come on and it threw a glassy shadow on his face.

A while later, a female student walked out of the class. She wore a mini-skirt, a sleeveless top with long earrings, her hairs were loosely tied and seemed unkempt, and her hand bag was hung on her right arm. Her mouth moved from side to side in a slippery manner, perfectly simulating ruminants when performing their regurgitating schedule. She was chewing a gum. The male student who was seated beside her accosted her as she made her way out.

A few moments after they passed, the preacher commented, “They are going to commit iniquity, children of Jezebel!” the whole class erupted in laughter. I almost joined in the laughter but when I noticed Benedicta didn’t join the crowd I sealed my lips.

“Bariskamadaaadevus”… still lost in his unknown world. He suddenly stopped as if trying to hear from an esoteric force. He swayed his body back and forth, jerked forward and bent over the young lady sitting in front.

He screamed, “You!” His index finger was firm in my direction. His eyes were annoying and he was sweating profusely. I imagined his heart beating so fast, and he expressed anguish in his face like someone having a running stomach and unable to get to the convenience.

His suit has been flung opened as a result of his boisterous gesticulations, revealing his inner white shirt. I looked at Benedicta to confirm if I was the one he pointed at, she wore a warm smile which indicated she knew the finger was for me. I touched the left part of my chest and nodded lightly, “Me”? “Yes, yes, you”. The whole class turned to my direction.

“You have a sister who wrote UNIBEN Post JAMB, her score was not up to the cut off. I want you to tell her that, she would be admitted with that score”. I smiled, and tried very hard to cover for his lies. I never had a sister, not to talk of one who couldn’t pass UNIBEN Post JAMB.

These young preachers who want to imitate their pastors embark on a lost pursuit of fame and miracles. When God has not sent them, they would run; when they didn’t hear from God, their voice would be the loudest; they claim to be men of God when actually they are men of men!

“Osahon, why did you lie to me, why did you tell me that you didn’t have a sister”? I had to convince Benedicta that the preacher was seeking cheap popularity by showing her a family photo; of which she could not find any female except my mom.

“You were saying something about your church” she said. “Oh, the preacher has made my explanation a lot easier. The preacher is opposite of the Church of God. From his appearance, misinterpretation of God’s love, glossolalia to his false prophesies, all these never feature in the
Church of God.”

I gave her a warm hand shake and the broadest of smiles, my smile was ricocheted on her face. We exchanged smiles as if it was the air we breathe. I watched her as she made her way to her hostel. She wanted to know more about The Church.

Would she yield, would she drop the old path for the new, was she really interested in the Church or was she just trying to generate a discussion?

These were my musings as I lay on my bed.

Ezekiel, a 300-Level student of Pharmacy at the University of Benin, freelances for The Nation’s CAMPUSLIFE.

Following behind. Lol
Ayamlaykorn

hmmmm

Lol

Ezekielosahon:
hmmmm

great story.. i sent you a Pm, or you can as well drop your email address

my email is ezekielefeobhokhan@yahoo.com u could contact me through that.thanks.

http://ezekieltrisler..com/2014/10/messengers-of-men.html
you could check the story with pictures... through that link.
thanks all

You could share the post, do share with me d link to your site after u share ...