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Femi’s face lit up with joy once he saw Kemi sashaying along the road, swaying her hips rhythmically in the soft suns beams of the twilight. He felt a rush of emotions; the kind that had gnawed at his heart for months with a bitter-sweet sting. The kind that pumped at his ribcage uncontrollably and weakened him at his feet and he only manages to mask with a boyish swagger.

The white of his eyes shone brighter as Kemi got closer and made to pass Suya Joint and Football Viewing Centre where Femi and other young men had gathered for weekend leisure. They were arguing about the latest English Premier Leagues results of Chelsea, Manchester United, Arsenal and Liverpool; and other inanities before Femi’s sudden silence slowed the tempo of their excitement.

Femi said something in a low grunt that passed for excuse to the cluster of the young men at his table and stood up to intersect Kemi before she hurried past them. The young men – about eight of them, in their late 20’s; a motley of personality types you often see in public gatherings – grunted too in return and nodded, a knowing smile crisscrossing their faces.

“Hi, Beauty,” Femi greeted and forced a coy smile on his face. Soft twilight rays bounced off his receding hairline and cast a shade of beige on his tired jeans and grey shirt.

As Femi walked towards Kemi from the other end of the pathway, he slowed his pace at a quiet, less busy spot. In the circumstances, it was the perfect spot to once more unburden his mind to Kemi – even if he had done so many times in the past and in so many different places and situations that he had lost count and perhaps some self-respect.

Kemi sighted Femi from a corner of her eyes and stifled a smile emerging on her face. She scoffed and made to dash past him, but changed her mind midway. She stopped, rested her body on her right hip and fixed Femi with a patient, studying gaze. But it was exactly the kind of posture that often unsettled Femi; that made monetarily loose his composure and sputter. Kemi’s tight-fitting, three-quarter dress hugged her Figure 8 contours somehow overwhelmed Femi and made him secretly drool. He tugged lightly at the scruff of his shirt and gulped hard, then with his dull white handkerchief, he wiped of the tiny beads of sweat now gathering on his face.
“You’re sweating,” Kemi said and Femi feared the worst. Perhaps she has heard the sound of his heartbeats.

It tickled Kemi how easily she could wear him out, yet barely uttering a sound. She twirled a few strands of her hair and let a teasing smile settle on her lips. After what looked like an eternal interlude, she yawned sarcastically. “Femi, what do you want?” She asked in a feigned tired voice.

“But Kemmmiiii…” Femi drew out her name in a persuasive voice – almost pleadingly. “You know I like you a lot. I know you know it. In fact, I know everyone in Egbeda knows it now, but what do I care?” Femi held Kemi’s hand lightly and tried to press it lovingly like love-struck couples would do on the eve of their wedding in the cool breeze and warm shadows of a moonlit night.

Kemi slowly pulled her hand away, but Femi continued his wooing ritual, his voice now almost a bedroom whisper; and his eyes misting. “There are things you just can’t fight...”

He was serious. He wasn’t fibbing. Kemi knew it. She has always known it.

“But Femi, I’ve heard those same lines like a thousand times this week from boys of all sorts in this area?” Kemi remonstrated in measured, prim and proper tone. “Your own lines are even the most ordinary. No sparks whatsoever. They are boring me to death,” she teased him, bunching her lips sideways and keeping a straight face.

“I am serious, Kemi. Please, stop lumping me together with ‘boys of all sorts,’” Femi said. “You know that, don’t you? I don’t want anyone else beside you. I want to be with you only even if it is just as a friend. Not just that, I hope from there someday we can take it to the next level. I am serious and I mean every single word.”

Kemi’s ears tingled at the words “the next level.” In the street lexicon of boy and girl dating, that meant ‘marriage.’ She playfully wrapped her fingers round a stray curly strand of her hair again and tilted her head sideways for a better view of his face and maybe his heart.

Her eyes were becoming googly now. She liked him. He was smart, friendly, hardworking and often spoke with a simple but firm conviction that always willy-nilly broke down her defences. Yes, she liked him a lot just the same way he liked her. But that could be where it ended. There was not likely to be a “next level” because he was not the Lord’s will for her in marriage. Or rather, he was not the Lord’s will for her, according to Prophet Samson.

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Hi friends, here's part 2 of the series. More to come...

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Kemi had gone to visit Prophet Samson that Sunday just after the worship service in the small bamboo church painted in a queer mix of blue, red and white.

The last of the regular worshippers had just left and Prophet Samson was getting ready to attend to the small crowd of faithfuls who were waiting for spiritual counselling, or wanted him to see a vision or prophesy for them.

Prophet Samson, or ‘Daddy Prophet,’ as many of the worshippers reverently call him, was dressed in a flowing white robe, with a red sash worn diagonally over it with the words ‘HIS HOLINESS, THE HOLY PROPHET’ boldly sown with white thread.

Kemi had been reluctant to visit ‘Daddy Prophet,’ but yielded after so much nagging by Aunt Simi every time she visited the house, which was so often she could pass for one of the residents of the house. Aunt Simi had the notorious fame of having four children from three different men been and being divorced three times. But it was an infamous badge she now wore with less shame or care. She had long endured all the street gossips and side and was now inured to them.

“A young, single lady like you must go and divine her future husband before it is late. A woman must marry God’s will when choosing a husband or marriage could turn out to be hell for her on earth. My example should suffice for you,” Aunt Simi would badger her endlessly until her voice grew hoarse.

Not that Kemi was hearing that for the first time though. In spite of their sophisticated looks, most young women in the city and even sometimes the young men go to some Prophets somewhere to divine ‘God’s will’ in marriage for themselves.

‘Daddy Prophet’ was about the most popular in this business of envisioning a future spouse for a young man or woman. Young people in their mid or late 20’s and early 30’s flocked in from the plush corridors of the city and the outskirts to his humble bamboo church to know about who or what lay ahead of them. No one dared questioned his visions or doubted them. Even if the prophesies don’t happen exactly as he had said them, the faithful worshippers always had some way to explain them away with rational judgement.

“I want to marry my own husband from God who will give me peace, prosperity and all the good things of life,” the throng of young unmarried women who queue to see ‘Daddy Prophet’ on the appointed days would say.

Sometimes a young lady would steal her boyfriend’s picture when she visited him and then take to Prophet Samson to divine with so she could know whether to continue to stick with him or look for another suitor.

Kemi stood rooted at a spot and shook with trepidation inside. Baba’s reputation overwhelmed her. “Good afternoon, Prophet,” she greeted and curtseyed. “I want to know who I should marry,” she said abruptly.

‘Daddy Prophet’ looked at her and his eyes drilled into hers like he was trying to decrypt a message locked behind it; something esoteric. Kemi’s knee weakened and she looked away.

“Ah, my sweet young lady. You’re a lucky one. Your husband will be a ‘Tokunbo.’ He will be well-to-do.” ‘Daddy Prophet’ prophesied as soon as they were inside the bamboo church and began the business of the day.

“’Tokunbo?’ His name will be Tokunbo…?” Kemi enquired. She wanted more information.

“No. I cannot know his name. The Lord does not reveal names. But your husband will come from overseas; that means he will be a ‘Tokunbo.’ He will be a rich man. This is your marriage destiny from the Lord,” ‘Daddy Prophet’ explained.

………………………………………………….

When Kemi came to from her reverie, she shrugged. Femi was still patiently imploring, mumbling some mumbo-jumbo Kemi could barely make out. She instantly felt irritated and snapped. “Why, I have wasted an entire day of my life standing here with you for no sensible reason! Are you such a slacker you don’t even value time? Do you realize I was on an errand when you stopped me? Wait, why am I even blaming you? I have been the stupid one waiting here and listening, as if you cast some spell on me, to the gibberish you’re spewing to amuse yourself and your friends! Please I have to go,” Kemi said and stomped off, leaving Femi mortified and rooted to the spot.

She barely heard from Femi again. But a month later, Femi called again. He was the proverbial patient dog. Femi thought inanely: Maybe Kemi was testing him to see if he had tempers; something single women avoided in prospective suitors like a plague.

But Kemi wasn’t testing Femi. She was simply obeying the Lord’s will, according to Prophet Samson or ‘Daddy Prophet,’ as the church faithfuls called him. She loved him, but she must love God more. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. She must not yield to the flesh. Femi was the flesh; but the Lord’s will, as seen by Prophet Samson, was the spirit; and the spirit must prevail to tame the desires of the flesh, Kemi convinced herself.

In time, Femi got to understand Kemi may never yield to his wooing. He never understood why though. Maybe there was some other guy. Maybe she wanted to be a career lady who ‘married’ her books instead. Maybe she wanted to be a nun.

Whichever it was, Kemi never told Femi and, after some time, he too stopped asking or pestering her. He no longer stopped to talk with her every time he saw her. Most times now, he would just wave at her and flash a smile. The calls dwindled too especially after he moved to another city. He went from calling every day to just twice a week and then no calls at all.

In spite of herself, it hurt Kemi. But she was determined to obey ‘the Lord’s will.’ She must be strong and not yield to the temptations of the flesh. But the tough hide she tried to put up to fight her true emotions didn’t last long, and she was beside herself. It ate her up very night and in dreams and visions she would see Femi come to her and ask again if she wanted to be with him. She would cry and with hearts thumping so loud say “Yes” and she would beg him to forgive her; and then she would wake up and become sullen and confused.

Sometimes when she woke up from her dreams or trance, she would moan and mope until the tears in her eyes dried and she lost all appetite for food. Once, she could no longer take it and decided to call Prophet Samson on the phone. Perhaps God would change His mind and Prophet Samson would say Femi was the Lord’s will and not some ‘Tokunbo.’

“I’m sorry, sir. But is God’s will for me still this ‘Tokunbo’ I am yet to see?” Kemi stuttered after ‘Daddy Prophet’ picked the line and said ‘the Peace of the Lord be upon the caller’ - his usual refrain in place of ‘Hello.’

But there was silence on the phone after Kemi asked her question. A pin drop silence.

“Hello. Hello, Prophet…” Kemi stammered some more.

“Yes!” Prophet Samson’s voice was curt.

“Emm, I just want to know if… if… I mean, I have a friend called Femi….” Kemi rambled.

Just then, the tiny echo of the call tone assaulted Kemi’s ears. The line was dead.

“Hello… Hello, sir…” Kemi called. She tried to redial, but Prophet Samson didn’t pick and she stopped after ten tries.

After that day, each time Kemi called the Prophet Samson, he would refuse to answer the call. The worshippers that need Daddy Prophet’s intervention these days must be so many. He’s seems very busy, Kemi rationalised for Prophet Samson.

But after two weeks and ‘Daddy Prophet’ would still not answer Kemi’s call, she started to doubt her own excuses for Prophet Samson. But one day he finally answered the call after she had bugged his phone and refused to stop until he picked up the line.

“Ah, Your Holiness, thank God I finally got you,” Kemi said and heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you on a small matter. It’s about my friend…”

But Prophet Samson rudely interrupted her. “Are you doubting the word of the Lord?” he bellowed. “I have told you the Lord’s Will for you and you are questioning it? You must repent of this insolence and fast unto the Lord.”

“I am sorry sir. I will abide by the Lord’s will,” Kemi sputtered again; her shoulders slumped, her body turned icy cold.

That call marked the end of her resistance to the Lord’s will as seen by Prophet Samson. She beat herself for days which turned weeks. And for penance for questioning the Lord’s will, she fasted for seven days.

(TO BE CONTINUED.... and hope we get more comments and interests)

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