BrownGarri(c) 2015

I will rather die single than marry a pastor…

Couples do quarrel but would settle afterwards but when I heard this holy man say “you don’t know who I am, until I teach you a lesson” I knew something was wrong.

My dad was skeptical giving out my aunt’s hand in marriage to a pastor, but she was over forty and had always wanted that kind for a husband. Maybe that was why she stayed that long before marriage. A lady with a well rounded butt isn’t difficult to notice. Even in her massive “A line” Jehovah’s witness skirts we could still see her butt jiggling and galloping in rightful rhythm.

My dad disliked pastor josh for no reason and everyone was against my dad this time, they accused him of being too strict. My aunt would cry day after day as members of our village trooped in begging on her behalf. The pressure was much on my dad until he reluctantly agreed. That was the greatest mistake he ever made in his entire existence.

Few years passed, she was only able to bare him a child, Nancy. Menopause had caught up with her turning her roses into grey. We began to notice huge distance between the couple. Each time I visited, I perceived a grave peace but I knew how to lighten her mood to an extent. She did nothing wrong, she practically served her pastor Josh like a god, he’d eat and throw remnants before her, and she’d bend and pick them up one after each in tears hoping he’d feel pity but he never did, he even got worse. He punished her peacefully without a single violence.

I couldn’t even talk to him because he had this aura pastors have that you wouldn’t be able to talk to them freely, everything has to be very spiritual. I can’t even remember seeing that man cuddle his wife nor crack jokes together with her, there was never a romantic moment, everything was just too spiritual and scripted, yet every evening we’d gather for prayers, Sometimes I’ll open my eyes and stare at his bald head and pray God knocks him hard.

I would have stayed a little longer with her but school had resumed a week back and I hadn’t got a clue on what topic to pick for my project. I woke up earlier in preparation for my trip but was cut short by my aunt who wanted me to help her in cleaning their room. Time was against me but Benin isn’t so far from Lagos, I pondered and couldn’t have refused her plea.

Her husband had not return from vigil and she was pacing to make breakfast before he would arrive. I started with an old flower vase placed at the extreme corner made to look like an alter. I picked up the flower vase but was startled by my aunt. “Drop that” her voice echoed, I panicked allowing the vase drop from my hands, quickly I pushed my legs forward hoping I could save the vase but it was heavier than my foot. Alas! it shattered on the tiled floor. My eyes were fixed not on the broken pieces that littered sparsely but on the glutinous black rounded object that plunged on the ground. It looked strange, so I bent slightly to get a closer look without touching while my foot ached. It was greenish black, with a contour right in the middle that could pass for a nipple, it had horrible looking rubies wounded around it. My aunt managed few steps gazing at the same object, I could tell she was more frightened. I collected the remote of the TV she held and pressed it against the object, it was soft and rubber like. I was certain. “Ihan bu ara nmadu aunti” I said with a clear voice but she rebuked me. She argued trying to convince me it was not a breast of a female but a plastic of some sort that held the flower. Her explanation didn’t make any sense. I could feel she was protecting something but what it was, I didn’t know because she seemed equally shocked....................................................................

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lovely day

good morning folks

beautiful day