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I travel to church on Sundays. From Lagos to Ota. This I consider a shorter and ‘Eazi-er’ journey than Accra to Lagos. When people ask me why I travel that far to worship. I usually quip, “life itself is a journey, so if we journey through life whose course can be very unpredictable, tedious and long everyday what is journeying to Ota once a week?” What follows usually is a nodding of head and silence. Whether my reply is very deep or very stupid to elicit this kind of response I cannot tell.

As a single guy, going to church on Sundays was the simplest task. All I needed to do was wake up, brush, dress up. Thirty minutes tops I’m done. I always preferred the first service because by 11am I am back home and because the day is still young I have ample time to indulge in extracurricular activities as a young man. My Church conducts five services. Now, with two soldiers and a deputy commander, preparation for church is no mean feat and my battle to keep to my service preference seems like a ‘never-winning’ one. I have not given up yet although I must confess it has been a while since I attended first service. In fact, my service schedule these days are as erratic as the British weather but the battle continues.

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