They were shocked. The question was on their lips, ‘how can he appoint Brother Paul as the financial secretary of the fellowship?’ Yet, they had no choice for the Pastor had spoken. As Pastor Bisi shook my hands, it all came back to me- my eventful journey to the fellowship’s moneybag.

That afternoon was hot. I was passing by our gentle Pastor’s house. I had decided to pay him a visit, or at least get a free cold drink. I entered into the compound and walked straight towards Pastor’s room. As I was about to knock, I heard a loud moan. Jesus Christ! Could it be what I am thinking? The noise was unclear but the situation needed no extra clarity. It was hot in there.

The urge to respect privacy wanted me to go away but the personality of the Pastor turned me into a Viewer. The sight was magical. It was a perfect composition, a theatre of life. On the soft platform lay a female looking up to the ceiling, while the male faced downwards. The technique was great but the conception rammed my bone marrow. The picture made a meaning out of the upward- downward movements, filled with rhythms and pantomimes. My leg shook under the might of my body at the sight of Pastor Bisi on heat with the honourable prayer coordinator, Sister Chinyere. It was not a prayer session.

‘Good Afternoon, Pastor Bisi and,  Sister Chinyere.’ No one replied my greeting. ‘I was just passing by and decided to say hello, but I can see that you are busy. Sorry for dist, ’

Pastor Bisi flung the door open. ‘Brother Paul, Good Afternoon’

‘Oh! I will just be on my way’.
‘Brother Paul, I can understand your ,  but we need to talk. Why don’t you come inside?’ He held me back in a calm manner.

I thought he must have been wondering what evil breeze brought me to his doorstep. The show of shame was far unexpected from the two bloody devils who once tagged me a nominal Christian. I was the so-called ordinary follower of Christ, the insignificant Brother Paul. I had to make them suffer. I wanted them to beg.

‘There is nothing to talk about’, I said.
‘Please, Brother Paul, we need to talk.’ Sister Chinyere spoke in her sonorous praying voice.’ What is it you want, anything at all that is in our reach as senior officials of the fellowship.’

Sister Chinyere knew I had always wanted a degree of importance in the fellowship. Getting me up in the council was a dream she was ready to offer me. The Pastor himself could not refuse me that honour. At that moment, an idea struck me. The Financial Secretary was my biggest foe. I realised that taking his position would be a nice way to humiliate him and catapult myself to church glory.

‘Make me the new financial secretary’, I requested.
‘Done’ he replied, without mincing words.

On that Sunday morning, he announced, ‘the spirit have led me to elevate a great brother amongst us to the post of Financial Secretary’. I smiled. It was wonderful to see the gloom on the surprised faces of the congregation as I strolled to the altar. They applauded coldly.

Is Mr Paul a blackmailer or what?He shouldnt have earned the position through such a means.Remember what goes around comes around.

Pastor Bisi and Sister Chinyere should get married to each other and we would blot out their sins.Mr Paul is not better because he is 'an arije ni idi ibaje'[opportunist].

Ladman if the post is to test your ability in writing,u did well and you could still do better.Dont stop writing the next post may draw attention of a literary agent or a publisher.Prove to them in your writing that you got the pen and the skill.

This is a beautiful composition, i guess that story doesn't end there, please write some more. You narrative and descriptive power gives you an upper hand. Plz get me the part 2. Lol

Thanks a lot, writing has always been fun for me but I think I could look at a lucrative possibility. Now that it is suggested I am thinking of a part two. thank you.

Plz fink faster, i can't wait. Lol