This is going to be a long story.

A true story on how God saved me from Sango attack.

I and my brother have not been in good terms for a long time and I have tried to let peace reign between us but to no avail. He is based in the US and he is rich and believes he can intimidate anyone with his riches. I had been a soloist from childhood and I believe without anyone I will make it as long as God is by my side. So I run my life my way according to the will of God.

He is the first born and I am the second to the last of a family of eight.

He really was not a bad man until he married the woman who happens to be his wife. The wife is fetish and everyone knows. There were times she had quarrel with a few friends of hers and they started telling people all the babalawo places she took them.

Even in the US she sends home for charms. The last born of the family lives in the US and he has caught her more than twice with fetish things over there. Her family where she comes from in Ibadan are so fetish that if Fetishness is their last name it won't be bad. They are all evil and It is a known thing.

To cut the long story short.
Our Dad died and we started preparation for the ceremony. He called from the US that we in naija should meet and calculate how much everything that is needed would cost. Including the clothes for the burial. When he was told about the total amount, he said we all should not bother that he would take care of everything. (About 2.5million)
Inside of me I rejected it. Though things were not rosy but I believed in God for all I would need.
I said to myself no one would take care of my responsibility as a son to my Dad. Talkless buying me clothes and food for my dad's burial. So I believed in God and kept praying. I only told my brothers that are in Nigeria my intention and did not tell the US one. I said to them that I need nothing from all that was bought. Not even a sachet of pure water.
One thing is I am an introvert. So, I don't have many friends. And that is a plus to me. I was confident that the little I got would take care of my few friends.

My US brother sent money home and everything needed for the ceremony was bought. I was part of the running around to make things work with others.

Few days to the burial I was part of those who went to our town to take care of our dad's house for the burial.

I lodged in a neighboring town in a hotel. There I did prayers day and night for protection. Two days to the ceremony my brother and his wife arrived. They stayed in Ibadan while I stayed in Oshogbo. We didn't see until in the church on the day of burial.

My guys, the rain season had not started and everyone was happy because the road to our dad's house would be muddy if rain started. So we were all happy for the raining season had not started.

On the day of the burial, I entered church late and we all sat according to our age. That means I would be far from my brother and his wife being the first born.
A cousin came to my side in front of the church where all the children of the dead sat. He engaged me in a conversation where we were seated. As we talked, two women in Ankara aṣọ ẹbi came from the back to the front of the church. In front of me gangan and acted as if they were talking. Being busy talking with my cousin did not allow me to wonder why the women should choose my front for discussion. When the women left and the service started. Rain started falling and it was so heavy that it started lightening and thunder.
We stood up to sing from the program booklet. As I stood up, I noticed I stepped on something like a stone. The church was well tiled so how come? I thought.
I look down to check what it was and it was half eaten bitter kola. My immediate senior was by my side so I called his attention to it.
"Bros, what is this before me," I asked
"Bitter kola (Orógbó)," he replied.
I told him about the women that just left and how I believe they were the ones who did it.
My brother said by the grace of God nothing will happen to you.
When we sat down, I kicked the bitter kola away from me and it rolled under the seats of the choir.
The service was almost done but I did not allow it to be through before I left the church in the heavy rain. It continued to thunder.
I called my chartered car driver and he came close to the church and we drove to the hotel I have arranged to entertain my guests. And to the glory of God. There was surplus for my guests.
Later after the ceremony the next day, I asked those who went to the field where the general family guests were entertained, which family wore the Ankara of the color on the two women that came to the front to drop the bitter kola and I was told the family of my brother's wife.

Secondly, our third born called me and told me that one Iya sango (sango priestess) came to him on the field and asked if she could sing praises of our dead father (Oriki) and he told her that the man that died was a Christian and it would be wrong for her to praise sing him. He said he gave the woman five thousand naira and she still stayed around.

When my brother told me this, I added everything together and arrived at the conclusion of why the rain that had not fallen that year and was not expected had to rain.
Bitter kola is what is used to worship sango and the half eaten one is an insult to him. (Sango we wanted to give you full bitter kola o. But Lagbaja is the one who cut it o. The remaining half is infront of him. He said we should give you half that you can do nothing)

A Christian abides under the shadow of the Almighty. No enchantment of the wicked can distroy him.

Rubbish story. This one will make front page but if it were to be " How I Was Saved From Jehovah Attack By Sango" it will not near front page.

Africans and mumu. The god of israel go leave Israel come protect you from the god of your fore fathers.

Righthussle:
Rubbish story. This one will make front page but if it were to be " How I Was Saved From Jehovah Attack By Sango" it will not near front page.

Africans and mumu. The god of israel go Israel come protect you from the god of your fore fathers.

You are sick for calling me a mumu.
The god of my forefathers is used to cause havocs. It is used to unleash all manner of evil.
The God of Israel is a loving God. He protects people from the menace and the evil of the god of my forefathers. If you are not a mumu and a complete dindinrin. If you are sound in the head, you would opt to worship the God that is loving and protective.

Don't be a dunce.
It is my choice to worship the God of Israel. You are free to worship the gods of your forefathers.

[quote author=Righthussle post=116278412][/quote]
Lol. Sango worshippers no dé die?