₦airaland Forum

We yaf almost reach the end nau. But you can get it all over with @ www.goldentouchcorner..com.

Now, I can’t state what led to my choice of prophecy, but can mischief really be explained? Her name was Rukayat, a daughter to a Muslim mother and a Christian father. Her dad attended some of our worship sessions, though he was of the Methodist church. Our leader had helped him, it was rumoured, when he was having problems with his business. In what form the help had come, I wasn’t told, but help it was anyway. The man was in church that day with this beautiful daughter of his, their occasionally used garments more resplendent than those of many other members of the congregation. Whether it was envy, I can’t tell now, but I knew my prophecy had found a target the moment I sighted them walk past the entrance door that evening.

The worship session was soon on, with heavy percussive accompaniment as usual. In fact, the drummers seemed to up the ante that evening. I looked around, at the white garmented bodies moving in ecstatic animation as they raised their voices, singing in unison; I looked at the leader who was busy jumping around, sprinkling holy water on the members of the congregation with some receiving these drops with exaggerated fervour; I checked around to make sure none of the vessels was already at it or seemingly about to as that would have lessened the impact of my act. The coast was clear. Without further ado I leapt and landed with an agility that would send even a seasoned martial artist green with envy. The ongoing song then was:

Wole wa, wole wa O
Emi oke, ewole wa O

This translated thus:

Come enter, come enter
Spirit on high, come enter

It was the perfect song for the moment and had been one of the most featured songs in my rehearsal sessions. I leaped a second time and landed with my face contorted and my eyes tightly shut. As expected, the voices around me stopped singing and the tempo of the drums dropped. I knew this was at the leader’s beckoning. The spirit wanted to speak.

After some convulsive jerks, some howls and moans, all with my eyes still tightly shut, I opened my lips to issue forth those highly anticipated pronouncements.

“Holy Michael! Holy Uriel! It isn’t encountering the battle that matters, but that the battle will always end up the Lord’s. I see the ups and downs, but the Lord has promised us the victory. Yes, I see it so clearly now, holy!” I paused for effect, the church was dead silent. Even a pin drop would have been heard some metres away. The congregation obviously desired to hear what I had to say. I proceeded to another round of convulsive motions: “Holy Michael! Holy Gabriel! Holy!” I loved the sound of my voice as the hall reverberated with it. I would have loved to see the expression on my dad’s face, on Peter’s face especially, but knew I could give myself away if I
opened my eyes. What if Peter had on one of those funny expressions of his and I couldn’t resist the resultant urge to laugh? No vessel had burst into laughter in the middle of a prophecy before; I wasn’t going to be the first.

“They want to drink your blood and dine on your flesh, but our God can’t allow it!” I had resumed speaking, but wasn’t oblivious of the grunts of awe at the mysterious workings of God. “Their plan was to have you for supper within the next seven days, but the Lord led your footsteps here today. Hallelu…!”

“Hallelujah!”

Get ahead @ www.goldentouchcorner..com

stancydg:
We are following oooo....

You're welcome, ma'am.

observer88:
I am glad you are continuing here, though I done port to the other side too.

Let me contribute these mentions to your ministry:

Kimbrielle, Millieademi, Nigerianization, DEIFIED, Khrizstarl, bada007, Chigold101, Gfon, Preshob, Raydans, Shytreasure, iamoyindamola, DonDemu, Wizdray, DonBrutus, Boomzaga, Swaqsultan, Ixorat, Backwardneva, Yujiz, question, jemmal, kolenda, chinnasa, Halyma, Jadden, Maysonkaycares, Klass99Maysonkaycares, Faithfulmartins

Thanks bro/sis.

The rehearsal sessions weren't easy – those dance steps, twists and moans that usually preceded the revelation, they just had to be convincingly pulled off. I had to ensure that that my preparations were off the public eye too, speaking of which I meant the members of my family. My father was usually off to his place of work before anyone else had even bathed and was rarely back before 5pm, so he wasn’t a problem. My mum was usually engaged for most of the late afternoons, as that time appeared the peak period of patronage in her little kiosk, just beside the house, where she engaged in petty trading. She wasn’t going to be much of a problem too. John wasn’t going to be a problem; he was usually beside his mum for the most of the day after school hours, and was probably too young to understand even if he walked in on me. The problem was Peter. At nine, and four years my junior, he was quite a smart kid. He had been involved in most of the mischief in the neighbourhood and knew one thing too many about virtually everybody around. He knew who was dating who, who was heavily indebted, who was having extra-marital affairs and who was involved in some illegal business and was using the legitimate one as a smokescreen. It was from him, then eight, I learnt that Baba Mayowa, who owned two houses just a stone’s throw from ours, wasn’t the real father of Mayowa as he was impotent. My mum had severely rebuked him that day for making such a wild claim, but we were all present when, two weeks later, a man had arrived in a Toyota Camry, and after an angry spat with Baba Mayowa, had left with the boy of seven. Mama Mayowa had been in tears through it all, pleading with both men to take it easy. We had expected the marriage to break up soon afterwards, but a year after, the union was still intact. It was from Peter I had learnt that Elizabeth, the nerdish, bespectacled daughter of Dr and Mrs Matthews, another of our neighbours, wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. Theirs was one of the fenced in houses on our street and the kids lived a sheltered life. I had given it no further thought until the day Peter had called me to witness a spat between her and a fellow neighbourhood girl.

“I am tired of this aimless exchange,” the other girl had said heatedly as we approached them, “the next time I catch you with my boyfriend, someone will definitely be sorry.”

Elizabeth had wanted to reply in like manner, but when she discovered our advance, the words had stuck in her throat.

“Talk to me!” The other girl had barked, perceiving the cause of her hesitation. “You think you can deceive everyone with your glasses and pretentious manner?”

I had resolved, as we left the scene soon afterwards, never to take any claim of Peter’s lightly again.

So Peter was the problem. He would be quick to form valid conjectures if he caught me mimicking our leader or one of the vessels’ leaps and twists. He was that smart. Even if he failed to catch it at that initial stage, he would be the first to connect the lines and link the eventual act with the rehearsals. I needed to be very careful.

But my plans weren't to be deterred. I had to make extra effort against being caught out and it worked. The preparation was seamless and I was soon ready; soon ready to become a vessel.

To be continued...

Meet us up @ www.goldentouchcorner..com

observer88:
The stats state otherwise, but people may be awaiting the end of the story before commenting.

Just bring it on, oga

Yea, I know that, but it's kinda unmotivating... I'll continue, after all I have shot it off already.

But I'm way ahead at my new blog; you may check it out...

www.goldentouchcorner..com

Subscribe and drop ya comment, pls....

observer88:
I can't agree more. I have a maternal uncle like the guy in your story. I don't know exactly why, but he had 3 wives before his death. Maybe it was because he wanted a male child sha. He was lucky to have his first son after eleven daughters, and the boy was from his first wife. He would later have another son though from his last wife.

And the man was a retired college principal!

.

And the show continues...


And you needed to see those adornments to understand what I’m talking about. From the entrance door, the one we knew as the western door in the Anglican Church, one was greeted by the dazzling lights from the chandeliers in the altar. Beside these chandeliers, reflecting their radiance were decorative frills of gold coloured satin, hung from the ceiling. These frills were replicated all around the church hall, complementing the glow from the lights and chandeliers with their reflections. There were also the gold lettered plaques on the walls, of notable quotes, so considered by our church leaders, with some of them framed with multi-coloured lights and others with reflective material. The balusters around the altar weren't spared either. They were all wrapped with reflective gold material. Then there were the fluorescent statutes mounted here and there and the candles strategically lit all around the hall. These all combined to give off this brilliant extravagance that anyone on entering the church couldn’t help feeling cut off from the world without.

Yet, it was in this ambience the world in me still shone through.

An important feature in our worship sessions are the drums. These aren't the foreign made, plastic drumhead drum-sets, but solid African drums with skilfully carved wooden hollow cylinders and drumheads of choice animal skin. They are played with bare hands, by drummers so dexterous in the act that none can help but dance when they are at it. These dances aren't the easygoing European steps, but energetic, bone shaking, leaps and twirls sure to draw the sweat out of performers. Such dance steps take on hyper dimensions when the worshipper is under the spirit. And it wasn’t unusual to see worshippers go under the spirit in my church. In fact, it was something highly anticipated.

At this time, the worshipper will commence violent and frenzied twisting; leaping with so much vigour that it will be obvious he is being controlled by extraterrestrial forces. Then the howls and moans will come on, at which the leader of the congregation, who had been dancing around sprinkling holy water from a can in his hand, will signal for attention. The spirit wants to speak. They always listened, with great anticipation in their eyes. And such persons, after some usually vague prophecies, would assume a reverential status. The leader will refer to them as vessels, a set apart group to henceforth enjoy certain privileges.

I had witnessed this scene so many times that I couldn’t help imagining how it would feel being the centre of attraction myself. Others were pulling it off; why couldn’t I? And so the plan was conceived. But I had this fear about our leader. What if the heavily bearded man saw through my ruse? What if the spirit alerted him to the fakery of my stunt? I wasn’t to be deterred anyway. Didn’t they say winners were simply those who tried and succeeded? Was there any hope of success if one didn’t make a try in the first place? I reassured myself on the prospects of my mission and resolved to carry it through.

To be continued...

observer88:
Bring it on, Ohibenemma. Imagine doing this in church!

But I think I know where this story is going to...and E go badt sha.

Haba! You for wait for church to close nau.

I'm sorry I couldn't update again today. Sundays can be busy sometimes, especially with the lockdown on the church lifted in Lagos.

Catch ya tomorrow.

Johnglefury! What a furious moniker. Thanks for the patience. I am eager to be done too...

How can I now claim to have been joking that fateful evening? When I remember the earnestness with which my message was received, the fervent shouts of hallelujah that rang forth from multiple throats, the obvious awe with which fellow congregants then regarded me, I doubt if I can ever come out true about this.
I didn’t have to make such an expensive joke, not when I knew what the consequences could be. I guess I wasn’t even sure of the weightiness of my message. The act was soon on, and I just had to keep up appearances. Water, when spilled, they say, can never be recovered; at least never in full. This was the case for once those first words escaped my lips, and I beheld the reaction of my fellow worshippers, the act had to continue.

Maybe I’m beginning to beat around the bush, but what other way can I effectively communicate my remorse at an act that led to the deprivation of another’s freedom. This isn’t intended in any way to justify my buffoonery, but simply to empty my heart of this secret, the remembrance of which has long kept me in distress. Length of time, weight and height, amongst others, are relative, so what I regard as long may actually be short for others. I am talking about five weeks here, five weeks of secrecy, five weeks of living a lie, five weeks of sometimes wishing I could just disappear rather than hear the inaccurate references to my spiritual emancipation. They believe I have the gift, the ability to see beyond this terrestrial plane, and I won’t be surprised if they start approaching soon with requests to help cast my privileged gaze into the success or otherwise of their aspirations. I who can’t see beyond my nose!

Enough of the digression; what really happened that day?

Having been born into a family reputed to have produced one of the first Christian converts in my village, it was naturally expected that we would belong to same faith. But over the years, the ascetic approach to Christianity, as passed onto my great-grandfather’s generation by the Whiteman, had given way to a more convenient and exciting mix of Christian and African traditional religious elements. We loved the drumming which the Whiteman seemed so averse to; we loved the frenzied dancing and hollering which we felt charged the divine into action, we also loved the burning of incenses and other scents which we believed either attracted or dispelled spirits according to their good or bad inclinations. These explained why three generations down the line a major part of my extended family had made the switch from the Anglican Church, into which my grandfather’s dad was baptized, to the white garment donning group of worshippers popularly referred to as the Aladura, which translated as the praying group. My father was one of them and so was I by birth.
Every Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays, we would file to attend our worship services, with my parents at the rear of the file and my youngest sibling, John, leading the procession. I, the eldest of three kids, will be third in the file, nudging on my immediate younger brother, Peter, every now and then. We would all be clad in our white garments, like cattle egrets – as some friends jocularly described us, marching on with jolly countenances, while wary of the teasing breeze suddenly upping the ante and blowing up our light garments and exposing our underwears. My friends didn’t know the right name for that bird though, and would usually use the locally derived appellation, leke-leke. Thus, it wasn’t unusual for a friend to say: “I saw your family on Wednesday going to church like leke-leke in the dry season,” and others will respond with resounding laughter. I didn’t like that description, didn’t like the jesting laughter that followed and couldn’t really claim to like the church. But that was as much as I was without it. Once within those white-painted walls, with all the adornments hanging around, it felt like I was in another world, another realm where the spirit held sway.

Go one step ahead here: https://goldentouchcorner..com

Been a while I did this, but stumbled upon this old story and though I should share... Twill be going on simultaneously on my blog, yea like a step ahead there, so I would urge y'all to warm up that place too.

Show me some love with your comments. Tell me what you think and say it how it is... I believe we can learn one or two things from each other. So here we go with Deception.


And the blog is

www.goldentouchcorner..com

observer88:
Yea, I done check am now! I see a very foolish man allowing himself to be deceived by a charlatan prophet. The bad thing is that these things happen everyday. May we acquire sense!!

Amen. Meanwhile, starting a new project right about now... Tis titled: Deception. Let's go there... Will share the link once it's done...

francium001:
Nice one

Thanks. Observer88, have you been here?

See groove, Millieademi, and nobody invited me o!

But this Seyifunmi sha. Is foolishness her destiny?

Being hot-headed is bad on its own, but being foolishly and unreasonably so is a curse. What happened to being circumspect in such circumstances? Why take it up with Tinu when Dele was a better option? Dis Seyi mumu sha.

I can only hope it's not her greatest undoing laslas. Millieademi, up you!

observer88:
Nice 1. I anticipate! Ohibenemma, come check this out!

E done tey when I dey dis arena nau. Millieademi is good. Detailedly good.

Millie, thank God you decided to do the right thing. I would have destroyed...somefin. With Tinu and Dapo back, we can all agree Part1 ended well. August 12! Bring it on, millie, we dey here dey wait.

observer88:
Waoh! I'm just excited I stumbled upon this today. Really had nothing to read as millieademi is on a hiatus after completing the first part of her Ocean of Secrets, and decided to look up some profiles for anything that would catch my fancy.

Ohibenemma, I love this! We are truly more African than we think...if you look at it one kain way.

Yes o! Thanks for liking and commenting as much. The story enjoyed quite positive reviews offline, but E no gree blow for nairaland. I can understand sha. Some love Juju just as others love Jazz.

Mechonu dia! Who is begging her? I will burn down this house if Tinu dies, I will kill Chris Oduah, his popsy and who again... if you don't bring Tinu back to life. When I say you, I mean you, Millieademi.

So work the magic, twist the pen, but Tinu must live.

#TeamTinuMustNotDie

millieademi:
Okay....

I'm mad and this is a rant.


I'm not opposed to you asking questions but you flat out condemning my work as complicated is ANNOYING.

There's freedom but let's not abuse it.

Thanks.


AND THANKS TO EVERYONE FOR 255K VIEWS.

Millieademi, eku ise. But you know that your work is wonderfully complicated nau. Lol. Don't allow such comments get you mad. It's your style. Yes, it is!

The typical Nigerian (Lagosians especially) is impatient. So they expect you to cut the chase and get to the end of the story quickly, especially as the story appears like one of those with an end (some stories have no intended end - just a mash of different loosely connected experiences).

They want Tinu and Chris to earn their freedom, Roselle and Co issues done with, Dele and Seyifunmi finally married, etc. But that's not your style, right? You are on a detailed scene by scene analysis which some of us have gotten frustrated with.

But it's your story and we're enjoying it. Your consistency is even surprising. One of its kind! If I say your story is complicated, just smile, shake_your_head_for_me, and move on.

Bring it on, Millieademi. Nothing do you!

millieademi:
Dapo!" Felicia shouted out of her sleep. She sat up, panting like she had run a marathon. Sweat stuck her nightgown to her body. She shook her head as tears streamed down her face.
......
She put on her shades and left the ward.
Margaux crumpled and crashed unto the nearest sofa, scared for herself and her family.

Is that all? Just when I had adjusted to read it... Receive power(electrical), inspiration and concentration for something massive. Like 4K words... Did I forget speed?!!! Receive speed too in Jesus ' name. Amen!

OK nau; let's have more...

New mummy...obviously in collusion with the evil men who had initially abducted the boy. Something sinister is cooking; maybe ritual related or even child trafficking.

Millieademi, keep up the good work!

icekidmuktar:
Dude! I hope you are aware that you are derailing this thread with your Evangelical comments, just go and open another thread and preach whatever shit you want, seriously I'm tired of you already or just go and pray to Jesus to come and do as he wish with us apostle Ohibenemma

icekidmuktar:
Man just get the f*ck outta here, what are u now? Jesus defender or what?

Prymestrr:
Sir...what you call balance is infact irritating chaos and an unnecessary one at that. You do not find his ideas intriguing or you find them in contention with your rigid beliefs... simply keep your distance from the thread and the story. From more than 3 years that I've been following this story, I've never read where Centino forced his opinions or beliefs on anyone. You must not hang on to the thread if you feel it isn't healthy for your religious well-being.

Clap for yourselves, sirs! They that know the truth know the truth. Sycophancy alert!

Maybe someone needs to look up the meaning of derailing. Was my original original comment off topic or about it? Is your uninformed defence on or off topic?

millieademi:
I promise this part of the story will end this month.

If my phone like let it run mad, I'll make sure to complete it this month.

If heaven want to fall, it will fall. Laziness is out the window.

So announcement,

If the characters are a bit fuzzy in your memories, I strongly advise going back to read again because everyone is important. Nenye and Nonso will be coming back in book two and Mayowa and Roselle in book three. Folarin and the Badmuses will play a significant role in book two. Ose too.

So every character is important.

And if you feel there are too many characters, I'm sorry. But that's how this story jumped into my head.

I try to connect the dots sometimes, but I know the story will even out at the end of the day. Can you refresh our memories on every line? I don't think so. You were out a long time, but I think it was for a good reason.

Many have abandoned their stories or failed in their schedules for very flippant reasons, but you've bounced back against all odds.

I don't see the rush for the story to end. Izit ya story? Author, tell it the way you feel. I'm cool as long as your updates aren't unnecessarily delayed (which, wonderfully, hasn't been the case since your return). We await more.

Beautiful! It just ain't never enough. More ink to your pen!

Centino:
Glad you came back. I wondered when I saw your earlier comment. Too magnanimous in the circumstance because I wanted you to see what I wrote. Now that we understand each other, you can do well and open another thread like I advised or work your ideas into your own stories.

I have no problem with criticism or dissenting views. But you must respect what I'm doing here especially when you noticed others were jumping on your back to cause distraction. I have had many contact me privately who were uncomfortable with something I said and we were able to reach some understanding. Forcing your thoughts on my thread is looking for notice you can't get otherwise.

Uncle, I am a proud unbeliever. And that is what I advise everyone to be. QUESTION EVERYTHING including what I say because what I have come to know is that the more you know, the more you realize that you know nothing.

You know nothing of the Christianity you profess I must tell you. I know where I've been. If you've been there you'll be more circumspect when flying your "believer" flag. Some people don't know how lucky (or unlucky) they are that their spiritual experiences end with going for services and attending Sunday school.

You're shocked I went that far? Bros I'm thorough. I investigate. That's how I can write what I write.

I wasn't happy about yesterday because I don't like arguments on this thread. So I stayed up all night and made sure I updated early so we can go back to talking about the story. Then what did I see? A new disciple of yours jumped on your idea to celebrate even more ignorance. Bros I repeat: YOU KNOW NOTHING. Go and read and listen to the still small voice within you and start a worthwhile thread.

Don't come back here.

This will be my last reply to you on this particular issue.

Magnanimous? That's because I let bygones be gone. I had made my point and moved on.

You surely do dislike criticism, even though that was never my aim in the first place. I was only setting aright a perspective so others don't swallow a fictional disposition hook, line and sinker. Some others have reached out to you privately? Not everyone will or should, after all the gaffe was made publicly. Forcing my thoughts on your thread? That's the reason Seun allows comments on this site. Otherwise, there would have been no need for comments,sir. You can create a diary for your story and do all the commenting yourself.

You're a proud unbeliever? I'm happy you've made that clarification. Instead of the previous claim that Cosmas believed in Christ. Some Christians here were beginning to swallow his deliberately distorted interpretations of the Bible - which was what inspired my initial comments.

I know nothing about Christianity? I may not know it all - no one does - but I know better than to learn about Christianity from an unbeliever. Had you been as thorough as you claim, you'd realise I'm one big critic of organised Christianity as we have it today. But should New Age practitioners become the standard for a faith they know nothing about. Why are you guys always fixated with distorting Christian beliefs? Why not islam, why not the others

I'm glad you updated quickly because of those comments. Maybe this will cause you to update even quicker. I look forward to that.

I was considering leaving the thread as you so desire, so we have no more dissenting views, but that still small voice has asked me to stay put. There has to be some dissent, sir, for balance.

NB: The more we think we know, the more ignorant we tend to appear. Are you sure that's not the case here? Remember Irikefe, an Urhobo, isn't supposed to be under the authority of the Itsekiri Olu of Warri? So much for investigative thoroughness.

Until some other topic, sir. Twas nice debating you. Peace.