Kay Ugwuzor

I love my pastor. I love my pastor indeed. e be correct man. His God dey working well well. Me, I have not had child for eight years since I marry when all my mates them that I first to marry have born four, five child. Me I was barren. My mother-in-law come be very wicked woman that time. She call me winch and all sorts of name. she say that me I was ashawo before I marry, that I have already remove my womb and use for ritual for my small shop near filling station. But even doctor tell her that my womb is still intact, that nothing have touch it at all and me sef am not ashawo before. My mother-in-law come dey trouble my oga say make e go take another wife. My oga say he does not want another wife and I dey ok for him. But I observe and see say na lie. Manage manage no dey full bele. For the first five years I manage for my husband house upon all his mama wahala and all the small small things wey people  wey come see am dey talk about my problem, dey talk different different medic

Last year a visitor came to our house. He wore a dead grey suit and carried a famished bible in his left hand. His head was so bald that it gleamed under the orange light bulb at the door way, when Anita opened the door; it was the first thing I saw. Mama called him Prophet and said that he shall be staying with us for that week. That he’ll help us ‘battle’ the spirits that killed Papa. Yesterday she’d asked Anita, our house girl, to clean up the spare room. I watched her expertly push the two mounds on her chest, shifting, dusting and sweeping. When she was done, she exhausted a canister of air freshener and the pungent scent gripped the air. At the door, the bald black man stood with pride, his muscular frame occupied the doorway.  I watched him walk into the house, welcomed by Mother, in such a manner characteristic of a hardcore prayer warrior, never for a minute holding a canal smile. He sank into the sofa and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He shut his eyes to let