In The Name Of Papa #10

 

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…and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the naive.

-Roman 16

Priscilla watched a small party of fireflies dance in the darkness before her. Electricity was out and she was sitting outside her house, covered in a Hollandaise wrapper that was tied on her chest. She was worn-out. The day had been long and emotionally-draining. Phoebe was to blame. She had just returned from her house after a lengthy and fruitless talk with her. She was now certain, after the day’s drama at church and the visit to her place, that Phoebe had utterly lost her mind.

Priscilla was terrified of the events that were about to unfold. But she was more terrified of Papa. He was known to be brutal if he was pushed, and she didn’t want to be caught in the line of fire when he decided to come down on Phoebe. The only way to escape his wrath was to disconnect from her. She already had too much to be worried about; she didn’t need Phoebe to make her life worse.

She kept a rheumy gaze on the fireflies until they became moving blurry spots before her eyes. She yawned and thought about going to bed but was too lazy to leave her spot. There was a sound at the gate, and soon, Priscilla heard a car driving into the compound. Thinking it was her first son, she went back to her fireflies. But she picked the sounds of strange footsteps approaching her and looked up to find Adonijah striding towards her, dressed in the clothes he had worn to church earlier. It was a kaftan with short sleeves. He looked awful in kaftans. They made him appear dumpier.

“Bishop A.” She looked up at him, seeing little of his face because of the darkness. Or maybe it was just her failing eyesight. “Good evening, sir.”

“Evening, Sister Priscilla.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, rising from the plastic chair she was seated on. “Please, sit.”

“No, I’ll stand, my sister. You, sit.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get another chair.”

“Sit down, madam.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me ask them to get you something.”

Adonijah peeked at the sky. “There’s a rainstorm coming. This will be quick.”

“Okay.” Priscilla remained on her feet.

“I know you were thrown off by your sister’s reappearance today. Everyone was. But I would like you to support and be by her side no matter what.”

“Sir, I don’t understand.”

“Phoebe has been through hell. Her ministration today aptly captured the pain she has faced. She was deceived, used and dumped…”

“Sir, are you referring to what she had with Papa in the past?”

“Yes.”

“Phoebe was equally complacent in the affair. He wasn’t abusing her.”

“He was her pastor, her guide, her spiritual leader… He had influence over her and he misused it.”

Adonijah’s words gave Priscilla discomfort. “But sir…”

“Your sister needs you right now, and you will do all you can to stand by her.”

Priscilla gave her head a shake. “I can’t. I don’t know what she’s up to, and seriously, I don’t care. I will not help her destroy a true man of God if that is what she wants to do. She’s on her own.”

“And where would you have been today if I left you all on your own?”

Priscilla shrank a little under Adonijah’s glare.

“Hmm? Sister Priscilla? Where would you have been?”

At moments like this, she wanted to slap the man. He was referring to the foolishness of her past, when she had, out of fear of being discovered to have been helping herself with church funds, called him and confessed her imprudence to him. The act had been prompted by his threat of having an auditor look through her work. She had believed that confessing to him would free her of guilt but Adonijah had taken advantage of the situation and used her to enrich himself over the course of three years.

She hated him. She had tried to accommodate his malicious ways but he was becoming more infuriating by the day.

“It amazes me how one would treat her only sister the way you do. It’s as if she disgusts you.”

Maybe she does, Priscilla almost uttered.

“God has started to restore and bless her. You should not be a hindrance to that blessing.”

“Sir, with all due respect, my sister is not who you think she is. That woman knowingly walked into an affair with a married man. A man of God. And then she manipulated her way into having a child for him.”

“She is changed.”

“No, she is not. She simply hid that part of her for years but you went and resurrected it, Pastor. You are giving her hope that the life she used to have can be restored.”

“It will be.”

“Then may God have mercy on all of us.”

“No, on you alone. The penalty for abandoning Phoebe this time around would be dreadful.”

He looked up at the sky once more, and brought his head down to say, “I hope I communicated?”

“Yes, Bishop A.”

“Good.” He jutted out his chest. “Good.”

“Are you leaving?” It wasn’t a question. It was a dismissal.

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“What about her son?”

“Her son? Hmmm… Good question. What about him? When did you last see him? Wasn’t it on the night he was born?”

“He was taken from me – by you.”

“Did you ask for him after that? Did you care? Hmm?”

Priscilla felt the weight of his judgmental words on her.

“Good night.”

She watched him drive away, and when she took her chair again, she saw that the fireflies had vanished. It began to rain.

†††

“Alice, this has to be freaking expensive.”

“You think?”

“And it’s soooo beautiful.”

Alice beamed. She was lying slantways on her bed with Wemimo who was lost in the brilliance of her engagement ring.

“I’m really happy for you, babe. You’ve come a long way.”

“We both have.”

Wemimo slipped the ring on her finger and held her hand out in the air. “Can I pose with this for one week?”

“Abeg give me my ring before I’ll hear story.”

Wemimo sighed wistfully as she turned around and stared up at the ceiling. “Is it okay to officially tell you that I’m envious of you?”

Alice laughed but when she looked at Wemimo she saw wetness in her eyes.

“You’ve always been lucky, Allie.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’ve always been better than me.”

“Better? How? Me that slept with married men all through school just to afford my school fees?”

“Married men that paid your rent, bought you clothes and didn’t come into your life with any drama. Have you forgotten how somebody’s wife beat the shit out of me in front of boys’ hostel in our second year? Or that useless man that gave me gonorrhea? Or was it the one that took my pubic hair to a native doctor to check if I was cheating on him? You never suffered any of that. You even had your sugar daddies falling deeply in love with you. And then you became born again and quickly got accepted into the elite club in BCC.”

“Elite club?” Alice laughed again. “What are you talking about, Wemi?”

“You act like Tara and I are on the same level as you, like people don’t see us as ‘those two Pastor Alice’s friends’.”

“Wow, Wemi. Where is this coming from?”

“I’m tired of being poor.” Her voice quivered. “I’m tired of hustling for everything. I want to get the same kind of favor you have. Gbadura funmi.”

Alice sat up. “Wemi, you are not poor. Please, reject that in Jesus name. You are blessed beyond a curse, exceedingly, abundantly, above all you can ever think or imagine because God has, and will continue to supply all your needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Please, don’t speak negativity into your life again. It breaks my heart when you do that. Don’t you know that the power of life and death lies in the tongue?”

“Easy for you to say when your fiancé is rumored to be one of Africa’s richest men of God.”

“You think I’m marrying him for his money? You think that if I decide not to marry today that God won’t bless me enough to have me stand shoulder-high with the wealthy someday? Wemi, what I have, the work of my hands, is enough for me. Yes, I said that. What you and I do is blessed already. I know it’s harder for you because you have younger ones to take care of but it doesn’t mean it will continue to be like this.”

“When is it going to end? I’ve struggled all my life and I really need a break. I need to know that I’m not going to die poor.”

“Wemimo, sweetheart, I don’t want you worrying about these things. My blessing is your blessing. I won’t move an inch without you, so please, stop this.”

“FYI, Jaiye broke up with me.” Wemimo sniffled, scratching her nose.

“When?”

“Yesterday. It was sort of mutual but he initiated it. He said I was not in his league and his present financial status was not good enough to maintain a woman, that he was tired of me taking care of him. As much as I’m heartbroken, I feel he’s right. I didn’t beg him. I just let him be. He said that when he hits it big, he’ll come back for me. But I know it’s a lie.”

“Wemi, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“But you love him.”

“Who love epp?” She tried to smile but ended up sobbing.

“Awww, stop crying.” Alice lay beside her again and grasped her hand. “It is well, Mimo,” she said, calling her the moniker she used on her at special moments. “So, are you jumping right back into the dating world?”

“Naa. I have to make money first abeg. Relationships can come after I’m established. I can’t be playing with my goals because of cassava tins.”

“You’re still taking cassava?”

Wemimo shrugged. “Not all of us can be like you.”

Alice held her tongue. It was not the best time to scold her friend for engaging in fornication. Rather, she suggested that they watch the last two episodes of the TV series Insecure which they both hadn’t time to finish in a while.

Snuggled together under Alice’s blanket after turning on the air conditioner, they snacked on potato chips and tangy zobo drink as they entertained themselves with Insecure. When they came to the final scene where the main character’s boyfriend was having sex with some other lady, Wemimo broke down again.

“What now?”

“Jaiye is doing this to somebody out there.”

Alice shook her head.

“Can I still go back to him to be collecting dick?”

“How are you and me even friends again?”

Wemimo rested her head on Alice’s shoulder and sniffled noisily. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

†††

One of the things Love liked about her home was the walk-in closet. It was a long, spacious white room with bright lighting and large mirrors. Leye had informed her that he had specifically picked the house because of it. If she told him that he was borderline vain, he would get upset. But she felt he was. Sort of. Or maybe just indulgent. Not that she was complaining. She loved the fashionable person he was. His style was already rubbing off on her. She had been forced to step up her game, and this meant changing almost everything in her wardrobe.

This evening, after returning from Papa’s, she entered the closet with the aim of picking out the clothes she no longer needed, but she got distracted with Leye’s collection of Nike and Air Jordan sneakers. Afterwards, she sat and stared into nothingness, recalling her conversation with Papa that brought memories of her father and childhood. But a phone call from her ex broke her solitude. She picked the phone and glared at it for a bit before answering.

“Baby girl?”

The sound of his voice gave her mouth an instant bitter taste.

“I know you’re not going to say anything like you usually do, so I’m just going to talk as I usually do… I have been meaning to make this call, to congratulate you on your wedding, but I’ve been busy, trying to sort myself out and all. So, congratulations, and I wish you a happy married life. I do pray he treats you better than I did.”

The man paused a little.

“I also wanted to call the other day when I woke up and realized it was Christian’s birthday. I don’t know if you still think about him…”

Love tugged at the helm of her top.

“I can’t forget the little fellow. I really miss him.”

Love didn’t want to hear about her late son.

“I can still hear his voice and his…”

“Can you stop?” Her voice shook. “Please…just stop. And please, don’t call me again.”

She cut him off rudely and kept her phone aside. She exhaled but it took more puffs to have her calm restored. She stood up and went for one of Leye’s basketballs, resting on a shelf alongside others. It was autographed by Michael Gbinijie, a Nigerian American who played for the Detroit Pistons. She gave the ball a bounce, caught it, and began to dribble it poorly. She did this for some time, unaware that she had an audience. She only discovered Leye’s presence when the ball bounced out of reach and rolled to him. He stopped it with his foot.

Love looked up at him, panting for her efforts.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Why?”

“You’re sweating in here, bouncing a ball terribly.”

She gave no reply. Instead, she began to undress. Leye picked the ball and returned it to the rack. He made a half turn and came in contact with her body which was now clad in only her underwear. He rested his chin on her shoulder from behind.

“Care to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I’m fine, babe.”

“How did the talk with your father-in-law go?” He helped her unclasp her bra.

“As I expected. But he’ll listen. Just give him a short while.”

Leye’s hands cupped her breasts.

“Tell me you’re just finishing with your meetings?” she asked.

“I am.”

She made an abrupt turn. “It’s late in the night, Jeremiah. This can’t keep happening. You have work hours, and anyone who wants to see you should visit you in the office.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Don’t come and grow old for me because you’re carrying other people’s problems on your head.”

She kissed his chest and lifted her head to accept the caress of his mouth. His hand pushed through her thong to grasp as much of her bum as he could, pulling her to him.

“Can I take you to bed and bury myself inside of you?”

“Yes, please.”

He dragged her to the bedroom and did just as he had said. He didn’t stop until she had gotten back to back orgasms. He also had his release and left to the bathroom for a shower.

Love dragged herself from the bed, towing off drenched sheets. She put a robe on and headed downstairs for a late night snack for both of them. It was almost ten-thirty. The house seemed quiet, except that there was someone she didn’t recognize waiting in the living room. She walked in and saw him seated, focused on his phone.

It wasn’t odd to find a strange face in the house now and then. Since Diane’s passing, Leye had made himself more accessible to members of the church. But they took the liberty too far and impeded on his privacy, dropping by at the house, uninvited, anytime they felt like. Love was beginning to put a stop to it. She didn’t want him becoming like the numerous pastors she knew who took care of their flock more than their families.

“Hello?” she called softly. The person turned and for a flash, it felt as though she had seen him before.

He hopped up on his feet. She judged his age and came up with a figure between twenty and twenty-five. He carried a marginally-light skin tone, the sort that one couldn’t call dark or fair. In Nigerian terms, he would be said to be fresh. He was dressed casual in jeans and a checkered shirt.

“Good evening, ma,” he greeted with a bow.

“Hi. Have you been waiting here for long?”

“Just about thirty minutes.”

She caught a slight American inflection in the way he pronounced his ‘R’ and ‘T’.

“The maid let you in?”

“Yes.”

Love wasn’t surprised. The maid kept to her own rules and generally acted like she was lacking a brain. Love didn’t see her retaining the job for long.

The girl sauntered in just as Love was about asking the guest his reason for visiting.

“Ehen, mommy, this uncle is looking for daddy. I came to your room and was knocking but you didn’t hear me.”

“You should have called. That’s what your phone is for.”

“Okay, ma.”

Love turned back to her visitor. “My husband, unfortunately, cannot see you tonight. He has had a really long day and is resting. Please, do come back tomorrow morning.”

“Please, ma, it’s very important. It can’t wait.”

Again, something about him struck her.

“I’m sure it can wait. Just a few hours more.”

“Okay, ma.” He looked disappointed. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning then.”

“That’s better. Thank you. But wait…you didn’t drop a name.”

“Asher Adewunmi.”

Love’s eyes widened. She drew back a little but showed nothing of her surprise.

“Goodnight Asher.”

She noticed a little hesitation from him, like he was expecting she’ll do more than bid him a good night. Nonetheless, he picked himself up and walked out the door.

Love went to the window that faced the entrance of the house to watch him leave. When she turned around, she found Leye staring at her.

“Who was that?”

“Your brother. He’ll be here early tomorrow morning.”

She didn’t miss the appearance of apprehension that passed over her husband’s face.

“How on earth did he find this house?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the lady at the orphanage…”

“Imaan would never do that.”

“It doesn’t matter, Leye. It’s a good thing he’s coming to look for you. Perfect time to open up to him.”

Leye shut his eyes in an expression of exasperation.

“It’s going to be fine, babe. Just tell him the truth, get this burden you’ve been carrying for years off your shoulders, and everything will be fine.”

“You and I know that from the moment he finds out who he is, nothing is going to be fine.”

†††

The children at the well were loud again this morning. It was only a few minutes past six and they were already in their usual state of playfulness. Tara often wondered how they managed to get set on time for school each day. They lacked good manners too. She couldn’t recall when any of them had shown her respect, except during the festive seasons. At such occasions, they would rush to help her if they saw her approaching her grandmother’s home with any polythene bag that suspiciously looked like it came from the market. They would greet her generously, calling her “Aunty Oyibo, welcome o!” Some would even dare to ask, “What did you buy for us?”

She didn’t blame them, though. They were a reflection of their parents who were neighbors that enjoyed fighting each other often, and when they weren’t fighting, they conversed like they were in a market place. They possessed no sort of refinement. The men gossiped as much as the women. This was because most of them lacked jobs. Tara always asked her grandmother if it was a prerequisite for any family man living in the area to be jobless.

She despised them and the entire neighborhood. She prayed that someday soon she would have enough cash to move her grandmother to a better accommodation. But the old woman constantly swore that she loved her house. “Can’t you see it’s a city on a hill? Shining brightly on all men.”

But it was no city on a hill; just a small two-bedroom arrangement that rested precariously on a building that had a sturdier construction. Tara’s constant fear was that a strong wind or storm would topple it. The building, from her investigations, had been put together in a rush, and barely five years after construction, its scanty facilities were already falling apart. None of these bothered her grandmother; she adored her little home. And Tara understood her unspoken reason – it was all she could afford.

“Aunty Oyibo, take!”

One of the kids, a little boy with some affliction on his head that left it looking patchy-white, handed her the fetcher used in drawing water from the well. Tara took it and vaulted her way to the well, dodging a puddle of water that had just been created by the kids who were presently bathing each other with water from their buckets.

“If any drop of water touches me ehn, I’ll beat somebody’s child blue-black today!” Tara shouted. Her voice, hardly ever heard by them, brought a halt to their activity. Twelve eyes fell on her as if she were an alien. She ignored them and concentrated on filling her bucket. They resumed their play but were soon stopped by a man whose appearance alone had them scampering off with their buckets. He approached the well, stood by it and proceeded to stare at Tara intimidatingly. She gave him no attention. When her bucket filled, he lifted it off the dais on which she had placed it and rested it on her head.

“Thank you,” she murmured, wiping off droplets of water from her face before turning away. It took only a few steps to enter the compound in which her grandma resided, and a few more to find her way upstairs.

The old woman was still asleep but Tara’s cousins, two girls aged below ten, were already up. Their mother, who had been Tara’s only aunt, passed away the year before, leaving the girls in the care of their grandmother and Tara. Basically, it was Tara who handled everyone’s upkeep; the old woman was too frail to work. Adonijah’s financial assistance three months ago had made a huge impact on their economic situation. Tara was still grateful for what he had done. Before his assistance came, she had been managing with what little she could give and anything Morris or her friends helped her with. Life had been tough for her but she had always hidden it with a smile. Not even Alice whom she lived with knew how much she endured.

“Aunty Tara, bye-bye!” the youngest of the cousins said, hurrying towards the front door. Her sister followed in silence, but once she stepped out, Tara heard her greeting someone. Tara didn’t have to wonder who it was as a familiar male voice spoke out, responding to the girl’s greeting. Tara immediately yanked off her hairnet and straightened out her dress. She took a sniff of her armpits as well to ensure that she didn’t smell funny.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” she said with a clear voice. The door opened and a man walked in. His perfume took a couple of seconds later to announce its presence, and when it arrived, it intimidated the humble living room, just as its owner did.

Tara stared at the man before her without speaking. He had on a white shirt over a pair of jeans. A Rolex was stuck on his wrist that matched a tiny necklace on his neck which was well-hidden by his shirt.

“You’re not going to say hello?” the man asked, sleepy eyes observing her. In the past, she had been scared of those eyes. Beyond the sleepy look, they gave the impression that its owner was unpleasant. This appearance had made him perfect for the job of the lead usher in Bethel Christian Center. People were always scared to mess with him.

“Good morning, Wesley.”

“And she calls me Wesley. What happened to Wes?”

“Is there a particular reason why you’re here, Wesley?”

Wesley had a prominent Adam’s apple which Tara suspected was responsible for his guttural tone. It liked to move up and down a lot, and it was doing so now as he spoke. Tara was concentrating on it as she listened to him.

“I behaved terribly yesterday, and I’m sorry, especially for what I put you through. I’m here to make peace.”

“I’ve heard you. You can leave.”

“Tara…”

“Please, leave, Wesley.”

“Can we get out of here to talk?” He adjusted his collar. “This place feels a little stifling.”

“I’m sorry that it’s not as big as your mother’s mansion.”

“Please, let’s go somewhere to talk.”

Tara gave into his request, just because she was done with helping out her grandmother and was ready to go home. She entered the children’s bedroom, picked her overnight bag and returned to the living room. Her grandmother wouldn’t mind that she left without saying goodbye.

Wesley led the way out. He was silent as they snaked through a network of low-income homes. Tara noted the manner in which he looked about him like he was scared someone would stain his perfect white shirt or simply rob him.

When they came out to a tight street where cars and motorcycles rode, meandering slowly and carefully to avoid running into someone’s house or shop, he explained that he had parked his car farther away. He clarified that he had done so for security reasons. She told him she felt it was unnecessary as the neighborhood was safe. He scoffed.

They had quite a walk and finally popped out on a major road. He unlocked his car when they were a few feet away. He gestured her in the direction of the passenger side.

“We’re entering your car together today?” she asked, sarcasm in her tone. He laughed.

“Get in, baby.”

“Baby?”

He entered the car and she stepped in too. Soon they were cruising over a major expressway, serenaded by a collection of songs that left Tara a little surprised. Wesley was that type of Christian that could be best described as straitlaced. He was the sort pastors were proud of. When it came to church activities, he didn’t joke with them, and it was known that he ran the ushering department with a high level of religious severity. He was also one of the prayer warriors, heading the wing of the department that concentrated solely on spiritual warfare. If anyone wanted demons and witches dealt with, Wesley was their man. This was why his choice of songs, which were amorous and unapologetically sensuous, left Tara wondering if someone had accidentally forgotten their CD in his car stereo.

But she said nothing about her thoughts as they drove on in silence. When they neared their destination, he announced that he was taking her to his house.

She looked at him. “Your house?”

“Yes. Any problem?”

“Yesterday you wouldn’t even let me get into your car because you didn’t want people to see us together and start making conclusions. But today, you’re taking me to your house.”

Wesley gave an easy laugh. “There are other sides to me you don’t know, baby.”

“Baby? Again?”

Tara didn’t understand the man seated beside her. She had been dating him for three months and still didn’t know what to make of him. Morris hadn’t been this way. He had been easy to read after their second date. They had clicked on instant, driving their relationship into months of bliss. Nothing had been difficult about him.

Tara’s heart still stung her anytime she remembered him. She had not only broken his heart; she had cheated on him by getting serious with Wesley for two months before deciding to walk away from him. Her betrayal, if discovered by her friends, would leave them in shock. She had shocked herself too.

The demise of her relationship with Morris began in November when, on a casual day, she reminded him that they had been together three years too long. Normally, Morris would skirt off her worries with a laugh, but this time, he went off at her and called her selfish for failing to see that he was building a future for them. He had just set the foundation of his house and was hoping to finish it by the end of 2017 if all things went well. She needed to be patient, he had told her angrily, leaving her in tears. She left his apartment fuming that day, and kept away from him until Christmas came.

On Boxing Day, her grandmother invited him over for lunch with the family. The day went badly; Adonijah, who had been invited without Tara’s knowledge had shown up and stirred further, already troubled waters. The meal was delicious, the setting humble, with everyone holding their plates of jollof rice and chicken on their laps in the small living room. But no one had really enjoyed the meal, except Adonijah, who questioned Morris like a Gestapo officer interrogating a Jew.

“How do you think that you as a Catholic would have a peaceful home with Tara?” he asked just as he requested for an extra topping of rice. At that point, Morris was tired. The man had already attacked his faith, telling him how Catholics were unserious Christians and idol worshippers that were no different from African traditionalists that prayed to their ancestors. Tara had been upset by the man’s actions but she was not one to oppose a man of God, let alone one that had just gifted her grandmother hundreds of thousands.

“Where do you want your children to worship? Ehn? Where? Catholic church or BCC?”

“Sir, I don’t think that is a problem,” Morris responded at last, breaking out of his respect for the man. “Christians get married to Muslims all the time and have happy homes.”

“Unserious Christians, you mean. But you would support that type of marriage because you’re a Catholic.”

Tara’s grandmother had nodded in agreement. She had never been a fan of Morris. Her reasons were purely financial. She wasn’t a materialistic woman but she was simply worried that Tara would end up like her two daughters who had married poor men that hadn’t been able to cater to the needs of their families. Morris, according to her, was stingy. No right person would abandon family wealth to struggle on his own. She had begged Tara several times to find some other worthy gentleman, one whose financial status was guaranteed, but Tara had been too in love to listen to her.

“Young man, I’ll suggest you convert to Pentecostalism and start attending BCC or just totally free our sister so that a man who would not give her wahala tomorrow can marry her.”

“I am a Christian and I don’t need to convert to anything, sir,” Morris stated. “I read the same bible you all do. I serve the same God. Jesus is my savior…”

“But you worship Mary.”

“Honor, sir. I honor her. And it’s not a bad thing since she was the mother of my savior.”

“Mother of God, you mean?”

And if things weren’t already downhill then, they were just beginning to make it there.

Morris was enraged at Tara after the lunch.

“You sat there and allowed him berate me! You said nothing to him in my defense! Not even a single word! And you want to be my wife?!”

“Did he say anything that was pointless?!” Tara shouted back. “You’re a Catholic! I’m a Protestant! How is it going to work?! You think I’ll leave my church that has been so good to me to join yours?!”

“Have I ever hinted that I would want you to leave BCC, Tara?! Where is all this coming from?! Why have you let that man enter your head like this?!”

“He’s my pastor and he’s right!”

“Tara, your pastor is not God! He can be wrong! In fact, he is wrong right now! Totally off his depth!”

“Don’t talk like that!”

Morris went silent for a bit, casting his gaze over the brown roofs below that surrounded Tara’s grandmother’s home.

“I’m fighting for this relationship to work, Tara,” he said finally, looking at her. “But all you seem to be doing is bringing it down. I don’t want to lose us, not on the account of religion or anything.”

“Then change churches and rent out a house so we can get married. Three years is too long…”

“Let a man set his priorities right, Tara. Don’t push me.”

Morris hadn’t said more, except to tell her he was leaving. She didn’t walk him to his car. The moment he went down the stairs, she turned back into her grandmother’s apartment, angry.

^©Sally@moskedapages

 

Translation:

Gbadura funmi – Pray for me (Yoruba)