Sealed

by Sunday Eyitayo Michael

CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a bright Sunday morning, as usual, I went to the window, church was till 8am, so I had all the time I needed. I sat and watched the azure sky, how it moved to form images in the sky, it reminded me of my childhood, the only thing that gave me joy then was watching the skies, I could imagine Mama and Baba watching me from above. So each morning, I will wake up to curse the skies because Mama and Baba were in there, I curse them for putting me through all those torments; I got great satisfaction doing that, because I believed my curses will make them suffer where they are too. I moved my gaze from the sky, I could see all houses two hundred kilometers close, mine was the tallest, biggest and most eye catching; even though politicians, despite all those stolen money, surrounded me they weren’t richer than I am. I could see a few cars passing down the tarred quiet road; those were catholic’s I believe, they were the ones who go to church 6am for the morning mass, I imagined how some of them who hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before will continuously yawn till the mass was over.

  Bisola turned around the bed for a while and finally woke up, the morning sun reflection that came through the window settled on her face when she sat at the edge of the bed, she looked so much like the goddesses; she fit exactly into the picture of the described Sango’s second wife. I stood there as I watched her and smiled, the only thing more beautiful than my house in that state was Bisola, I never ceased to be amazed by her beauty.

  “Oh, honey, you are awake, good morning” she said as though she was whispering, I could only pick two words from her sentence ‘awake’ and ‘morning’ but I knew it was her usual morning statement she uttered whenever she finds me awake; most times she do.

  “I will go and take my bath now. Have you taken yours?” she asked, I knew she wanted to suggest we bath together, but Sunday wasn’t just the right day for that.

  “I have taken my bath” I said unconvincingly. I didn’t have any intentions to take my bath that morning; I could wash my face and go to church, after all, I was used to it; from when I was a kid, I normally do that and besides, then I didn’t have enough money to buy sprays, perfumes, roll on, and other deodorants, but now I have more than enough for that.

  “You lie, honey” she said smiling and pointing suspiciously at me.

  “But this is Sunday morning honey; we are going to church and for thanks giving this shouldn’t be one of those days” she said as she dragged me behind her to the bathroom, at this point, I couldn’t say no any further.

 

  We majestically walked into the church as usual, late so that our entrance would draw some attentions; even if we didn’t, we still drew attentions, but we wanted a more visual effect; an effect that won’t just be felt alone, but seen too. Almost the whole congregation turned to look. Michael and Jessinta walked in front as me and their mother followed behind. The choir sang aloud the normal ‘everybody sings halleluiah, Jehovah Jireh has done me well…’as they danced energetically, they were the only ones dancing. Even the pastors just moved their bodies and the congregation clapped to the rhythm; they were all rich men, big men rather, the people who started the church were no longer there aside me and a few others; the few others were the cleaners, securities, gardeners and others whose presence where rarely noticed. The church started years back, two decades or more, then when I was nothing; when the only ones who knew me were my friends and fellow poverty-stricken individuals. I worked as a mason, building tomato shops for market women and stands for mai suya. Then pastor Timothy, Fred and their other colleagues came down to Lagos with ‘the message’, I helped in building the first church we used; we used woods to construct, that was my biggest contract then, I was so happy. Then the members usually sit on mats and during rainy seasons when the floors are wet, they were made to stand. That was a long time ago, now things have changed.

  We walked to our seat, left end of the third row. It was reserved, everyone knew us with that position, even when we were not around, no one sat there. I wouldn’t have known if not one Sunday after our return from Paris on a two weeks holiday that pastor Fred came to us in his usual black long coat and his Igbo accent to tell us our seat was empty throughout the day, that also reminds me of another convention; the whole church was filled up, some men and women even stood, but our seat was left empty. The praises were soon over and pastor timothy came forward to preach; an old man, who could hardly walk a mile without resting, he couldn’t stand to preach, he would faint. Once he tried it and the next Sunday he was still at the hospital, ever since, he continued using his usual chair, he sat to preach but stood only when he needed to do a few unnecessary demonstrations.

  “God has done it again in our midst” he started in his low shaky voice, I knew where he was he was heading; he knew if he impressed me on stage, I would impress him backstage.

  “One of our very own has brought to us the prize for peace,” he said. I could feel the eyes of people all watching me, even those in front turned back to look, some of them there were also nominated, and I could perceive their angry breaths.

  “That is the pay for being so committed to God’s work” he continued, he too could feel the hot tensed air he awakened with that statement.

  “Am not saying you all are not committed, but we are awarded according to the quality of our works,” he said to ease the tension. He preached for over thirty minutes; it was all about me, at first, I enjoyed it, but soon, I started to feel uncomfortable with it. It got boring, everyone wanted to leave, even I, but no one wanted to leave first.

  Finally, he finished; I could now breathe good air. Offerings and tithes were collected; as usual the choir sang as the ushers passed the baskets; perhaps, that’s the next thing I would do for the church; get them something to collect offering with, this basket is so similar, even cheaper to the one hanged on the wall of my bathroom to drop a few waste. It was time to do the thanksgiving proper. It was usually Pastor Fred’s duty to call those who wanted to give thanks but this time pastor timothy decided to play that role.

  “The bible says ‘to him who is grateful, more is given.’ if you know you have something to thank God for today why not walk to the altar with your thanksgiving offering” he paused. As he noticed no reaction from the congregation; no one attempting to move, all looking as though tied in their expensive agbada, he continued, “even your life is worth being grateful for, it’s not easy, go check the hospital, do you want to be like those who can’t even move? Yet some of them still give thanks” the crowd suddenly starts to move forward, I could notice the smile on his face, he have mastered the act. I wasn’t good with my words in persuading people, if not I would be a pastor by now, many others have turned it into business, it is actually lucrative, and now you can’t even tell who the real ones are, because the fakes tend to have sweeter and more persuasive tongue.

  My acolytes knew what to do; as soon as I stood up, they all ran out to gather up the yam tubers, bags of rice, goats and others and Ali handed me the car key. Bisola and the kids stood up too, I could see the pastors’ smile again as we walked down to the altar. Every other person just dropped their thanksgiving offering and danced back to their seats, or rather, walked to their seats moving their bodies a bit. But this was chief Tayo, certainly not anybody or everybody else, and he deserved a kingly thanksgiving, I ensured I was the last person to reach the altar to give my own thanksgiving; without request, I was offered the microphone, I knew I had to say something, but I will make it short and simple.

  “I thank God for this opportunity, for once more am being able to give to the church as a show of appreciation. I don’t need to say it all; you all know what happened, though it didn’t come as a shock to me but I will have to give God his.” I smiled and continued as I drew out the car keys from my pocket “this key is for the car parked beside the church toilet, am giving it and these others as a show of appreciation to God and his church.” Just like I expected, the congregation gave the usual ‘big-manly’ clap, pah pah and stopped. People can be so f
unny, I thought, these men were rich enough to buy cars for the church, but they didn’t, chief Tayo did and they don’t seem excited at all, except for the pastors, who am sure soon after the service will ask me for fuel funds. We walked to our seats as the choir sang along. Immediately the choir began to sing ‘shakara for Satan’ Bisola started going into ecstasy, dancing and dancing, I knew she wanted to send a message with that act, she always did, she wasn’t really as gentle as I thought.

  Service ended few minutes later, people came from all corners of the church congratulating me, I was getting tired of the ‘congrats’ already, but I knew it will soon come to an end; even though they are Yoruba’s, they are humans too, they will surely get tired. I knew the pastor will like to see me, I went to the pastors’ arena, and with the little time, I had to wait for all pastor to finish…. Only God knows what, I saw Bisola talking to her friends; her gestures showed she was trying to mimic her own self during the award. From the moment she danced in front, I knew it is because she had new stories; she usually told it well anyway. Jessinta and Michael were also talking to friends and a few more people came around me.

  The pastors were soon through with their meeting, though this was shorter than usual. They all came out, shook hands with me and I was left alone with pastor timothy who prayed for me, as usual, I gave him some money and fuel funds inclusive and he followed me to my car.

  “I will visit you soon,” he said as he waved us goodbye; soon. I thought, what could be sooner than his usual twice a week visit. I knew as he added the word soon, I would expect him today or tomorrow morning.

  “Honey, you can’t imagine how happy I was in church today when all the women were just screaming oya chief” she said smiling as she adjusted her gel`e; life could change so quickly, I thought, even I wouldn’t have imagined that one day a woman will be this proud of me. Yes, I was handsome, but a pocket less man is nothing, no one could be proud of him.

  “H’m” was all I said, I did not have words to reply her, I was feeling too proud already for her to continue increasing my ego, I would burst. “Baby, today you are going to do the cooking, it’s been years since you did that last, I want to taste your fingers once more.” “You deserve it honey,” she said smiling; wow! So all these years I did not deserve a food cooked by my own wife, I thought as she continued, “I will cook fried rice for you, the kind you have never tasted.”

  “Do you want to go to Jupiter to bring the ingredients?” I said.

  “If I can, I certainly will” she replied. All we talked about throughout until we got home was food. Immediately we got home, she prayed and changed into a casual dress; usually my two years old shirts and a wrapper. She went to the kitchen, told all the house cleaners to leave, and in about an hour, she was done. Throughout when she cooked, our nose were not at rest, we were thrilled by the aroma; I missed this for years, even the so called maids who claimed they have attended three or more catering schools couldn’t have cooked half this one. The kids and I were already at the dining table even before anyone called us and Bisola brought out the large flask from the kitchen, as I wondered how she retained those skills, I have married a perfect wife, what else could be better?

  Bisola did the prayer this time and I rushed to take my first spoon, I could not find words to describe the meal, but it was something I had never tasted before. Immediately I tried to swallow the first spoon, I threw it out.

  “Salt!” I screamed, “The salt is excessive, did you pour the whole container into the food?” I noticed her sudden changed reaction, and she rushed to taste the food; she had not tasted it initially. None of us could eat the food, not even the cook, Bisola. We could have eaten something else, the house helps would have done that in a few minute, but we just went to our rooms in disappointments.

  Bisola didn’t talk throughout the evening even during dinner; when she was asked something that demanded an answer, she just replied in a word and few gestures to elaborate. She didn’t even join us in the sitting room that night when we all usually come together as a family to spend happy hours. I could see the shame in her eyes as she lay to sleep; I knew she would have a nightmare; it happens anytime she sleeps with such low spirit, but it was a good thing she would have a nightmare that night because anytime she does, she holds me so tight as though I would protect her.

  I walked out of the room; I knew Jessinta would be waiting for me at the garden for Music so I walked there and just as I expected, she was waiting for me.

  “Baby, you stayed here all alone in the cold?” I asked.

  “Yes dad, I was waiting for you to come so I can hear some of your music before going to bed. How come you took so long?”

  “That’s not the problem right now, go and get a blanket to cover yourself before I sing to you”

  “Alright dad, but I hope this is not one of your tricks so as not to sing tonight?”

  “I will sing. It’s a promise, just do what I asked,” I said and she ran into the house. In less than two minutes, she arrived already, all fully covered up in the blanket except for her face and ears.

  “So what kind of song do you want to listen to tonight?” I asked as I cleared up my throat.

  “A song of love” she replied happily “…sing of how you and mum met”.

  I was shocked how she has already started thinking of love at that age but I will sing to her, she deserved it.

  ‘A common mason I was

  yet her glittering eyes made me smile

  it was an impossible love for a common mason

  but love breaks boundaries

  it builds bridges and gives way to those who come on it’ I sang

  ‘Love breaks boundaries and builds bridges’ her soprano voice sang too and for an hour we sang and I took her to her room and with a light kiss planted on her cheek, she slept with a smile.

  As soon as I reached the room, I switched off the lights, kissed Bisola’s forehead, smiled and lay beside her. I didn’t sleep quickly; I waited and waited for the nightmare to happen, but it didn’t seem it would happen anytime soon so I slept off without even knowing when I did.