Foreign Gods, Inc.

by Okey Ndibe

“Is my mother coming?” Ike asked.

  The pastor scratched his cheeks, seemed to weigh the pros and cons. “No, let it be the two of us,” he said finally, without meeting Ike’s eye.

  “The two of you should talk alone,” said his mother, wringing her hands.

  “Yes,” agreed the pastor in a distracted manner. “God told me we should talk alone.”

  His mother nodded at Ike vigorously. “I’m going home to prepare your lunch,” she said, then walked away.

  The path to the village stream grazed the left side of Uka’s church. Three women were returning from the stream, water jugs balanced on their heads. They stopped on seeing Ike and the pastor.

  “Is it Ike that I see?” asked one of the women.

  “Don’t talk to her,” Uka muttered under his breath. “Not a word.”

  Ike squinted against the sun’s glare. Recognizing Masiolu, his uncle Osuakwu’s youngest wife, he said, “Masiolu, it’s me.”

  “May the eye with which I see you not grow a boil,” she said. “When did you arrive?”

  “Don’t talk to her!” Uka commanded in a rasping, commanding voice.

  “I arrived last night,” Ike said.

  “Wind brought us news of your arrival,” Osuakwu’s wife said. “We heard, but we said we hadn’t seen. The ear hears things true and false, but the eye sees only what is true. Except when the eye is deceived by shadows. I hope it’s not your shadow I’m seeing.”

  “No more word to the heathen,” Uka muttered.

  “It’s me indeed. It’s not my shadow.”

  “Will you come to see your father’s brother, or are you forbidden to visit his house?”

  The pastor scowled. “I said stop talking to her!” he shouted in a more brusque voice.

  “Tell Osuakwu I’ll visit this afternoon,” Ike said, ignoring the pastor. “And I’ll come hungry.”

  “Come anytime. Osuakwu can still afford food that will fill your belly. Should I then tell him to save some palm wine for you?”

  Pastor Uka stood askance, glum, his face wrinkled with consternation.

  “Or something stronger. I’ll also come thirsty.”

  The women laughed and continued on their way.

  Ike and Uka entered the pastor’s Peugeot 504, an old but spiffy, dustless car. It lurched forward, moody as the pastor. Ike luxuriated in his defiance, leaning back into the soft, faux leather seat. Uka gripped the steering wheel as a TV wrestler might the neck of an opponent.

  Uka’s residence was a brick bungalow about three hundred meters from the church. Outside was the buzz of a power generator. The pastor led the way into a living room dominated by three black leather couches and an entertainment center that held a large plasma TV, a DVD player, and a stereo system. An air conditioner hummed, chilling the air, which was scented with air freshener and cologne.

  “Take a seat, take a seat,” the pastor said. He waved his hands in a sweeping gesture. “Take any seat of your choice.” Ike plunked down on a two-seater couch. Uka took time to loosen his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. Then he sat across from Ike, kicking off his shoes.

  His phone rang. Peering at the phone, he said, “Let me take this call.” He flipped open the cell phone and soon launched into a brief barking contest with the caller.

  “Sorry o,” he sighed to Ike as he put the phone away. “Our people can be very annoying.”

  “You have a cell phone,” Ike said, a question that came across merely as a statement. “I didn’t know cell phones worked here.”

  “In Utonki? Cell phones are common here,” said the pastor. He saw Ike’s doubtful look. “True, everybody has one.”

  “It can’t be everybody. My mother doesn’t have one.”

  “Then what are you doing? She can’t have a son in America and yet not have a phone.”

  Vexed by the chastising tone, Ike fixed the pastor with a hostile stare. Uka’s eyes withdrew. He looked discomfited, mildly confused. In quick succession he gaped at the carpet, then Ike, then the ceiling.

  They sat in silence punctured only by the generator’s rattle and the drone of the air conditioner.

  “A nice house,” Ike finally offered.

  “To God be the glory.”

  Another spell of silence followed.

  “What can I offer you?” Uka asked.

  “Nothing. I came to talk.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t cool off with something.”

  “Nothing for me. Thanks for offering.”

  Uka entwined his fingers, then pressed them against his chest, cracking them. In a curt, unceremonious tone, he asked, “Didn’t you hear me say you shouldn’t talk to that woman?”

  “Masiolu, you mean? Osuakwu’s wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why did you talk to her?”

  “She’s my aunt, married to my father’s only brother,” Ike said.

  “So? I told you not to talk to her.” He shut his eyes, scratching his face.

  “I don’t understand why it troubles you that I spoke to my uncle’s wife.”

  Uka shook his head, glaring at Ike. “It’s not me it troubles, it’s God.”

  “Why would God be worried that I exchanged greetings with my aunt?”

  “Don’t you know I’m a man of God?”

  “You say so.”

  “You think I just open my mouth and say whatever comes into my mind?”

  Ike shrugged. “I presume you speak from your mind, yes.”

  The pastor wiped his right cuff against his brow. “Well, that’s not how it happens.” He tossed a distracted sidelong glance at the pane of his window, bright with sunlight. “It was God who told me to warn you,” he said, his voice unsteady. “God ordered me to warn you not to talk to her.”

  He looked at Ike’s face as if figuring out some mystery. “Listen to me,” he exhorted. “You have to trust me. God had a reason for warning you about that woman. But Satan stepped in—and you listened to the deceiver’s voice.”

  Ike smothered a chuckle. “Sorry,” he said. “God didn’t speak to me.”

  “He did, through me.”

  “I didn’t realize you were speaking for God.” He paused briefly. “Don’t blame me, Pastor. God has never talked to me directly. I haven’t learned any divine language. Perhaps I’m still too young, or too poor in spirit. I guess that’s why I’m here: to hear the message God gave for me.”

  Their eyes met, but Pastor Uka quickly looked away. He pulled at his chin, then at the edge of his tufts of mustache. Ike studied the averted face. Uka cut the image of a cheap trickster, unmasked. The pastor seemed to have lost his touch.

  That instant, Ike would have liked to have clapped his hands together and laughed. As the thought flashed into his mind, he realized that, in a way, he’d done precisely that. And he had the urge to laugh, again.

  Uka glanced up, startled. He stood, muttered inaudibly, and scuffed away in the direction of a curtain that demarcated the living room from the rest of the house. He stopped in front of the curtain, half turned, and said, “Excuse me.”

  Ike nodded. A tall refrigerator dominated the room’s left-hand corner. There was a mahogany dining table set against the wall to the right. Around it were six white chairs, above it wooden cabinets with sliding glass doors. The cabinets held crystal chinaware and wineglasses with deep-groove patterns. There was a wide-screened TV, and beside it a rack filled with black and burgundy shoes. He counted thirteen pairs before the rumble of a flushed toilet distracted him. He composed his face to await his host’s entrance.

  As soon as he parted the curtain and reentered the room, Pastor Uka said, “You need to be born again.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You should be spirit-filled, tongues-speaking, hands-laying, devil-binding born again.”

  Ike said nothing.

  “Do you believe in God?” Uka asked.

  “Is this a question God asked you to put to me?”

&
nbsp; The pastor wrinkled his face. “I’m a man of God. I can’t open my mouth and ask careless questions.”

  “God knows everything, and God speaks to you.”

  An indeterminate expression overcame Uka’s face; he seemed to waver between a smile and a snarl. He sucked in long drafts of air and exhaled in gusts, his lips producing a soft, whistling sound.

  Ike did not want the man to wilt too soon. His plan was to thoroughly trounce Uka. Yet, he had no interest in delivering a swift punch and securing a knockout. His game plan was to dance around the ring, reaching in intermittently to pelt the target with jabs, softening the man with a barrage of body blows. Then, once the con artist displayed weakness, Ike would move in with a flurry of vicious, pulverizing blows.

  Flushed with a perverse graciousness, he flashed the pastor a warm, reassuring smile. “I’m a believer,” he said. His voice was slow and soft, a confider’s. “God knows.”

  Uka walked to the couch and sat down. “God already told me,” he said, practically exhaling the words. Hand placed underneath his chin, his head cocked sideways, he gazed out in front of him, as if tuned to some inaudible voice in the air. “Do you know it’s God who brought you home?”

  Ike waited for his next words.

  “Yes,” the pastor affirmed. “Satan had planned how to finish you. It’s God that canceled the plan. Look, a divine decree has declared you a millionaire. Your divine millions have been looking for you, but Satan kept confusing you.” He raised his head, exposing eyes narrowed in desperate concentration, like a stage actor whose line had suddenly taken wings and fled.

  “My millions are looking for me?”

  “Yes. But you must be divinely prepared so that the divine millions can find you.”

  “What kind of preparation?”

  “You need a wife, a nice Christian lady.”

  “My mother already told me,” Ike said.

  Pastor Uka smiled in a vacant, mechanical way. “There are many God-fearing ladies in our church.”

  Ike nodded. “I found out. My mother introduced me.”

  The pastor beamed and then shifted in his chair to adopt a relaxed posture. “You see, Satan is so wicked. He used sweet lies to lead you astray. He made you turn away from your mother, turn away from your sister, turn away from God. Satan stopped you from sowing your seeds. That’s why your millions did not flow. That’s why your harvest has not been as mighty as God intended. But God said I should tell you, Satan is a liar. He asked me to tell you it’s time. It’s your time for fulfillment. It’s time for your harvest. It’s time for your redemption; time for your breakthroughs. It’s time for you to shine!”

  Ike leaned forward.

  “You must listen,” said Uka in a raised voice, “and you must obey the word of God, for he holds the world in his hand. My friend, God wants to bless you with a mighty harvest. He has commanded that you’ll start counting your harvest in millions. And he wants to bless you this year, not next year.” He paused, cocked his head, and asked, “Does God lie?”

  Ike shook his head.

  “That’s right, you’ve found divine favor. The God who owns all the seas and lands, all the gold and diamonds, wants to prosper you. He wants all your enemies to die of envy and shame. He wants to lift you above them. And God doesn’t lie.”

  Ike corroborated with a nod.

  “The only person standing between you and your divine harvest is—you.”

  “Me?” Ike asked.

  “Yes, you!” Uka let the mystery of his words linger for a moment. He intertwined his fingers as if in supplication and stared into blankness. Ike waited. “God told me to tell you this: your wealth would have been released a long time ago, but you were not ready. For the longest time, God has had your millions in his hand, ready to release it. All he wanted was for you to sow the seed. Divine law says that we must sow in order to reap. Out of jealousy, Satan blocked your way and blinded you. The evil one knew about your divine provision—and it made him mad. Satan wanted you to continue counting in thousands when the divine plan said you should count in millions. Everything has been revealed to me.” He peered into Ike’s eyes and thrust his head forward. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

  “I thought that’s what you’ve been doing all this time,” Ike said.

  Uka’s right fist pounded the palm of his left. “Satan has used two agents to work against you. They’re your uncle and grandmother.”

  A sneeze shook Ike, short-circuiting his reaction. Pastor Uka pressed his advantage.

  “Oh yes, God showed me how they killed your father. And these satanic agents were planning your own death. That’s when God revealed their plans to me. Without me, they would have finished you off. A long time ago,” he said, his left arm swiping the air to demonstrate the ease of his demise. “I fasted and prayed for forty days straight. That’s why you’re alive today. Then God told me he would send you to me. I’m giving you divine revelations, so listen carefully.”

  Ike pursed his lips, then exploded with a whole trill of sneezes. Pastor Uka paused, waiting.

  “My father died of complications from diabetes,” Ike said, drawing the back of his hand across the tip of his nose. “It was in the doctor’s report.”

  Pastor Uka snickered. “Don’t you know that doctors see only the things of the flesh? But I’ve been divinely commissioned to reveal the deep realities of the spirit.” He smiled confidently. “Who caused your father’s diabetes?”

  “Are you saying such things are caused by humans?”

  Uka held steady the smile. “My friend,” he said, “you’re still young in this world. You’re even younger in the things of the spirit.”

  “Diabetes can’t be inflicted by people,” Ike said.

  “Alleluia!” exulted the pastor. “Do you know that the Lord even told me that you’re going to doubt?”

  “Tell me why Osuakwu and Nne would want to kill my father?”

  Uka crinkled his forehead and turned sharply away, as if Ike’s doubt had crossed the line into unforgivable heresy. Then he seemed to reconsider, speaking in a slow, emphatic manner. “I’m telling you what the Almighty revealed to me. Your uncle and grandmother are grandmasters in the demonic world. Your uncle is like Ahab, your grandmother like Jezebel. Both of them are worshippers of Baal. God has given me the prophetic powers of Elijah. A ball of fire will descend from on high and consume Baal and all its worshippers. That’s why Osuakwu and your grandma are terrified of me.”

  “You have confronted them, then?”

  “You mean spiritual confrontation?” the pastor sought clarification.

  Ike affirmed with a nod.

  “Every night!” cried Uka. “We’re talking about spiritual, not physical, confrontation. Since God planted me here, they’ve been grounded. When they attempt to fly to do their witchcraft, I’m there to crash them. When they and other witches and wizards gather under the banana tree at midnight, I go and disperse them. I’m awake every night. I pray. I call down Holy Ghost fire. I break spells and yokes. I unbind the bound. Without me, this village wouldn’t know peace at night. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night.”

  Lower lip clipped between his teeth, Ike swayed his head slowly from side to side in a simulation of rapt attention.

  “God wants you to sow in His church,” the pastor said, returning to his script. He brought together the tips of his fingers, forming a triangle. He lowered his voice: “God wants you to sow here in Utonki. He has commanded that a temple should be built here to His eternal glory.” He paused to gauge Ike’s receptivity. Satisfied, he changed tacks. “Do you agree that He who owns heaven and earth, the sole giver of life, the source of all health and wealth, deserves a befitting place of worship?”

  Ike’s slight nod indicated assent.

  “God is asking you to sow fifty thousand dollars to build him a church here. If you obey, you’ll become a millionaire. As simple as that.”

  Ike leaned back on the sofa, jaw in cupped hands.
Pastor Uka’s eyes darted. Inside Ike, a peal of laughter began to well up. Then it burst out of him, a surge of laughter. “So God wants to make me a millionaire?” Ike asked. “But first, I have to give you fifty thousand dollars?”

  “You’re not giving me, you’re sowing,” Uka corrected.

  “But I’m to hand you the money.”

  “Yes, to build a temple for our Redeemer.”

  “I want to do more.” Ike paused, and then affected a contemplative face. When he glanced at Pastor Uka, he saw that the man’s expression was bright, expectant. “If God wants me to be a millionaire, I’m going to do more. But I want to be assured that you’ve given me God’s word.”

  “I’m a man of God,” Uka swore. “Why should I lie?”

  “Do you talk to God often?”

  “Every single day.”

  “And I must not visit my uncle or my grandmother?”

  “If you go to see either of them, you’ll die. I received that message this morning. If not for my fasting and prayer, you would have been finished months ago.”

  “You’re saying my uncle and grandmother wanted to kill me?”

  “Totally! They would have used demonic means to finish you. Thank God that your mother came to me at the right time. I began to pray and fast, seeking God’s favor for you. Then God told me that the devil is a liar.”

  “Wonderful!” Ike enthused. “And you said I’m about to receive a million dollars?”

  “Not just a million, millions.”

  “Where’s the money coming from?”

  “Just trust. God works in mysterious ways, and he never lies.”

  As if sensing doubt, Uka became more animated. “Look, when God called me to serve, he promised to use me in mighty ways. He has used me to release thousands from bondage. He has used me to heal hundreds of sick people. When I hold crusades, the blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, the dumb talk. Barren women have children. Cancer disappears. Diabetes is canceled. In his mighty name, I’ve raised people from the dead. And he’s used me to prosper a lot of people.”

  “Fine, then,” Ike said, “here’s my deal.” He leaned forward. Pastor Uka followed suit, face aglow. “When next you speak to God, report back that I’ve decided to triple the amount I’m supposed to sow. I’ll sow a hundred and fifty thousand. In fact, I’ll sow that amount for every million I make—”