WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 6

                           

                             CHAPTER 6

                            YADAH’S POV

"Rora, careful, you're driving too fast," Aunty Ibiyemi's voice penetrated through the confines of the car as we navigated the narrow lane leading to Ajegunle. Outside, the bustling streets of Lagos buzzed with activity; motorbikes weaved in and out of traffic, horns blared incessantly, and pedestrians darted across the road, narrowly avoiding collisions.

Through the window, I caught glimpses of colourful market stalls selling everything from fresh produce to vibrant fabrics. The air was thick with the scent of fried plantains and roasted corn, mingling with the exhaust fumes of passing vehicles.

Inside the car, Aunty Ibiyemi's fingers clenched around the door handle, her knuckles whitening with a feigned sense of urgency.

 However, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes betrayed her facade of anxiety. Despite the steady rhythm of the engine's hum, suggesting a calm journey, her occasional sharp intakes of breath were accompanied by stifled giggles, revealing the playful charade she was orchestrating. As we leisurely navigated the streets towards Ajegunle, I couldn't help but suppress a silent chuckle at her theatrics, knowing full well that we were well within the speed limits.

"Yadah, please, I have dependents waiting for me at home, oh. My children, grandchildren, plus my future grandchildren, aside from the ones you refuse to birth, are expecting me to be in good health, so don't cut that expectation short," Aunty Ibiyemi reprimanded, her tone firm and laced with a hint of urgency, as I swiftly manoeuvred into another lane, following the directions from my Google Maps automated voice command. Her last words caused a flinch inside me, making me reflect on their weight.

"If not because Yele is just so opinionated and would not listen to my words," she muttered, her hand slamming against the top of the car's glove compartment in frustration. "Is this the kind of car he should purchase for you?"

Her disapproval was palpable as she continued, "This is not the car that befits a woman. A Toyota Corolla or Honda Accord is the best car for women, not this Obokun Oloye you are driving," she remarked, referring to the E350 Mercedes Benz I was currently navigating through the streets.

As Aunty Ibiyemi rants, her words echoing in the confines of the car, I offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God for guiding my decision to choose this car over the G-wagon. The sound of her frustration fills the air, but internally, I am grateful for the subtle nudge of intuition that led me here.

Yele's insistence on why I didn't choose the G-wagon still echoes in my thoughts, but I reassure myself quietly that my decision was wise. Despite his probing, I adeptly sidestepped his questions, placing my trust in my instincts and feeling reassured by my choice.

A few days ago, Aunty Ibiyemi had called me, expressing her desire to visit a place together. Despite my inquiries to know where we were going, she remained elusive, leaving me in the dark.

 

"Or do you think I want to harm you?" she quipped during her call to me

"No, ma, I just wanted to know, so that I could plan my sched--"

"Pele, Mrs. Scheduler," she interrupted sharply, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "As if I, the one who made the call to you, am jobless. Anyway, if you don't come along with me, that would clearly tell me what you think about me. That would mean you don't trust me enough not to harm you," she declared, her words laced with emotional blackmail.

"And I do not need to tell you again," she whispered, her voice low and intense, "that your husband must not know about this outing." Her words carried a weighty implication, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"Understood, ma," I responded, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts,torn between her instruction not to inform my husband about this mysterious journey and the urge to tell him. I couldn't help but imagine how Yele would react at the mention of Aunty Ibiyemi. In fact, if I had told him, he would have been the one driving this car at the moment, with me beside him and Aunty Ibiyemi in the backseat. A quiet chuckle escaped me at the whimsical thought, contrasting with the weight of the decision I had to make.

Now, as I subtly gazed at her while we drove closer to our destination, I realized she had intentionally kept our outing a secret from Yele, preventing me from informing him about our mysterious excursion.

Regardless of Aunty Ibiyemi's directive, I ensured Bodisere, my cousin, was privy to our undisclosed trip. However, I had to extract a promise of secrecy from her regarding Yele. After all, Aunty Ibiyemi only specified that I shouldn't inform her nephew, not my own cousin, I mused as we came close to an old building.

"Alagba, Reverend, good afternoon oh,”Aunty Ibiyemi greeted with reverence as she crossed the threshold of the aged building, its weathered exterior resembling that of an old shop.

 "It's me, Iya Murewa," she announced, her tone carrying a sense of recognition and familiarity as she addressed the unknown clergyman.

"Come inside, nau," she urged me, her voice coaxing as I stood rooted to the spot. Torn between following her or turning away. Lost in the tumult of thoughts, I grappled with the unknown scenario awaiting me, juxtaposed with the trust I chose to place in Aunty Ibiyemi, this moment as my gaze lingered on her figure, clad in a vibrant ankara iro and buba, adorned with a matching headgear.

"Ah, Iya Murewa, you are the one," exclaimed the middle-aged man, his voice filled with recognition and warmth as he stepped into the building from another door. His attire, a colourful patchwork of fabrics, spoke volumes about his eclectic taste.

"Beeni, yes, I am the one, sir," Aunty Ibiyemi replied warmly, her voice filled with respect as she greeted the eccentric man of God. With a graceful half-genuflection, she extended her welcome, saying, "Eku Ojo three, e ku ise, Baba.”

"We thank God," the clergyman replied, his voice calm as he eased himself into an old plastic white chair.

"Enter now, Yadah," Aunty's voice rang out, pulling me from my reverie as I lingered outside, absorbing the surroundings with silent sighs. My eyes darted back and forth, scanning our destination.

"And put your slippers off, as you are coming in," she instructed.

"Ok ma, but where should I put it?" I asked innocently.

"On my head, come and keep it on my head," she replied with sarcasm, her tone laced with chide as she invoked the familiar phrase used by African mothers.

Laying off her words, I clutched my handbag and slippers tightly as I entered the religious, peculiar-looking building. Its weathered exterior bore faded paint and intricate carvings, giving it an air of mystique. The arched doorway beckoned, adorned with symbols of various faiths, hinting at the diverse spiritual practices within. I could see different denomination churches stickers- MFM, Winners, Celestial, Anglican, Redeemed Stickers. As I stepped inside, the dimly lit interior revealed ornate tapestries, flickering candlelight, and the faint scent of incense, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the place.

"What about Mummy?" Aunty Ibiyemi's inquiry pierced the air.

"She went to the Mountain; she took some pregnant women for prayers on the mountain," the clergyman responded, his fingers moving methodically along the rosary beads he held. As I settled into the comfort of a plastic chair, my gaze wandered to the wall adorned with aged frames, each displaying a portrait of renowned African clergymen, some of whom had already passed away.

 "I'm truly delighted to hear that. Glory to God! Indeed, the God who called you is worthy to be served." Aunty Ibiyemi uttered,her voice infused with reverence,as a wide smile bloomed on her face. 

Turning towards the clergyman, she tilted her chin slightly in my direction. "This, Reverend," she began, her voice dropping to a reverent hush, "is the girl I told you about .”

“Hmm,” The clergyman uttered a low noncommittal response, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. A beat of silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions.

"Your nephew's wife, the one you mentioned?" he finally asked, his gaze lingering a touch too long as it travelled down my body. The air crackled with a sudden tension.

"Yes, sir, that's her," Aunty Ibiyemi confirmed, her voice clipped and sharp, cutting through the tension that thickened the atmosphere.

"She's the one married to your nephew?”He repeated the question, his voice low and gravelly. This time, his stare held a glint that could have been suspicion, disapproval, or something else entirely.

Aunty Ibiyemi met his gaze head-on, nodding her head as she darted her eyes between him and me.

“Very well then” He uttered, rising to his feet with an inscrutable sigh , his face, a mask of neutrality that offered no clues to his thoughts. His fingers, however, betrayed a hint of agitation as they fumbled with the rosary beads, clicking them around in a rapid, almost frantic circle. 

"Let us pray," he finally conceded, signalling his willingness to engage in prayer. As he uttered those words,Aunty Ibiyemi gracefully sank to her knees, her eyes silently imploring me to join her in prayer, conveying the urgency and reverence of the moment. 

In that moment, My mind became a battleground, torn between defiance and submission.One part of me bristled at the thought of kneeling before a man whose gaze exuded cold suspicion. Yet, the memory of Aunty Ibiyemi's commanding glance lingered, a silent mandate that brooked no dissent,Disobeying felt like inviting a hurricane.

With a defeated sigh that echoed only in the caverns of my chest, I yielded.The bared concrete floor seemed miles away as I began my descent, each inch a reluctant concession. It felt less like kneeling and more like surrendering to an invisible force.

 "In Jesus' name!”The clergyman's voice boomed. The sound startled me, momentarily breaking the hold of my internal struggle. 

 Aunty Ibiyemi, her movements quick and unexpected, surprised me further by reaching out and placing a cool white handkerchief on my head.

 For the first time since our journey began, this simple gesture of hers became a silent reassurance, anchoring me amidst the swirling confusion in my mind.

"Baba, in Jesus' name!”The clergyman's voice boomed once more, The force of his pronouncement sent shivers down my spine. A fervent "Amen" erupted from Aunty Ibiyemi's lips, her voice filled with a conviction that both surprised and soothed me.

The clergyman's voice rose a notch, his words tinged with fervour. "In the matchless name of the God that called me!" he declared vehemently.

Aunty Ibiyemi responded with another resounding "Amen," her eyes squeezed shut in fervent prayer. In stark contrast, I found my gaze drifting around the room, utterly lost. My mind was a blank slate, unsure of what prayers were expected or appropriate.

A sheen of sweat began to bead on the clergyman's forehead despite the cool air. His head shook slightly from side to side, his eyes remaining tightly closed in concentration. Discomfort prickled at my skin – was it the stifling atmosphere, the intensity of the moment, or something else entirely?

Still baffled by all that was going on around me,His voice jolted me back to reality as it took on a strange cadence, his words morphing into a rapid stream of unrecognisable syllables. "Oh Baba, Lacasera Lacabobo! Lacasera Lacabobo!" My brow furrowed in confusion. Was he speaking in tongues, or simply rattling off Nigerian drink brands in a fervent prayer?

Across from me, Aunty Ibiyemi remained oblivious, her voice a steady stream of "Amen, Amen." Each one resonated with conviction, a stark contrast to the silence growing within me. My lips felt sealed, unsure of how to respond to this bizarre turn of events.

"For in Jesus' name, have we prayed!" He uttered, the strange prayer finally sputtering to a halt. The clergyman wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his chest heaving slightly.

I remained frozen, my mind still grappling with the nonsensical prayer. Should I mimic Aunty Ibiyemi's fervent "Amens"? Did silence imply disrespect? A knot of unease tightened in my stomach as I struggled to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

 A single, resounding "Amen" erupted from Aunty’s lips, the sound of it yanking me back to reality. Shame washed over me – how could I have gotten so lost in my own confusion that I forgot to even participate? A mumbled "Amen" tumbled out of my lips, a weak echo of Aunty Ibiyemi's conviction.

"Iya Murewa, stand up, and sit.”The clergyman uttered with a sharp voice,his gaze snapping towards Aunty Ibiyemi. Without hesitation Aunty compiled without a word,rising to her feet then lowering herself to the plastic chair she had earlier been sitting on.

 "What about her?" Aunty Ibiyemi asked , her voice tight with concern as she gestured towards me.

"She can also sit down, if she likes." The clergyman replied,his response slow and deliberate while his eyelids fluttered shut for a beat, then fluttered back open, his gaze locking onto mine with a disturbing intensity.

A primal urge to stand and face him head-on battled with the knot of unease twisting in my gut. Ignoring the tremor in my hands, I pushed myself to my feet. As I met his gaze, a strange smile played on his lips, his eyes flickering over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, before he erupted into a series of nonsensical chants. Each verse seemed to invoke some unknown entity, the name of Christ tangled with words I couldn't understand. Aunty Ibiyemi, oblivious to my discomfort, joined in with fervent gusto. All the while, the clergyman's gaze remained fixed on me, that unsettling smile never wavering as I sat on the plastic chair.

The eerie chanting ceased abruptly, leaving an echoing silence in its wake. The clergyman's eyes, still fixed on me, held a manic glint.  

"Iya Murewa," he rasped, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Do you want the truth...as regards this lady's matter...or not?" He enunciated each word slowly, deliberately, as if speaking to a disobedient child.

The air crackled with a strange energy, the weight of his unspoken accusation pressing down on me. Aunty Ibiyemi, her face etched with confusion, looked between us, her lips moving silently in what might have been a prayer.

"Alagba," Aunty Ibiyemi pleaded,her voice laced with a sudden desperation, cutting through the charged silence as her gaze flickering between me and the clergyman

"What else would I want to hear if not the truth? Speak it, so this girl" – her voice hitched for a moment, then firmed – "so she too can know the truth and find her place as a mother, just like the other women." Her final words were a challenge, her chin jutting out defiantly as she locked eyes with the clergyman.

The clergyman's lips stretched into a thin, unconvincing smile as he bobbed his head in agreement. "Okay oh, if you say so." He gestured towards me, his thick index finger stabbing the air.

"This girl here," he began, his voice dripping with theatricality, "this particular lady..." He paused, letting the dramatic silence hang for a beat before continuing.

"If she is to ever bear a child in this world, if she is to become..." He slapped his own stomach with a resounding thwack, the gesture both vulgar and oddly comical.

"...pregnant," he finished with a flourish. "Then it is a must! She must undergo a twenty-one-day spiritual cleansing!" His voice boomed with forced authority. "For she," he declared, his eyes boring into mine with renewed intensity, "is no ordinary human being."

My gaze darted down to my own body, Was he talking to me Or someone else entirely? Part of me wanted to believe him, to cling to the idea that his words held some divine truth. After all, I wasn't like the others, not entirely. My faith in Christ made me different, special. But another part, a more cynical voice, whispered doubts. Was this some twisted interpretation, a way to manipulate Aunty Ibiyemi and me?

A triumphant cry erupted from across the room, shattering my internal debate. "I knew it!" Aunty Ibiyemi declared, her voice laced with a mixture of anger and vindication. "My gut feeling, it never lies! Something fishy has been going on with the lack of children in your marriage these past four years!"

Wait a minute,I think I'm beginning to understand the scenario that I found myself in. It feels like one of those scenes where everyone's pointing accusatory fingers at you, blaming you for whatever mess is at hand. And that's exactly what Aunty Ibiyemi and her half-baked prophet were doing ,blaming me for the lack of a child in my marriage to Yele. 

Which to me is a mix of ignorance and arrogance, and frankly, it's infuriating. What do these people really know? I scoffed silently, trying to figure out a way to escape this absurd conversation without offending Aunty Ibiyemi. My frustration simmered as I listened to their ridiculous talk, bile rising in my throat with every passing moment.

 "She is an ogbanje, a queen of the coast, she belongs to the marine world!”The clergyman's voice boomed.

Aye mi," A strangled cry erupted from Aunty,as she sat rigid,her back a ramrod against the chair. Her eyes, wide with alarm, darted between me and the clergyman whose face contorted with pronouncements.

"Omoyele, what have you done?" She uttered,calling out my husband's name who was nowhere around this austere environment as she clenched her teeth. She whipped her head towards me, her gaze a mixture of fear and accusation.It was as if my mere presence intensified the weight of the clergyman's words.

“I had my suspicions when he told me she was from Bayelsa state,a riverine area, a breeding ground for those..." She trailed off, the unspoken word hanging heavy in the air – "spirits.” 

“But as often, the stubbornness in his heart wouldn't allow him to listen. See the trouble he has brought upon himself, upon me!" She ranted as she smacked her hand across her chest, seemingly oblivious to my presence despite sitting right there.

The clergyman, his face flushed with self-importance, continued to hold court, his voice rising and falling in a dramatic monologue. But my attention was snagged on Aunty Ibiyemi. Her words about her refusal towards Yele getting married to me.

The accusation hung heavy, a dark cloud swirling around her outburst. The clergyman's pronouncement, though unspoken, resonated in the charged atmosphere. "Ogbanje, queen of the coast," it echoed, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces Aunty Ibiyemi believed were at play.

 "So, Alagba," Aunty began, her voice laced with curiosity, "is it only spiritual cleansing she needs, or is there something more?"

The clergyman's booming voice filled the room once more. "For now, the Spirit of God insists on a twenty-one day cleansing. It's crucial to detach her from her...marine people," he trailed off, his eyes flickering with disapproval. "If not, even a hundred years of her union with your nephew won't yield a single child."

  "Ah, Omoyele,” Aunty Ibiyemi's voice cracked as she spoke, her earlier anger giving way to a raw vulnerability.

 "He has ruined me." she lamented, shaking her head as if in disbelief. 

Her gaze darted back to the clergyman, a flicker of hope battling the despair in her eyes. She clasped her hands together, her knuckles white with tension. "Alagba," she pleaded, using the respectful title, "are you certain? With the spiritual cleansing... the evil of no children... Will it be averted?"

The weight of her question settled on me like a physical blow. "Evil of no children"? The phrase echoed in my head, a cruel reminder of their accusations. Could a ceremony truly solve a situation that felt so deeply personal, so out of my control?

The clergyman, sensing her desperation, puffed out his chest in a display of self-importance. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, as if contemplating a weighty matter, before finally speaking.

"By the power embedded in me by the God that called me," he uttered, his voice laced with self-assured importance. "The problem shall be subdued!" His gaze swept over me momentarily, a glint of something akin to satisfaction in his eyes.

"Hers is not the first spiritual problem that will be brought to me, nor is it the last." He let the pronouncement hang in the air for dramatic effect. "So, definitely, it will be solved." The last words dripped from his lips with the practised confidence of a salesman closing a deal.

The clergyman's booming pronouncements echoed in the room, each word a fresh stab of anger. But on the surface, I remained a mask of calm. My face, I was sure, betrayed none of the turmoil churning within.

This was rubbish, a ridiculous spectacle. Demons? Evil spirits? I belonged to no such things. My faith, my unwavering belief in Christ, was the only allegiance I held.

Regret gnawed at me. Why had I agreed to follow Aunty Ibiyemi here? My desire for peace, for a quiet resolution to the tension between her and Yele, had landed me in this humiliating situation.

A flicker of fear, quickly extinguished by renewed anger, shot through me at the thought of Yele. If he ever heard of this... Aunty Ibiyemi wouldn't know what hit her. But wasn't he, in a way, the root of all this? His insistence on waiting, his carefully laid plans that didn't include a child – this was the humiliation he'd subjected me to.

He should just get on with it already, fulfil those grand plans of his. Then, perhaps, a child would finally grace our home, silencing these people and their outlandish accusations. Their so-called visions, their suspicions – mere delusions born of ignorance. I longed for the day I could prove them all wrong.

  Stealing a glance at Aunty Ibiyemi, all I saw was a desperate yearning, a willingness to cling to any possibility, no matter how outlandish, to break the childless curse that seemed to hang over my marriage to her nephew.

  "Hope We," Aunty Ibiyemi began,her voice hitched as she emphasised the word with a pointed look that excluded me , "I mean my nephew and I... surely we won't suffer any repercussions from these… her spiritual mates?”She gestured vaguely with her hand, the weight of her question heavy in the air.

The blatant exclusion sent a fresh wave of anger surging through me. "Spiritual mates"? The very phrase reeked of the absurdity of the entire situation.  

Aunty Ibiyemi's question hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for reassurance. The clergyman, sensing his moment, smoothed down the ostentatious robes that seemed to swallow him whole. An oily smile spread across his face, as fake as the concern he'd displayed moments before.

"Worry not about that, mama murewa ," he soothed, his voice dripping with a feigned sincerity. "I will provide you with something, a safeguard against any attacks from these...spiritual mates." He made air quotes around the last two words, a gesture that felt more mocking than reassuring.

But then came the kicker. As he spoke the last sentence, his smile morphed into a sly grin. He extended a hand, palm open, and wiggled his fingers in a way that left no doubt about his meaning. Money. He wanted money.

Disgust rose in my throat like bile. This whole charade, this elaborate performance of spiritual authority, was nothing more than a cheap trick designed to prey on Aunty Ibiyemi's desperation.  

 "Money is not a problem nau," Aunty declared, her voice betraying a desperate eagerness. Fumbling with trembling hands, she dug into her purse and withdrew a wad of cash.

One by one, she peeled off bills, shame burned in my throat as I watched the display, a silent testament to the power of his manipulation.

The clergyman's oily smile widened, his eyes gleaming with avarice. With a flourish, he snatched the money from her grasp. The way he counted the bills was almost obscene - each note meticulously smoothed out, a single fingertip darting out to lick it before moving on to the next.

My stomach churned. This wasn't a religious leader; this was a conman, a predator feasting on Aunty Ibiyemi's vulnerability. A cold fury simmered within me, threatening to boil over.

"So, when can she start this cleansing program?" Aunty Ibiyemi pressed, her voice laced with a hopeful tremor.

The clergyman, his pockets now lined with ill-gotten gains, leaned back with a sigh. "Anytime, truly," he drawled, stretching the words out for dramatic effect. "But," he continued, a sly glint returning to his eyes, "I would suggest next week. It will allow for the proper preparations..." His voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken implication hanging heavy in the air – more money would be required.

 This whole charade had gone far enough. But before I could voice my outrage, I heard Aunty's voice speak out

"Next week sounds great," she chirped, her voice laced with a misplaced optimism. 

"She'll be here. I can assure you of that."

"She?" My mind reeled. Who was "she" referring to? A flicker of betrayal stung my eyes, but I forced them shut, maintaining a facade of calm. My outward composure remained stoic, a stark contrast to the storm raging within.My gaze drifted around the room, tracing the peeling walls, anything to avoid looking at either of them 

"Excellent!”The clergyman beamed, his satisfaction radiating like heat waves. " And by next week," he added, his voice dripping with false piety, "you'll receive the special soap and anointing oil – a safeguard against those unseen forces."

Aunty Ibiyemi bobbed her head eagerly, her face etched with a desperate hope that twisted my gut. "Okay, Alagba," she agreed, using the respectful title one last time. 

"We will be taking our leave now, to prepare for this cleansing. I must inform her father-in-law about this whole ordeal. Otherwise, that stubborn nephew of mine" – she shot me a pointed glance – "would kick against this deliverance program like a stubborn mule.

"

She rose to her feet with a huff, her eyes flickering towards me in a silent sulk. It was a sulk I chose to ignore, in fact, a tiny spark of defiance ignited within me. Perhaps there was a way to turn the tables on them, to use their own game against them.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I pushed myself out of the chair, mirroring Aunty Ibiyemi's action. As she turned towards the clergyman, her face plastered with a smile,I met his gaze head-on, eagerly anticipating our departure, as our feet moved towards the entrance.