Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Pastor Fineboy

My people!!! Wait now, before you vex. It’s blogger o! Blogger has refused to let me update for ages! Walahi, I’ve written like three different posts in the last couple of weeks but blogger wouldn’t let me publish. And because I write off the cuff without saving in microsoft word, I keep losing stuff. To be honest I wouldn’t even put up a post that I wrote a few days ago because I like to blog on what’s happening at the moment I’m writing.

So please don’t be upset eh? The devil is a liar. They want us to fight. We no go gree them. “It’s work of enemy,” as our former houseboy Bassey used to say.

Okaaaay, so what’s good? Damn it feels like it’s been ages!!!! My birthday was amazing, the cottage turned out to be more like a mansion. It was huuuuge. I had an update about it, but I don’t even feel like talking about that weekend now, ‘cos it seems like so long ago. How una dey now?

Men a couple of days ago I was sitting here dumbfounded o. If I tell you say I no dey fear that day na lie. Hmm, let me give you the gist. See, my uncle V and aunt M are in town visiting , and I tell you, they’re the most stressful people you’ll ever meet. Nice though, but very stressful. They always want one thing or the other. They also go to one church like this in Nige…it’s sorta controversial I think, so they’re always telling all kinds of stories about how people do jazz, blah blah blah.

Chai, I’ve started with my long story again. To cut it short sha, they received a phone call on friday morning from their son in Nige, who’s a little older than I am. All I could hear was my aunty saying;

“Eh? Kilode?” (What’s the matter?)

“Haaaaaaa! O ya were ke?” (She’s gone mad ke?)

“What is she saying?”


“Jesu ke? Mo gbe.” (I’m in trouble)

“Ha! Were ni yen looto o!” (That's a sign of madness for real o!)

“I plead the blood of Jesus! I cover her with the blood of Jesus! No weapon…..”

She was trembling, while my uncle and mum looked on. “Put her on the phone, I’ll give it to the junior pastor now.”

The thing didn’t even click. Who be junior pastor?

Next thing I know, she rushes up to me and hands me the receiver. “Oya Fineboy, talk to her, it’s Basira, the housegirl.”

Shuo! Me ke? Why?

“Err…what happened?”

She shouted, “Pray for her now! She’s suffering from spiritual attack. Shebi you were an assistant pastor in America. Hurry up!”

See me see trouble o. I took the receiver.

Me- Hello

Basirat- Mamaaaaaaaay!


My aunt (to me)- Pray for her now! Plead the blood of Jesus.

Me- Basirat, what’s wrong?

Basirat- Wiiiiiiiiiiiii! Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Wiiiiiiiiiiii!

Chineke. This girl don kolo for real o.

My uncle- Pray for her now!!!!!

Me- Errrrrm…..

Basirat- “Yeeeeeee! Jesu n no mi! Jesu no mi o! Yeeeeeeee!” (Jesus is flogging me! He’s beating me o!)

Me (looking back)- Ha. Uncle, this one is serious o.

Uncle- Pray now!

Basirat- Yeeeee! Jesu no boto si mi lara o! (Jesus is flogging the heck outta me o!)

Me- Why’s he beating you?

Na una sabi. Wetin I for ask? I was so shocked by it all men, it was like I was in a movie or something. Which kin’ wahala be this? All because I gave them one fabu that me I used to be an assistant pastor with my pastor uncle in America. Chineke! It’s not good to lie, especially about church o.

Basirat- Wiiiiiiiiiii! Yeeeee! O wo white! O noooo mii! (He’s dressed in white! He’s flogging me!)

I looked at my aunt, who was standing there with a horrified look on her face. She now stood at a distance, as if she was scared that the mad housegirl would jump outta the phone. I come begin wonder; “Wait, mad person dey answer phone?”

“Aunty, are you sure you don’t need a psychiatrist for this girl?”

“It’s the power of prayer! Pray for her jo!” I noticed she stayed a good distance away.

Me- Er, In Jesus’ name…..

Basirat- Wiiiiiiiii! Maaaamaaaaay! Wooooooooo!”


Me- Erm, in Jesus…

Basirat- Wooooooooo! Ahhhhhhhh!

Ha! Omo, this thing that I’m saying like joke like this, it wasn’t funny at the time o. Anytime I mentioned Jesus, she would scream her head off. Which kin’ trouble I go find myself like this? You people must think I make this stuff up; it’s so ridiculous.

Me- You are healed in Jesus’ name.

Basirat- Yeeeee! Iwo! Iwo! (You!)

Omo, I no do again men. If you hear the shrillness of her voice eh? I was bloody shaking. Imagine, from London o. I don’t know why but there’s something extra scary about Naija madness.

I couldn’t hack it anymore so I gave my aunty the phone, who passed it to my uncle. He now started praying over the phone and then finally spoke to my cousin, whom he told to take her to the hospital.

Apparently, they found out later that she had acute malaria and had just been delirious. Na wa o. I never see where malaria patient dey go mad like that before o. Whew! Thank God it’s over sha, because that scared the ish outta me. It was even more scary ‘cos that my aunty and uncle are always talking about how they exorcise demons and things in their church. I come begin fear say this winch fit come jam me for night. This one wey Jesus dey flog am, she must be a really evil person.

Okay, sorry o my people. Just had to vent. I know you’re wondering how I got the title of junior pastor. Okay let me give you the gist briefly.

See, my uncle (my mum’s younger brother) lives in the states and has been there for like 30 years. He became a pastor like 20 years ago. When I say pastor, I don’t mean like Naija type pastor. I mean like those yankee style “Can I get an amen?” type pastors.

The guy come look like American again. As in he’s a fine boy pastor o, with his bald head. The guy even gives them yankee-style pastor suits. Green, maroon, off-white…gbo gbo e. The guy get all kin’ funny colour suits. And his congregation is mostly African-American o.

Anyhow, when I first moved to Yankee, I stayed with him and my aunt Desiree. See I was worried, ‘cos I thought it’d be hard living with a pastor, but he was cool as hell men. The first Sunday I was there, I had given them jeans, loafers and a blazer to church. My uncle of course, had given them on baggy lime green suit like that.

“FB!!! You can’t wear that o! You don’t know you’re an assistant pastor now!”

That’s how it started. When I started running wild with all those freshman babes on campus, my mum would call and my uncle would tell her, “Don’t worry about Fineboy, he’s an assistant pastor here o. He’s being a good boy.” I guess it was just his way of covering for me. I love that dude.

My mum was proud o. She started telling all her friends that I was a proper church boy now. One time she called and my uncle V and aunt M were with her. Uncle V asked me “So I heard you’re an assistant pastor. That’s good o. We can never have enough prayer. God is good.”

Ye! I couldn’t deny it now. Me sef I replied that God was wonderful and in fact, I used to preach some Sundays. Na so the thing start o. They’ve been calling me a junior pastor since, and as per they’re proper born again Christians, I haven’t had the nerve to tell them I was only joking that day.

Na wetin cause my wahala today be that o. Pastor ko pastor ni. Don’t get it twisted though, I used to do stuff in that church for real o. As in, I used to give them full suit and tie every Sunday, and I was a ‘senior usher.’

But I was useless meeeeen. I dey always get one scoin-scoin or the other. I remember once when my uncle called me to the front to start behind people he was praying for. I took off my jacket and went and stood in front of the whole congregation. Meeen, that’s how one babe walked to the front for prayer.

Hot Damn!

When I say babe, I mean BABE. She was smoking hot, thick in all the right places….you know those African American girls that have been eating chicken and biscuits their whole lives. Lord have mercy. I know I was in church, and na good good holy thoughts I suppose dey think, but I couldn’t help it men.

Kai. She had on a tight pencil skirt with one white shirt and some heels. The walk sef was mad… of those girls that are just hot without even trying or realising it.

Mm mm mm.

Yeepa, I felt something start to shift in my trozziz. Aaaaaah! In front of the whole church. Which kin’ wahala be this, and I don off my jacket!

Omo, that’s how my John Thomas started rising o. Yeeeee!

My uncle moved to start praying for her and signalled for me to position myself behind her so that I could break her fall. (You know Yankee people gots to fall when Pastor prays for them now.)

Omo! The babe took a step back so that the booty was right in front of me. Chei, I comot my eye quick quick. But it was too late men. John Thomas just dey rise, and rise, and rise. And because I had no jacket there was no way to hide it. I come begin think about different things. I tried to imagine Iya Bose, one fried yam seller in lagos standing in front of me.

No luck. John Thomas no gree o.

Ha, see me see wahala. Sister Harriet, one yeye amebo usher like that, was looking at me from across the front with one disgusted look on her face. I used style to twist my waist so she couldn’t see the full extent of the damage. This one na catastrophe o.

Na so I begin say the Lord’s prayer in Yoruba. My brother once said that was the best way to curb this kind of problem. I tried to remember the words.

Baba wa ti m be l’orun. .

Ki ijoba re de.

Err…I no remember the next line. That’s how pastor said something in the prayer that made her jump up and down waving her hands in the air vigorously. Yeepa.

*wiggle wiggle*

I wan die. My bolongo now chaaaaaaarged at fuuuuuulll attention.

I felt like a sinner man. Why na for inside church wey Tarzan go come dey elongate like this?

Men when the babe finally fell backwards into me, I knew she felt it. I tried to pull back well well, but I couldn’t avoid it men. She stayed on the floor for like 15 minutes. Omo, I thought she had fainted from the force of John Bull’s power sef.

Men after that day, I dey wear jacket before I catch anybody o. I was utterly useless at the job, to be honest, because I have another bad habit. I can’t suppress my laughter when I find something funny, no matter how serious the environment I’m in is. One time I was standing at the front holding the offering bowl while one Naija woman gave her thanksgiving testimony.

“Praaaaaaaiiiiiise the Lord. God have been very good to me. For ten years, they say my husband will not see visa. The enemies is angry with us for many years because we are doing the work of God.”

Hehn?? Shellomastic! I held the air in my mouth so I wouldn’t explode. The church was deathly silent, and I tried my hardest not to laugh. But the woman no gree o. She just dey drop bomb upon bomb.

“But people of God, I just want to say thanks to our fada in heaven and this our pastor. This pastor is a good person. Even when they diagonise my husband with cancer, he stand by me, praying for me…

DIAGONISE??? Is that a word? Omo I was fighting hard to suppress the laughter. I was dying to explode, I come begin look up and down…and then

“But praise God because I have defeat all the enemy that have attempting to wicked my family!”

Yeeparipa! Men I just burst out laughing and ran to the back of the Church. I couldn’t help it men. That was my last day as an “assistant pastor” o. My uncle didn’t find it funny at all. I had to explain to him that it wasn’t my fault, “it’s work of enemy.”

Yo I’ll holla soon y’all. God forgive me for this post.