Chapter 1: The Day Shame Fell Like Rain

When Pastor Eze find out say I don lose my innocence, him voice thunder for the whole Redeemed Assembly:

“Activate the prayer warriors, call down Holy Ghost fire, catch that jezebel—”

“I go grind her bones reach powder—”

I just sneak go one corner for church office, curl myself like snail wey fear salt. I dey hold the torn hem of my skirt tight, dey try cover my shaking legs.

My chest dey rise and fall like kpof-kpof for hot oil, and my palms dey sweat. Everywhere just dey hot for my head, but my body dey cold. I hear the ceiling fan hum, but e no even fit drown Pastor wahala voice. I press my knees together, dey pray say maybe if I squeeze dem well, e go press the shame out, like when you dey try squeeze last water from sachet. Even the church wall clock, wey dey tick steady, be like say e dey mock me. Even the smell of old hymn books for shelf dey choke me.

Pastor Eze eye land for my body. Before e go suspect anything, I sharply kneel down:

I no even fit look am for face, just gree kneel wella, my forehead nearly touch the floor. For our side, kneeling dey show true remorse. My lips dey tremble as I talk, voice small like mosquito.

“Pastor, abeg no vex—”

“Na my carelessness make that woman sneak enter your prayer room.”

“Your daughter suppose die a thousand times. I go punish myself with three slaps—”

As I dey talk, I dey feel the eyes of those wey pass for corridor, dem dey wonder wetin dey happen inside. That Kingdom Chapel woman from the rival ministry dey eye Pastor’s anointing. After she chop serious wound, she still manage run escape.

Even as she run, I remember the red scarf wey she use clean her face, as blood dey drip. I hear say she reach street, some people even dey fear greet am. Na wa o, this woman stubborn no be small.

Because of her wahala, Pastor drag me enter the forbidden vestry, and I suffer that shameful thing over and over.

The vestry na sacred place, nobody dey enter anyhow. Only Pastor get the key, and if dem catch anybody trespass, na serious matter. But see as life carry me enter wahala, na so I cross line.

Now my purity don loss, and mark still dey my body never fade finish…

Each time breeze blow touch my wound, I dey remember. For night, I dey dream say mark dey burn my skin. Shame and pain dey mix for my chest like agbo wey no sweet.

Instead make clear-headed Pastor Eze kill me with one slap, better make I injure myself first, at least make I look pitiful.

I pinch my own arm, make small bruise show. If people see, dem go pity me. For Naija, if you dey suffer, sometimes na only pity fit save you.