Chapter 3: Facebook Swords and Pastor Wahala

Sword cultivator life na for sword. Once you reach Golden Seed, the sect go give you natal sword for free. I don dey cultivate for years, break through, all na for this natal sword.

For Naija, anything wey you suffer for dey always get plenty value. This sword na my sweat, my blood, even the pepper soup wey I no chop for months.

The long sword for my hand dey shine, sharp. Blade thin like mosquito wing, fit cut hair—na better sword.

But when time reach to name am, wahala start. After I rack my brain, I find one name: "Wait Small."

If fight start, I shout "Wait Small," opponent go pause small—chance for me to strike.

But the WhatsApp group knock my head:

[Fellow Cultivator, you never use Facebook before? "Wait Small" don old.]

[Abeg, no be 2009 we dey!]

I shock. Most cultivators dey upright—who else go reason this kind sharp name?

WhatsApp group begin drop ideas:

[Name am Data Bundle—because Data Bundle na double-edged sword.]

[Name your sword Chop Money, then raise dog wey you call Suya. Shout "Chop Money!"—opponent go look dog, but sword don ready. Shout "Suya!"—as dem block sword, dog go bite dem.]

I quiet, dey reason. How these people wicked pass demonic cultivators? This group fit plan prank for sallah ram and still chop the meat.

After plenty thinking, my sword name turn to "After Being Caught Peeping at Pastor Bathing, I..."

I just dey pity my Pastor, but the more I hear the name, the more e sweet me. If I shout this thing, even dog go freeze for small time.

After all, the WhatsApp group really ask: And then? Wetin happen next?

Who no go wan know how the story end?

Even though the name long, e work pass "Wait Small"—opponent go pause well. For Naija, story wey get suspense dey always get respect; even masquerade fit stop dance make dem hear gist.

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My Pastor don dey for this work pass one thousand years. Apart from stingy with money, e dey calm like river after rain. But when e hear my sword name, e face—normally cold—just change colour anyhow: red, white, green, black—every colour show.

Pastor face resemble traffic light wey spoil, the change no get order.

E glare me, draw sword, begin pursue me with serious vex. Pastor shoe dey slap ground—kpom kpom—like thunderclap for rainy season.

I run round the church compound five times, almost faint, but Pastor no gree stop. I dodge near the old bell, pass the mango tree, even squeeze under offering table. Na so wahala dey pursue pesin.

"You this pikin! You don spoil your Pastor reputation finish!"

I dey beg as I run: "Pastor abeg, stop! I still get National Youth Competition to attend!"

Pastor no hear: "You wan use my name disgrace me for competition? God forbid!"

If to say na my mama catch me that day, na better slap go land my ear. Pastor own be say e go quote bible join.

Even though Pastor old, for spiritual age no dey matter—catching and beating me just remain small.

I grit my teeth, throw one low-grade spirit stone give Pastor. E slow down small. I throw one mid-grade spirit stone. E face soft a little. Like hero wey cut im own hand, I throw second mid-grade spirit stone.

Pastor finally stop. E pack the spirit stones for im robe, arrange im cloth, then talk for normal voice: "Since na your first offence, as your Pastor I go forgive you. I no go vex this time."

For my mind, I dey calculate how to take recover my stones. If to say e gree, I for ask make we do installment.

Tears nearly drop—naming fee cost die! Those spirit stones pain me well.

WhatsApp group still dey advise:

[Go meet herbalist. You pay am two spirit stones to bark like dog, then e throw four spirit stones back make you bark.]

If wahala dey market, these ones go buy finish. Their advice dey run like fire for harmattan.

I begin reason if the idea fit work. All their bad ideas no dey finish.

Pastor look me with pity, bring out small calabash bottle from chest. My eyes shine—better thing!

Pastor hold am tight: "No even think am. No be for you."

My face fall immediately. WhatsApp group talk: [Face dey change faster than harmattan weather!]

One minute, hope dey; next minute, disappointment catch you for neck. Na so life be.