He stepped on the altar wearing a white robe and palpable haughtiness. His aura was forceful but who could question the arrogance of the pastor when it could be the holy spirit ministering?
It was an all-male service. At the drop of a chorus, hands beat together like angry butchers, with the whole hall filled with a vehement cacophony.
Men singing, some wailing, another group groaning while some are seriously dancing when the drums were being beaten loudly.
There were some sets coasting away in dreamland at the extreme back, they snored in their sleep, making people question why they came to the vigil in the first place.
The congregation consisted of men from all walks of life, rich, poor, educated, illiterates, roadside mechanics, car owners, pastors, and sometimes men of other faiths who were in search of miracles.
Obajola took the microphone, shaking his head and legs in quick variation. He was sweating even with tens of fans rolling at the top while another ten aided the air from different corners of the church.
He screamed into the microphone betraying his Ijesa accent. A rousing hymn jumped off his lips like bullets to the crowd. They caught the passion he was trying to incite, and the hymn changed the atmosphere.
A few snoring people were compelled to stand and reluctantly join the singing.
Some dancing ensued as he ordered the drummer to increase the pace. Sounds from the palms of their hands suppressed the drum beats until Obajola stopped the excitement.
“The spirit has come over here. Let there be silence in the church of God,” he said with a complex countenance plastered on his sweating face.
“He’s in our midst and he’s sent the chariots of heaven to share blessings for his sons. But not until you pray like you want a miracle.”
He patted the microphone thrice, held it close to his lips and raised another emotional hymn that elicited even more enthusiasm than the last one from the group of men.
Baritone voices filled the auditorium with the incoherent speech of tongues penetrating the air from men who had left the pleasurable, nightly embrace of their wives, their beds to seek the merciful hands of God in their lives.
Obajola looked down from the podium, he left the microphone and placed his right hand on the extra-large Bible and spoke eloquently as he looked seductively into the crowd.
“It has been revealed to me by the spirit that there are men here whose successes in life have been hindered by women they slept with. The sexual intercourse you had with these women was not just physical, it allowed something crucial to your uplifting to be stolen away from you,” Obajola disclosed convincingly.
“If your name is Samuel, come out, you’re the one the spirit has shown me. Your situation is deteriorating and if you don’t come out here that’s how you’re going to die.”
In a matter of 30 seconds, more than seven men impatiently rushed out to the front of the altar where Obajola was standing.
He let out a smirk from his obnoxious face. He stepped down from the confines of the podium to meet the Samuels at the front. He had dropped the microphone again. He spoke almost discreetly as possible:
“You’ll walk around the church’s compound seven times, saying ‘I take back my glory’ that’s all you will say. Go,” the men ran out before he finished declaring.
As the men outside were circling the church, praying away their tormentors, Obajola kept others singing and praying diligently.
Amid this, the men strolled in one after another breathing helplessly as the pastor directed them to queue at the altar. As he had done before, he moved close to them as they retreated into a fold.
This time, he told them to bring N5,000 each for the completion of their long-awaited victory. Some of the men who could afford the cost of the miracle quickly dipped their hands into their pockets and brought out the naira notes and dropped them into the offering trays.
Some called the church boy sitting at the edge of the altar and collected the church’s account number for online transactions to fund the completion of their spiritual victory.
Few of the men were still standing there but could not afford the amount that he had charged them. He looked at them condescendingly and asked:
“How much can you afford?”
They patted their pockets. Some muttered ‘nothing’, while some didn’t open their mouths to speak at all.
Obajole hissed and said, “You must give something, whether you borrow or not, no matter how much, you must give to the ministry in completion of what has been done in your lives.”
He stylishly waved his hands at the church boy. He understood him and immediately brought the offering tray with him.
Obajola left them beside the altar and faced those who have paid the N5,000 asked of them. He instructed the crowd to stretch their hands toward them and pray for God’s blessing on them.
As the church was praying, he moved closer to the men who were with the church boy. He looked into the tray and saw N100, N50, and even N20 notes. He shook his head and told the men to join the crowd.
Obajola continued, in the same manner, into the morning with different kinds of prophecies that kept the men in a mysterious chasm all through.
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