The Priest

At the filling station, before the bus came to a stop, the young man jumped out from the bus, running to the urinal with his hands over his balls. Everyone burst into laughter. Uche went to the supermarket to get himself something to eat and stretch his legs and so did most of the passengers.

The driver refilled his tank and in about fifteen minutes, the car was back on the road, with the tires hissing over the smooth tarmac. Inside, the sweet aromas of baked goods and the refreshing scent of soft drinks filled the air. The cold and hushed atmosphere was occasionally punctured by chewing sounds and that of squeezing plastic bags.

Uche took a sip from his plastic Coke and returned it to the dashboard. He watched as the cold liquid vapour ran down from the top of the bottle. He was lost in thought, not sure whether to ask the driver to continue the story or just wait for him to resume on his own. Why would a whole priest not be able to control his sexual impulse? They were not coerced into becoming priests, and now look at what he did to the little girl. Whoever she was, he felt compassion and concern for her. Why take the oath of celibacy if you can't control your sexual urge? All these questions and more he rotated over and over again in his mind.

"Join me!" the driver said, dragging him out of his thought to reality and presenting him with a packet of plantain chips.

"No," he shook his head. "Thank you. This coke and gala are enough for me," he added with a thin smile.

"If you say so…" He withdrew the offer and threw it at his side of the dashboard.

"As I was saying," he resumed the story and Uche's face brightened with anticipation. "I asked to follow her to see the Priest for myself and she agreed. When we got to Onisha, she called him and informed him of the hotel where she will be waiting. We went there together.

In the bar, I sat not far from her, ordered myself a chilled can of beta malt and fried chicken while we waited patiently. About twenty minutes after, a white Jeep drove in and parked. A tall, middle-aged man dressed in a white polo, blue jeans, and a red face cap got out and came over. He sat beside her and they began discussing in whispers. She must have told him; a frown came over his face, and he took off the cap, scratched his head for a moment, and put it back. That was when I saw his face. Truly, it was the priest. His outfit had made him appear younger and worldly.

At the very moment, something on the inside of me broke. My burning fire for God extinguished. Someone blew out the little light of mine. Sadness dawned instantly on me. I have never felt more disappointed in my whole life. This is a man I have looked upon. He has laid his hands on me on numerous occasions." He paused and stared out the window. His face formed into a steady frown.

"Hmmm," Uche took a deep breath. To him, this was nothing new and neither was it surprising. These holy men are just like everyone else with flesh and blood flowing through their veins; they are not perfect. He only felt bad for the kind driver who had faith in a man and religion, the greatest scam in all of human history.

"You must have been heartbroken?" Uche suggested.

"My brother, it was more painful than my first heartbreak. I never went back to church. It just didn't feel right anymore."

"I understand your pain," he nodded. "So, what happened afterward?"

"Well, I left both of them and went home. The lady called me the next morning to come to pick her up. That was when she told me the priest at first offered to give her money so she could put the pregnancy on the head of her current boyfriend. She said that won't be possible as the boyfriend was a committed Catholic who doesn't believe in sex before marriage. She suggested abortion; he declined, saying it was against his faith.

Ultimately, they reached an agreement where he would provide her with a scholarship to pursue her education overseas. She will live with his aunt until she delivers. After that, she can begin her schooling.".

"Hmmm, na wa oh…" Uche murmured.

"My brother, you never see anything."

"That's not enough reason for you to stop going to church?" The lady behind returned.

"How do you mean?" The driver was confused.

"You were not going to church to serve the priest. You were going there to worship God…"

Uche fell back into his seat and plugged in his earphones. He has heard enough; he knows exactly how the rest of the argument will play out, what the lady is likely going to say and if he listens, he might be prompted to reply, which will probably not end well.

Christians like her get offended when freethinkers like him air their views. But, some years back, the church would hang or burn someone on the stake for just questioning their faith.

So, he shut his eyes and the sweet melody of Paul Otten's "Fight like the Devil" filled his ears and mind. The song was halfway when he slid into a peaceful slumber.