Chapter eight (B)

Chapter eight (B)

March 6, 2019:

Entry 4

Yea, I can't help it; I just want to get this out on paper. So, yea, I didn't want to stay in Pastor's house. I never wanted to be in that house or around that man. He is a CREEP! Now, apart from the fact that he scared me to bits, the room I was locked in with other girls smelled like a bathroom that hadn't been washed for a whole year. Picture this… it smelled like urine and the worst part of it was the one window in the room. What fresh air could one window provide? And when I ate the food, I had to push it down with water because the rice was both too soft and yucky and the bread was more than a day's old. Staying in Pastor's house was a terrible experience, period.

There were four of us in that room. Four kids whose parents were gullible enough to think we were demon-possessed. Four kids whose parent preferred pushing responsibilities on others than taking charge and be the parent.

Bimpe's parents brought her to Pastor because she sleepwalked every single night. She told me one time, she'd sleepwalked out of her parent's apartment in the middle of the night for hours. It was that crazy but shouldn't they have seeked therapy or some kind of treatment?

Sade's parents brought her in because she stared at people without saying a word, not even when you talk to her. It was crazy too.

Funke's parents brought her in because she had insomnia. For crying out loud who tagged insomnia to spirituality?

The day before Pastor tried to deliver me from my "demons," he took Funke to the river and she never came back the same. I know this because she had curled into a ball in the corner of the room and wept. I wrapped my hands around her but even that action made her flinch like she was expecting something bad. And when I persuaded her to tell me what happened at the river, she was mute. There and then, I knew I needed to get out of there.

But I couldn't because my time came and Pastor's youngest son came to get me and he heard the most sinister smile ever. Even as I write this, I remember that smile and it's scary. As we walked through the corridors, I mastered the house; the route out of the room until we reached outside the house. Maybe I could run, run and run and never look back.

He led me towards an area with woodland filled with bamboo trees and shrubs, and before the trees laid a stream and there Pastor waited. I swear, I was so scared but I couldn't it not when Alagba's son was standing next to me.

As soon as I got to the stream, I gauged it first to be certain it wasn't deep enough to drown me. His son didn't wait to be dismissed before leaving me alone with his father. Truth is, I'll never forget what it was like to stare back at someone I couldn't even trust. Everything about him felt wrong; from his taunting eyes to the way he smiled and it turned worse when he asked me to take off my dress.

"Your parents said you killed your brother," he said and went on, reminding me of what I was trying so hard to forget. I wanted to run at that moment but my legs stayed glued to a spot, and then he asked me to take off clothes again and the only thing I could do was to wrap my arms around myself.

Now that I think of it, hearing him say all those things was just to make me feel bad about myself and probably let him… let him hurt me. So, I let him get to me and I cried. It was more than crying, it was the kind of forsakened-weeping that came from someone drained from all hope. I would always be considered as my brother's killer and nothing would ever change that. Nothing ever changed.

Pastor said he told mom it wasn't my fault. Those words created a tiny hope in me until he opened his mouth again and my heart sank in a pool of bleakness like the titanic sank in an ocean. "It's the evil spirit living in you," he added.

And there it was right in my face. Pastor believed I was possessed, and when I thought of the things he must have told my parents, it made me mad... it still makes me mad. Maybe I was jealous of the way mom and dad treated Demola like he was the best thing after plantain and eggs, but I never had the intention to kill him, not in a million years.

Pastor continued with the whole garbage about healing me and getting the demon right out of me. I swear if something like this was said to me three months before buying this diary, I would laugh in their face and flip them off. But then, it made me cry even more.

Even though I was only a thirteen years old, I knew how things worked. Mom told me all when I saw my first period: never allow a man touch you or see you naked or else you would get pregnant, nothing more than those words and nothing less. But I understood her perfectly and it made me even madder she was comfortable enough to let me stay in the house of a man just to be 'delivered from my demons.' Her actions were hypocritical.

"Take of your clothes," he said again and that was when I sunk to my knees, crying as I picked a stone in the stream. He didn't know. I wrapped my hand around the stone, waiting for him to come near me and then I launched when he finally did.

I didn't wait for him to recover; I ran but not into the house but followed the stream. With each step of the way, I looked over my shoulder, hoping he wouldn't close the distance between us. It was far enough to keep me safe but when his son showed up behind me, fear twisted through me. I ran, my feet kissed the waters and splashed.

These feet were made to travel at speed. I ran as my heart thundered and the urge to keep going grew in me, just like the way I kept going until I won the gold medal for my team back when I was younger. At that moment, my goal was to get far away from pastor and get home safely. "When dad and mom hears what Alagba tried to do, they'll fight him," I had said in my mind.

"They'll believe me. Almost getting harrassed is their fault."

"If dad doesn't believe me, mom has to. In fact, they have to."

I fell face flat and rose again.

By the time I reach our street, the sun had gone down. I had ran for an hour and my mom was the first person to step out. Her eyes looked heavy with the bags beneath them, it was obvious she had not been sleeping.

"Lola," she gasped. "What are you doing here?" She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into the house.

"Pastor... he tried to touch me," I said and searched her face for any form of anger. But nothing, just blankness, so I repeated. "Pastor touched me."

"Liar," my dad boomed.

"I'm not. Mom, you have to believe me."

Mom closed her eyes then shook her head. "Lola, he's a man of God.

"This your child is a witch," he dragged me away from mom and struck my cheek. "She's going back."

Mom stopped dad from taking me back to Pastor but she never confronted him either. Pastor pretended like nothing ever happened. His son, Isaiah rammed his shoulder into me from time to time, sneered at him and bullied me and here was why: mom never stopped going to that church until we left Nigeria.

That was one of the worst things that ever happened back home. Because from time to time I wondered if she ever believed he hurt me but didn't just want to offend Pastor. Did she stop dad from taking me back to Pastor's house because she wasn't sure who was telling the truth? I know the answer: mom wasn't sure so she struck a balance. And that balance ripped my heart off and broke my trust.