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The space in the front, between the pulpit and the pew, was filled with adventurous dancers who felt the legroom at their seats was too strait for the Davidic dance to freely express their joy and thanksgiving to the creator. Others, less adventurous, found a space in the aisle to dig it. The spaces in-between the blue plastic chairs, which constituted the pew, had few people standing in them: those who did not know how to bend to the music and the lyrics. None of the ushers could frown at the scatter-diagram formation the chairs assumed as the youths engaged in the macosa shake-a-leg. The dancers first formed a bow with their legs and then began to shake them as if rendered uncontrollable by Parkinson's disease. As the leg-shaking progressed they raised their shoulders rhythmically in an over-gestured shrug and stylishly dropped them with the palms almost landing at the centre of the lower abdomen, switching from the left arm to the right and back like a pendulum. With one step forward and two backward in that posture, and a jerk of the head, they completed the exotic macosa dance.

After about twenty-five minutes, the praise session came to an end to usher in the worship session which was not in any way less eventful. Some sank deep on their knees to pay homage to the Giver of life while some others lifted up their hands and heads in His colossal awe. Patches of worshippers here and there grimaced and shed tears in emotional response to the ministration. The curtain fell on the fleeting seven-minute worship and it was every man for himself as the congregation was left without ministrations of any sort for a few minutes to enable the people unwind and recover from the mood via personal thanksgiving prayers or individual worship songs.

But for two very peculiar testimonies which marked a heavy presence during the testimony time the service would have gone on uneventful from the point forward.

A brother that introduced himself by eight names at a go had come out to give a medical testimony – actually, that was the nomenclature commentators passed on it at the end of the day's service, during the fellowship-after-fellowship. The octopus-of-a-name brother used almost every clause in his testimony to display, in ostentation, his wealth of medical cum anatomical terms... 'I diagnosed a subacute myalgia of unknown aetiology around my thoracic cavity so I gravitated on my pelvis and pentadactyl hind limbs to the servant of God. He laid the pronated surface of the dermis and epidermis covering the phalanges of his right upper pectoral limb on the region and opened his buccal cavity to rebuke the myalgia, I felt a sharp locomotion around my external and internal intercostal muscles and diaphragm; I was cured from the pathological development instantly. Praise ye the Lord oropharyngeally'.

The response of alleluia was deafening and that with a thundering applause for a job well done in thrilling the audience by the way of intricate show-off. He came down from the platform and walked back to his seat with an air of importance around him. A couple of people around his seat even shook hands with him. For the healing or the oratory? Only God knows which.

Another gave a unique testimony of how he had swarm of mosquitoes around his head for days. He had tried everything to drive them away but failed. The solution came when he combined the effect of the prayer of one of the ministers for him with a spray of Baygon. This time around the reaction from the congregation was roars of laughter everywhere. About two people laughed so much their chairs almost tipped over; one of them actually fell headlong in the process. May be they never believed devil could make mosquitoes haunt a fully grown man in broad daylight as a form of spiritual onslaught. Well, he who experienced it knew better; he wouldn't laugh at himself.

The time for the message finally came and everything suddenly changed. The solemnity of and the reverence for the moment can be felt in the atmosphere, both in depth and in thickness. The General Overseer of Jesus My Lord Ministries, Pastor TunjiAdetiloye, grabbed the wireless microphone laid, for his personal use, on the stool to his left and stood up to go behind the pulpit. His two associates, sitting one to his left and the other to his right on upright chairs resembling ones at the heads of a dining table, stood up in accordance with the entrenched tradition of pre-message respect for the GO. Their Daddy-in-the-Lord progressed from his armchair to the tinted all-glass pulpit. His Bible had earlier been placed on the lectern by the armour-bearer who had proceeded to carry it from the stool on the right immediately the choir rounded off their special rendition - the cue for the message. The five-and-a-half-feet tall man of God stood on the podium and for the next two to three minutes would say nothing; his eyes roamed wild among the puzzled people. The gaze went to the choir and stayed for some troubling seconds. They were well dressed – every one female among them had something in the name of a hat to cover her head, as opposed to some members on the floor who adopted a free stance. Their music, too, had been superb right from the praises to the just concluded rendition. So, what is it? The stare left them wondering as it went 180 degrees to the Pastor's aides standing at ease on his left. Neither of them had come late for the pre-service ministers' prayer and every ministerial assignment given to them so far in the service they had carried out to the best of their abilities. Why the suspicious look? His eyes turned over to the degrees they had come to meet the bewildered gape of the floor members. What is wrong with Pastor? Hope all is well. Such was the tone of the muted conversation in the house of God. His silence was finally broken and what followed was the most unusual message they had ever had from that altar.

'It is a mad world!' the GO bellowed over the state-of-the-art mega sound system. His audience looked at one another in a knowing way, as if saying, 'Did we not say something is wrong with the Pastor?' Unruffled by the sympathetic look and the low murmurs, Tunji continued with the atypical sermon preached without an introductory prayer or allowing the listeners to relax on their seats; they stood like the officers and men of the Nigerian Police Force receiving instructions from their DPO.

'I know you might have wondered what has come upon your Pastor. Yes, the way I turned my head around in silence was unusual and in fact absurd. And many thoughts would have run through your mind as my gaze travelled from one end to the other. But listen to me, nothing is wrong with me. I am in complete control of myself. As usual, I had prepared today's sermon through some sleepless nights searching the scriptures and praying that the message makes meaningful impact on our lives. Up to five minutes ago I had maintained the status quo waiting for the time to preach. Then, all of a sudden, I heard the voice of the spirit of God in my spirit clearly saying, "It's a mad world: a world of breakneck speed: 30 seconds-microwave oven, pop-in-and-eat fast food outlets, near-speed-of-light rocket, real-time internet networking and the much-fantasized human cloning that will need no 9-month pregnancy. Why do they always want everything so fast? They are always in a hurry for everything. Anyway, it's the world controlled by the prince of the lower air whose time is short and days are numbered. So, I wouldn't be surprised. But, why? Why would even some of my children also climb on the bandwagon of haste? Did I not say that he that believes will not make haste?"

'I felt the Holy Spirit was just making a general comment on the body of Christ. I thought it was only a message for Christendom in its entirety. But, he cautioned and told me not to go too far; He was talking to me about this congregation staring me in the face right now. And this is how He put it: "many are they among you, my sons; who are going at breakneck speed, slow down or else you break your neck!" I heard this and I was shocked. I climbed the pulpit with only one burning passion – that the Holy Spirit might point out those concerned to me and that I might shout at them at the top of my voice, "stop trying to outrun God!" That passion made me look around in the way you've seen it. I pursued it vigorously with my eyes but it was not to be. I couldn't figure out just one person among you in that mess; He wouldn't tell me. The Holy Spirit wouldn't tell me...'

He went on his knees and, with great emotion and troubling of the spirit, pleaded with his congregation, 'Please, my dearly beloved, make no haste! Our God is not slack concerning his promises; wait for Him. He will make all things beautiful for you in His time. Don't outrun God. I beseech you by the mercies of God, don't! Don't outrun God!' As he continued to hammer the last sentence, knees, two by two, in the congregation, began to find the carpet-laid floor until more than half of the population were with bowed heads and bended knees. With profound groans and deep wails, the suppliants raised their voices to God.

* * * * *

'Aboruboye nile ifa o?'

'Aboye bo sise o!' the bald old herbalist replied the voice greeting him from outside. Baba Awo was busy consulting his oracle consisting of some kernels on a wide cane dish. He himself, garbed in immaculate white wrapper tied over his right shoulder and a complementing white singlet as the top, sat on a local mat with the objects of his consultations in-between his outstretched legs. Many grotesque objects hung in a slipshod manner all over the room. On the floor of one of the corners of the strait apartment under the aegis of the Irumoles were carved human head figures wet and sticky with oily libations with a square piece of red clothing hanging over the point where two walls met.

Baba Awo finally stopped his incantations to attend to his client.

'Regular or novice?'

'Regular, Baba!'

'Then you may proceed to come in.'

Mr. Toriola entered, undid his shoes at the foot of the door – only the sole of his feet, and not that of his shoes, could touch the sacred mat or else he commits a sacrilege. He took a bow to the ground in form of an ablution to the gods at the red corner and then sat cross-legged on the mat to make his case before Baba. He had decided to seek the traditional way out of his present predicament.

'Dewale, you have the solution already. Just dab at the floor and impress its peace upon your heart thrice,' the octogenarian said with a thickly accented dialect. After observing the figurative instruction literally, Adewale was charged exorbitantly for the treatment. He agreed to the terms and paid a deposit of more than half of the cost on the spot. The bald man took all his time to rise to his feet and then exited through a door, plainly covered by the dried hide of a wild carnivore, to an inner room. When he reappeared, it was with a gourdlet plugged in the mouth with pigeon's plumes. He handed it over to Adewale and directed that he should add some of its content to his food for a whole week and the prostate cancer would soon become a thing of the past. With drenching showers of thanks and lion-brave confidence he departed the den of the gods.

CHAPTER FOUR

As fate would have it, AY and Segun met one-to-one, on two occasions, within a week. The first was in the evening of that peculiar service. Pastor Tunji had announced there would be no evening house fellowship at the centres. He charged all and sundry to use the hours meant for the fellowship they had now been relieved of to go out into their localities for aggressive personal evangelism. AY was occupied with some gossipy whispers, as it was becoming of the choristers of their days among themselves, at the time of announcement. Of course, she missed the information.

In the evening, she was on her way to Segun's residence, the house fellowship centre for those living around Onikoko. Both surprise and doubt gripped her as the blue, one-storey building started coming to view. The time was quarter past five, they should be fifteen minutes into the meeting now, but no sign of any ongoing activities inside could be seen. No two cars – Brother Wale, the centre coordinator's blue Datsun 120Y hatchback and a cream flat-boot Benz 190 saloon belonging to Deacon Agbaye – were parked outside and no worship filtering out of the room to welcome her. AY was a habitual but timely latecomer – fifteen minutes past, no more no less. In the church she was a celebrated, near-venerated, worker but at the centre, a notorious benchwarmer. Her late-coming was part of her tactics to free herself of any commitment in the group. Fifteen minutes was enough time to have apportioned all the responsibilities available to those present.

Her bewilderment deepened when even Brother Segun's face wore a look of astonishment on sighting her.

'What's the problem? No house fellowship today?' she retorted.

'Good evening Sister AY. Nice seeing you around.' Segun attempted breaking the tension.

'Ah! Ah! Please pardon my poor sense of courtesy, Brother Segun. Good evening. But I'm actually at a loss. What's happening to the house fellowship?' She was never done with her confusion.

'Un-hmn! I was wondering myself because this is the actual time you normally surface at the house fellowship. You really come for the house fellowship?'

Though she felt the question was a bit stupid she gave a nod all the same.

'If you were not at the service this morning I would have understood. But now I'm stupefied.'

AY quickly changed her approach knowing quite alright that she had missed something in the morning announcement.

'I'm sorry. I was busy during announcement. Was it announced that there would be no fellowship today?' she asked pitifully.

'Yes, we were to use the time for personal evangelism in our neighbourhood. In fact, I was just preparing to go out for that when you came in.'

'Ah! Pardon my ignorance. I'm sorry for delaying you. Let me be on my way then.' She stood to go.

Segun would not let her. This is a sister admired by almost all the single brothers in the church. An audience with her is a golden privilege that must never be allowed to be short-lived. So, she must not go just like that.

'No, not so soon. Not until I have treated you to light refreshment with soft drink. And if you wouldn't mind we could then go out together for the witnessing. At least, the Bible too said he sent them out two by two.'

Though they both laughed over the witty allusion, she tried to put up a feigned resistance to the intended treat. Segun's persistent enthusiasm ensured it did not go through. He kept her busy with his album while he dashed out. In no time he was back with a bottle of fizzy Fanta pineapple and a package of sumptuous pie, looking professionally baked by a Mr. Biggs-standard fast food joint in the neighbourhood.

'Sister AY, I'm sorry this is all I could offer o. You know this is a chronic bachelor's place. But really, if not for my pot that was on holiday I would have made you a lump-less pounded yam as smooth as the earlobe, with good Amaranthus soup garnished here and there with powerful balls of egusi, and a big fresh catfish carrying a big egusi ball on the floor of its mouth.'

'Um! If all the ingredients are here right now, can you cook half as good as you just have painted?' She beamed and the radiant face threw up its elegance. Segun was spurred on to be a good laugh.

'You try me. Just enroll me in this year's National Maggi Cooking Competition and see how I will defeat chefs from Mr. Biggs, Tantalizer, Sweet Sensation, Mama Cass, just name it. You go know say khaki no be leather. I was not my Mummy's special assistant in kitchen matters in those days for nothing. I bet, with due respect to your royal and precious majesty, if I will not beat you hands down in a cooking contest.'

'Whaoh! Unbelievable!'

'The unbelievability is my pleasure, Madame. By the way, Sister AY, I must confess that the praise and worship session you led this morning was something else – it was electrifying, soul-lifting and heaven-rendering'

'Ah-ah! I'll take that for flattery. Who am I and my talent to deserve such an accolade?'

'No! who has the time to spare on flattery. I mean every word of it. You are a rear gem to the church. May God continue to increase you to bless our generation the more.'

'Amen !' She responded laughingly.

'I mean I was really, really, really blessed by the ministration.'

AY was all giggles till she finished the light refreshment provided. Straight after, she freely offered herself to be his witnessing partner.

Not that they didn't face what they set out to achieve – in fact they led five to six people to Christ – but their partnering off naturally ended up a date. A relationship was established; platonic or more, only time would tell.

The second encounter was an offshoot of the first and was as coincidental as the first. In their course of seeking out souls to bring the Good News to, AY had informed Segun of her upcoming birthday on Friday and wanted him to be her guest. She was only marking it and not celebrating it, she had stressed. Segun should therefore not expect much:

'Just to take sobo and some groundnuts with friends.' She had jocularly said.

Friday is here. Segun put on his best shirt – a light blue packaged shirt sent to him by his cousin abroad. He was proud of the top because of its Marks and Spencer label. With a pair of navy blue plain designer trousers, well-buffed, black, narrow-toe shoes and a black Versace belt, he completed the dressing. He contemplated knotting a tie but dropped the idea after amusing himself with the question: 'Segun, are you the ministering MOG of the occasion?'

* * * *

Baba mimo mimo mimo mo wa sope o oba nla

Baba mimo mimo mimo mo wa sope o oba nla

F'ore to o se laye mi o po oba nla

F'ore to o se laye mi o po oba nla

The popular track of Tope Alabi, a Yoruba Gospel music performer nonpareil, charged the atmosphere of the mini-hall from the background, as the items on the birthday programme were happily carried out with a romp. The generator of the music was the Ore ti o Common album disc turning in the CD player of a 3500-watt Sharp stereo standing as tall as the third of an average man's height. The stereo stood at one angle of the hall designated DJ's corner while its two woofer speakers were placed high on corner-braces, one adjacent the DJ's corner and the other opposite it. A ring, with the celebrant's chair and a cake-carrying decorated table at its head, was the seating arrangement. Brother Sola, popularly called Wonderful Brother, was in the centre turning here and there to compere. From time to time he cracked side-splitting jokes and the assembly found it difficult not to get their teeth into them.

'The brevity of the chronological mensuration cannot accommodate the longevity of the provisioned thingamabob for the programme...'

'Eh-eh, oyinbo poju!' one lady ejaculated from the audience.

'Please, sir, can you help us break it down? Abeg, no give us migraine, dear professor emeritus!' another, a brother, requested.

'Anyway, what I'm saying in essence is that though we have a lot of things to do, the time is short, OK?'

'Effico! The hall roared with amusement and applause.

You mean you can't remember this brother? He is the one and the same person that gave the medical testimony. Who knows whether he studies his dictionary, medical or English, more than his Bible.

'Thank you, thank you. Don't mention it. What are enemies for!' His ironic use of 'enemies' caused another fit of giggles to permeate the audience.

'The basket has been passed round and you must have picked something. Now if I point at you, just walk up here and tell us what is inside the piece of paper you picked.'

He pointed at one brother but that one said the basket did not get to him. He pointed again and the lot fell on Segun. He came out, unwrapped the paper and read out what he foud therein.

'Dance and gist with the celebrant for two solid minutes!'

'Whaoh! That is phantasmaglorious! Hold on, please hold on DJ. None of us should be left out in this networking. This is what we are going to do. Get someone beside you and you too can interact with him or her for those two minutes. No dancing in your own case however.'

He turned to Segun and AY who were now standing together. 'And to both of you, "Holiness to the Lord" o?' He feigned a baritone, 'Thou shall not tamper with the holiness gap.'

The two beamed with enthusiasm.

'I request the DJ to play us a soft, slow-moving gospel. They can't be dancing marcossa and still be able to colloquize. Yes or no?'

The echo was in the affirmative.

'Meanwhile, if you can't find anyone to spin a yarn with, I'm very much available. Let the music roll.'

It was time to continue where they stopped on Sunday evening as they rocked lazily to the music. When it all ended the two minutes seemed two seconds. Segun craved for more.

* * * * *

Segun got to his door but could not put the key in the lock. He bent to the peephole and discovered another key hanging in the lock from the inside. Definitely Sister Kemi is around. He knocked at the door and Kemi was prompt to open. They held hands and got inside. She had come with the progress report as usual.

'Brother Segun, the good news is that Daddy's attitude is getting more and more favourable by the day. From the look of things he will give his full consent with one or two more delegations'.

She noticed Segun was not showing interest. It was taking him unnecessarily long pulling off his shoes. He was bent double to the task and would not even lift as much as his eyes when she mentioned 'good news'.

'Brother Segun!' she tapped him on the back, 'it seems you are not even interested in what I'm saying. You are not saying anything. Is anything the matter?'

Segun jerked up his head, managed a reluctant smile and spoke with an interest that was only skin-deep. 'I'm interested now. Nothing is wrong, it's only that I'm tired. I'm sorry.'

'Then say something to the issue on ground,' Kemi queried.

'I'm happy. Yes, I'm happy that Daddy is responding. I just pray that the Daddy upstairs will grant us good speed.'

'Amen. He will. But you know God's time is the best. He makes all things beautiful in His time and ours shall not be an exception. God will help us. Let's just hold on to Him till the end.'

Segun concluded the dialogue with, 'It is well.'

Somebody else is beginning to steal Segun's heart. A real-life osmosis is taking place across his heart – love is moving from an area of higher concentration to that of lower concentration. But then, when the two sides are balanced, one must be discarded, for the heart understands romantic love only in the language of elimination by substitution. There can be no greater confusion in the heart than that of love.

CHAPTER 5

3 – 2 = 1 heart praying 4 u. 1 + 1 = 2 eyes looking at u. 3 + 4 = 7 days thinking of u. 7 + 5 = 12 months asking God to protect and bless u, because u're special! How is ur day? The Lord is ur muscle. Shalom.

Segun finished punching in the short message and was about sending it when he caught sight of the figure 269/2 at the top right hand corner of his Nokia 1100's LCD. That suggested the message had spilled over to the second page, meaning an additional cost. Segun, a shrewd and thrifty SMS-sender, could not tolerate it. The service is called short message and it should remain as such. He looked for ways of trimming down the text to one page. After reading through twice he discovered he had been too generous with spaces. He removed the space immediately after every punctuation mark and operation sign. Still the character-and-page number indicator was reading 279/2. What could he do? He removed the 'g' ending all the present participle verb forms. He abbreviated 'months' to 'mths' and 'because' to 'cos', then 'at' was transformed to its internet sign, '@', and the conjunction 'and' to its popular symbol '&'. When it would still not go for one page he finally decided to delete 'shalom' and was happy with what he saw at the corner – 300/1. No wonder some of his friends called him SMS Ijebu. On several occasions he had sent texts with too many contractions. It would take the receiver several minutes of logically slotting in the missing letters for the meaning of the SMS to flow out. He could receive a 3-page text and resend it in just one page. He had to be this generous with the text because of the recipient involved – AY. But ironic enough, he was a well-known magnanimous giver among brethren.

He keyed in AY's number offhand – no need of going through the search option in the terminal equipment's phonebook. OK. In about twelve seconds the screen read, 'Message sent', and ten more seconds, 'Delivered to AY' flashed on and off the display unit. AY flashed back to acknowledge the receipt of the text. Segun's gaze had stayed on the petite, black-and-silvery Nokia expecting the flash.

Terminating a call while still ringing, before the called could pick it up, had become a cheap form of sending warm but dumb greetings and acknowledgment to friends and loved ones. The verb 'flash' was whimsically coined out for this special service maybe because of the speed involved. The flasher must be on the red alert – his ear on the receiver-mic and his thumb on the red button – or else he has himself to blame.

Actually, flashing costs nothing. You must have airtime validity and a few kobo of credit left though. With that, one could go ahead to flash the whole world. But if one of those flashed prematurely picks the call, maybe accidentally or deliberately – as a sort of punishment or mischief – your flashing credit goes down the drain. So it is a game of speed.

An extended use of the flashing technique plays out when the younger intend sending the older a free electronic SOS which could be equivalent to a telegram message that sounds like: please call me.

Segun flashed a smile and then withdrew to his sofa to reminiscent on the series of happenstance, as the Americans will say, that had brought him thus far with the beautiful and talented AY. Only a month into the relationship and the developments seemed built over years. The way nature arranged the events and their rolling out, scene upon scene and act upon act, made Segun conclude: 'God is arranging the circumstances to prove a point.'

'And what is the point?'

'This lady is meant for me.'

'Are you sure? Has that conclusion passed the joy and peace test?'

'My peace seemed a bit withdrawn about it. But does it really matter? Time can take care of that.'

'You are treading on a dangerous path, Segun, you are!'

'Allow me please!' and with that he ended the conversation with his conscience.

His mother, Mama Sola, came visiting two hours later. Her furrowed face bore the concern of the severing relationship between Segun and his father. Baba Segun lay critically ill at the General Hospital, Oke-Ijeun. He had been there for two weeks but Segun did not bother to send a word, much less a visit. The gap between him and his father, created at the pre-introduction, yawned by the day. Things were making a turn for the worse and Mama Segun could bear it no longer. She had come in the company of her last born, Sola.