CHAPTER 1 – “BATTLE OF THE BRETHREN”

©OPEYEMI AKINTUNDE
AS INSPIRED BY THE CREATIVE ONE

When She Walked In…

You know that feeling when PHCN ( Power Company) brings light after two straight days of darkness? That shift in the air, the brightness…that’s how it felt the first Sunday she showed up.

I was at the media desk, asking Bro Jude; Head of Media why the projector was not coming up. My Name is Mabel: Mummy G.O’s P.A… I am many things to Mama… Her Gist Patner… Her Outfit checker…Her Spy… Her Ears , Mouth and Eyes. She had signaled to me to go check why the Projector wasn’t working. She didn’t have to speak, I understood every of her move. Apart from this, I am also a member of the Choir, and any group Mummy G.O wanted me to be… You get Right? I am sure you do.

Well, don’t get this twisted, this story isn’t about me, it’s about the girl who walked in.

Bro Jude was struggling with the projector remote (battery acting stubborn), when the left side door opened. Tall, slim, simple Ankara gown, face bare…no heavy makeup, yet something glowed. She didn’t strut; she kind of glided, like she knew where every pew leg was before her feet landed.

Nobody announced her. No “first-timers please rise.” Still, heads turned as if a silent bell tolled.

Daddy G.O. was halfway through a story…how he missed a flight because the Holy Spirit said “wait.” Mid-sentence, he paused, eyes flicked to the left. Only two seconds, but I caught it. My job is noticing things.

Ushers offered her a middle-row seat. She smiled that quiet “thanks” smile and sat. End of story, right? Except when prayer moved to tongues, wahala ( trouble) started.

Most people did the usual mutter-mutter. But this new lady’s voice…low but steady…rose like a cello in the background. Not loud, just deep, bass like a male’s voice, a voice that must have mastered the art of prayer so much, it had deepened. I felt goosebumps creep under my jacket. The brother beside her opened one eye, glanced, then shut it fast, as if looking at her might blind him.

Service closed. I intentionally carried visitor’s slips and went straight to her (Remember Mama would want to know the deets about her). She filled hers quick: TIJESUNI ADEYEMI (T.J.). Address: No. 14, Peace Bello Avenue. Phone. 0811234…. Occupation: Creative Designer. I wanted to ask “Graphic or fashion?” but more people were calling me, so I pocketed the question. Something I noticed when I was with her… there was an atmosphere of prayer around her, you had the urge to speak in tongues, or find a quiet place and talk to your creator.

I quickly excused myself as I had to get back to Mama.

By the stairs that leads to Mama’s Office, choir leader Edna cornered me.

“Mabel, who’s that new chick?”

Her tone was light; her eyes were not.

I shrugged. “First timer. Cool vibes.”

Edna nodded, but her lips pressed thin like she’d bitten unripe mango. That was my first alert. Edna was the Choir Leader, one of the ancient members of the church, You know those who were born and raised in the church, those who could give you a lecture about how the church came into existence, those who will tell you how they carried the blocks used in building the mighty edifice on their heads when they were kids. You sabi them abi? ( You know them right?)

Meanwhile, T.J. lingered, greeting random teens, helping grandma Kosoko. Every handshake looked like electricity jumping terminals. People smiled wider after going over to her to greet her, and I am sure they couldn’t even explain why.

On my way to Mama’s office, I overheard two ushers whisper:

“See how atmosphere change…the girl carry something.”

“Abi o! Hope she humble sha… choir people fit beef her.”

” Yes ooo” I silently agreed with her . Beef already marinating. Everyone knew that the Choir-stand was the unofficial administrative headquarters. They legit decide the fate of members, Pastors, workers…everyone. Once beef starts from the choir-stand against you, Know that you are on your way out of the church- Shamefully.

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Inside the admin block, Mama asked, “Who’s that lady?” I knew that was going to be the first question from her. She had discussing with Madam Stella when I walked in, so I stood waiting for her. The moment Madam Stella stepped out…the bomb of a question was launched at me with eyes like guns…

I gave a short brief. Mama nodded, reached for her handbag, then gave a long sigh; the kind of sigh that means watch that space.

Later that evening, while locking Mama’s office door, I thought of her again.

T.J! That was her Initial she put there. Tijesuni means “She Belongs to Christ”.

No thunder, no scripture-quoting, but my spirit kept replaying her calm, bass-rich prayer. Something told me this guest wasn’t just passing through.

In other words, Dear reader, drama had stepped into the building wearing sky-blue Ankara.

And trust me, our church was not ready.

To be continued… ( TO PAY FOR THE THE FULL ACESS TO THE E-COPY of this Story, Kindly Chat +234-9069926797 to pre-order your copy)

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