CHAPTER 4 – BATTLE OF THE BRETHREN

©OPEYEMI AKINTUNDE
AS INSPIRED BY THE CREATIVE ONE

Offerings and Side-Eyes

5 weeks Later

You know how there are some Sundays you don’t forget?

That Sunday? Legendary.

It was Testimony & Thanksgiving service—the kind that comes with matching Ankara, dancing with baskets of yam, and that one uncle who always forces his way to the mic to shout “He who has done it again will do it again again again!”

T.J. came to church in a clean lilac gown, scarf tied low, no makeup as usual, but she had this fresh-face kind of glow..like she slept inside Psalm 23.

Me I was just arranging Mama’s fan and handkerchief when Daddy G.O climbed the altar for the word of encouragement before offering. But the thing he said next?

Na there the fire started to spread.

“Some of us gave our offerings from our bank accounts… but one person gave his or hers from her soul.”
Daddy G.O paused, holding up a white sheet of paper.

“The writer didn’t put a name. But the accounting department brought this to me just now. Alongside his or her financial offering, he or she added a thanksgiving love letter to God… on behalf of all of us.”

He glanced at the paper again, his voice softening.

I give you my all, Lord. I am thanking you for this church. Thank You for Daddy G.O and Mummy G.O. Thank You… Thank You for the families in church.”

He looked up.
“You see… that’s an offering God cannot ignore.”

Gbam.

The room went silent . The keyboardist even froze. Then a slow clap started from the right. Everyone looked around.

And you know church people…they always know who you’re talking about.

Two rows in front of me, I saw Edna’s shoulder jerk. She turned her face, but the tightness in her lips said everything.

T.J. sat still. No smiling. No blushing. Just… peace. That girl sabi mind her business sha. And that’s what made it worse.

If she had stood up to bask in the glory or acted too holy-holy, maybe people would brush it off. But no. She just sat there like “This kind of attention wasn’t in my plan.”

Which made people love her more.

Which made Edna more annoyed.

---

After the service, I was walking past the youth canopy when I caught part of a conversation.

“Abeg abeg, what kind of seed is that?”
“Is it not drama to be writing such deep things inside offering envelope?”
“This generation and attention seeking…”

I knew that voice.

Edna.

She wasn’t loud. But she didn’t need to be. She had mastered the art of “Holy Shade.”

I passed quietly, pretending not to hear, but I knew what she was doing.

T.J. had entered the spiritual spotlight, and it was not on Edna’s schedule.

---

By evening, a new nickname was trending among the choir group:
“Seed Writer.”
As in, “Don’t come and be writing seed like that new sister o. We too can write touching things inside our envelopes.”

They laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

That must have been how Cain started…with jokes.
With comparison….With God favouring someone’s offering more than yours.

And the only thing Cain could think of was not to do better…
But to make the other person disappear.

Wahala.

---

Mama called me to her room around 8pm.

“Who wrote that offering line?”

I told her quietly.
She nodded. Slowly.

Then after a pause, she said:

“She’s stirring spirits.”

I replied, “Good or bad?”

Mama didn’t answer.

She just said, “Watch. People like that never go unnoticed in church. Heaven notices. Hell notices. Humans? They hate what they can’t explain..and that hate if not handled quickly, can turn deadly. They either silence it physically or spiritually. The Pharisees and the Sadducees did not understand Jesus, so they sought to kill him… People kill what they don’t understand”

She was right.

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

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