The Marriage Counsellor

My hands were sweaty in anticipation as I sat behind the mahogany desk that vested me with authority. It didn’t happen always, I didn’t get nervous over counseling sections often. I had been a marriage counselor in the church for seven years. The way it went in my church; you applied for the position, with reasons why you wanted to serve in that department of the church.
I still remembered the day I sent in my application. One moment I was cuddled up in bed with my favourite blanket and favorite Gary Chapman book, feeling floozy and lovey, the next I was considering how beautiful it would be to make a side career from being a marriage counselor. A Christian marriage counselor. I sent in an application on that whim however I would later refer to it as the spirit of God in me, conveniently forgetting a lot of things that had happened in my life that led to that flashlight moment.
My application went through and my interview was smooth; I was exactly the kind of person they needed on the team; dynamic, not-too-old, knowledgeable, zealous and passionate about relationships and God.
“I think the church has gotten to an extent where we are slack about the relationships we keep. There’s no seeing eye, no one fears God anymore to think about what they do in their relationships. God is invisible to them, we are the god they see. We are the ones to censor whatever goes on when they leave the church premises and go back to their lives out there. I am willing to give my all to make sure that there is no unequal yoking going on in church and there are no games being played behind our backs.” That was the speech that won over the Pastors who interviewed me. A speech that whenever I recalled, I always smiled, giving myself a mental high-five.
I liked to think that it was that same memorable speech that got me steadily climbing the ladder till I was made second-in-command on the Marriage Committee. Deputy Head Counselor, a title I wore with…pride. The good kind of pride, as expected. I was a Christian and pride was not a part of the fruit of the spirit.
I shuffled the papers before me, trying to look important, trying to not show how nervous I was to start this session.
“Sister Jumoke, are you okay?” it was Mrs Nike speaking. She had wide teeth I thought looked like a rabbit’s. Her makeup was always bland, a dash of talcum powder, no doubt and then lip gloss as light as vaseline applied on her thick lips. And yet she was married. It beat me how God worked. I knew I wasn’t exactly Miss World, but then again I wasn’t Miss Ugly, I didn’t have rabbit teeth and didn’t use makeup like a morgue attendant. So, what was wrong with me? I often wondered when I looked at her.
“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to pretend I appreciated her kindness. Another reason I wasn’t really comfortable with her was because she had been passed over for The Deputy Head position and it had been handed to me.
It was no secret that the position was the most envied position after the Head Counselor; the Deputy Head was powerful enough to determine if a wedding would hold in church or not. Sometimes desperate couples bombarded the Head Counselor and Deputy Counselor with ‘gifts’ while hinting on what they actually wanted from them.
Once, in my short tenure as Deputy, a sister who’d been undergoing counseling with us had approached me and offered to ‘take me shopping’ and ‘spoil’ me as ‘directed by the Holy Spirit’. The reason for this she later confessed to me was that she had discovered she was pregnant and needed my help to cover it up for her wedding to go on.
“So you’re telling me the Holy Spirit directed you to commit fornication then bribe me to help you cover up the consequences?” I asked.
“No ma…erm…please…”
“Don’t ‘ma’ me!” I yelled more annoyed at being called ma than anything. Did the position come with such salty respect or did I look that old? “It is people like you that are desecrating the house of God, tarnishing the image of Christianity.”
“No, please! I beg you…in the name of God, just help me. if we don’t get married soon, it will…the pregnancy would start showing and…my father will…please ma, just help me for God’s sake.” she was almost kneeling, her lips quivering.
“Was I there when you were doing the deed?” I asked, my voice tinged with contempt. “You dare bribe a servant of God and blame it on the Holy Spirit? Jesus Christ!”
“No…it was the…devil. Yes, the work of the devil.”
I didn’t tell her I envied her. That the real reason for my self-righteousness was because she had what I didn’t. A man to love her, to want her, to touch her. She had a baby growing inside her!
I was thirty-six, never been touched by a man, never experienced an orgasm in my lifetime. The closest I’d come to pleasure were those moments in my bathtub at home, imagining Bro Terence with my fingers groping.
Bro. Terence who was due to arrive any moment for his marriage classes to begin.
Bro. Terence, tall and good-looking whom I had wanted from the first time I heard him sing, yet he never noticed me. Whenever our paths crossed, he greeted me with a slight head bow and a ‘ma’ attached.
The first day he called me ‘ma’, I had gone home and cried myself to sleep. Was I that old, that unappealing? I wondered. Did he now see me as his mother instead of as a woman?
I wasn’t much older than him for Chrissakes! And looking at his file before me now, I saw he was even a year older than I was. How. Dare. He. Ma. Me!
“Ahem.” the sound snapped me out of my semi-trance.
I looked up. The couple was just entering.
My eyes drank in Bro. Terence, dressed in a white U.S.A T-shirt and jeans with blue sneakers, giving him a casual but ‘hot’ look. His haircut was the same; adult punk. He had well-shaped fingers that I often imagined in my lonely nights, dancing across my thighs, squeezing my nipples.
Fingers I wanted to kiss.
Sighing, I shifted my gaze to the lady. Sister Angela was her name in the file but when I saw her, something in me snapped.
****
More than a decade ago, I had been in love with a wonderful man. Or so I thought.
Tunji was my first and so far, only love. I was a new convert, a babe in the faith when he’d approached me. He was the Brothers Coordinator of the fellowship, the crush of every sister. Tall, handsome, Holy Ghost filled and tongue-tongueing.
I was no exception. I fell hard when he came to me.
“I see you in my future,” he’d said as we sat in the school’s Love Garden one evening.
My heart raced. I knew God had promised me a husband if I followed Him diligently but I didn’t know it would happen so fast…I was barely six months in the faith.
“You’ re special Jummy,” he continued, his fingers entwining mine. “You and I together, can fulfill purpose.”
The word ‘purpose ‘ rang in my head. We’d been talking a lot about that in church recently, how we had to find the purpose we were on earth. We were studying Rick Warren’s The Purpose -Driven Life at the time.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning his dreamy eyes on me.
“I…I’ll think about it.” I replied.
“Think, but not too much. Praying is more important.”
I blushed then. Could life get any better?
I did neither praying nor thinking, instead I fantasized. Whenever we were in church, I would stare at the back of his head thinking :
“He chose me! Out of all these sisters, he came to me!”

We started dating a month later and it wasn’t difficult to imagine him in my future. A future we spent every second planning for, we would sit on his bed in his room, leaning against each other, talking, naming kids we didn’t have, discussing in-laws we hadn’t met.
The crown of it all was he never made a move towards sex. When we first began, he had held my hands, looked me in the eye and said;
“I will not touch you inappropriately Jummy. I respect you and would want to see where God takes us with this relationship.”
I knew how many sisters in the fellowship lamented about their boyfriends and how they demanded for sex, I remembered the many nights I thanked God for the man I had.
We were three years into our relationship when Toke joined the fellowship. Toke, who looked good in mini skirts or Mary-Amakas. She didn’t have to wear mini skirts to be every brother’s fantasy, all she had to do was just be her. And then she had the charisma of Margaret Thatcher. She was outspoken, the kind who could stand up in church and give a word of prophecy without balking.
I didn’t think much of her at first, until she was made the sister’s coordinator few months after she joined. Tunji had just graduated then but was called back as an alumni to give a three day seminar to incoming excos.
Perhaps I should have seen it coming, but I did not. Soon, Tunji was spending less time with me and more time elsewhere.
It wasn’t long before he told me it wasn’t working between us.
“What do you mean it’s not working?” I asked, almost hysterical. I had given him my all, for the future he promised.
“I mean, I think God is leading me elsewhere. I don’t want to hurt you, Jummy,” he had the good grace to look contrite.
“The same God who led you to me, made a mistake before? Or did you just see someone with wider hips and decide you’d fulfill purpose better with her?” Even then, I knew somehow that there was someone else.
I didn’t know it was Toke until three months after we broke up. I was still depressed, dressing like a homeless person. I saw them leaving the cinema together, laughing and holding each other.
I turned and walked away, not wanting to be seen.

Toke’s face was forever etched in my memory.
And now I’m looking in a face; Angela’s face, and I see it’s none other than Toke. Toke, the one who’d taken Tunji from me, had done same to Terrence.
How had Terrence found her? Of all the women in our church, why had he gone outside and picked this relationship wrecker?
I stared at her, checking to see if she recognized me. I didn’t expect her to anyway, I was faceless to her. She had never bothered to know whose man she was stealing when she did.
Looking at her now, she hadn’t changed much. Yes, she was older, but she still had that slutty-sisterly quality about her. I could see why men would be attracted to her.
I zoned out as I listened to the remaining counselors ask them questions. I looked at Bro Terrence and saw Tunji. Tunji, who I gave three years of my life to and suddenly couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Tunji who had made me become obsessed with relationships and what went wrong with them. Tunji who made me take up this position as marriage counselor, because the only way I could see myself being a part of any marriage was by doing what I did. Being an outsider looking in. Years had gone by, I was thirty-six; an old maid and the best I had done was masturbate myself to sleep.
And then it occurred to me at that moment; who was I keeping myself for? It had stopped being about God a long time ago, everything about my life was no longer about God. It was fake, God was the facade I used to hide my flaws.
The reason I had wanted to become a counselor was not because of God, the reason I obstructed weddings and refused to budge when bribed was not because I was noble; it was because I was powerful. I loved the power, I loved knowing that I had the fate of a couple in my hands. Like now.
It was time to crush Toke and Terence.
I looked up, smiling in my heart;
“Are you a virgin?” I asked, directing the question at Toke, who sat cross-legged in her knee-length skirt.
She blinked, then glanced at Terrence.
I could feel the eyes of my colleagues on me. This was not part of the script.
“Please answer the question, sister.” I prodded.
“I…I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she said, mild irritation showing in her voice.
“Do you want to marry this man or not?” I asked, unfazed.
“Yes.”
“Then answer.”
“No, I’m not,” she mumbled.
“Have you ever been pregnant?”
This time there was an audible sound from my colleagues. Toke was looking at me, frozen.
“Why are you asking her that?” Mrs Adejumo passed a note to me.
“As the spirit leads.” I replied.
Infact, it was no spirit. When Tunji had jilted me for Toke years ago, I had made it a mission to keep tabs on their lives, especially Toke.
I knew she had gotten pregnant at some point in their relationship; that she had gotten rid of the baby was a tidbit that I had happened upon by chance. The doctor who had performed the abortion was a friend of my sister’s.
“Angie, please answer,” I saw Terence nudge her.
“You want to marry this man, don’t you? ” I asked again. “The key to a happy marriage is communication. It is getting rid of all secrets before you walk down the aisle.”
There was a pleading look in her eyes as she looked at me. Her lips quivered as she said;
“Yes, I have.”
From the look on Terence’s face, I knew he had no idea. Strike one.
“What happened to the baby?” I continued.
Terrence was staring at her, like he was seeing her for the first time.
“I…I don’t have to answer that. It’s…private,” she stuttered.
By now, everyone was curious, waiting in hushed silence.
“Let me help you answer it then. You had an abortion, yes? During which your womb was damaged. Sister Toke, you can’t have children, can you?” I didn’t blink as I let the words leave my mouth.
There was a gasp from somewhere in the room.
Terrence stood abruptly, his face a mirror of the pain I felt years ago. Strike two.
“Is that true?” he bellowed, turning to her.
“Terry, please. Just…just hear me out…please…” she stood too, a hand on his arm. Tears streaming down her face.
“And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell me! God! I can’t handle this right now!” With that Terence stormed out of the room.
Toke glanced at me once, pain and anger written all over her face.
“You think I don’t remember you? You exposed yourself the moment you called me Toke. No wonder Tunji left you! No wonder you’re still alone after all these years! Your heart is wicked!” with that she rushed out after Terence.
Her words sank into me like water into a sponge.
Strike three and…out.

Mimi. A.

The Club Of God-fearing Men- 13

Silence reigned for a few seconds after he dropped by the bombshell. He waited, tense, sneaking a look at Lola’s face.
Suddenly the tension broke as she burst into laughter.
Genesis let a smile loose as he watched her throw her head back, tears peeking out of her eyelids.
‘You’re kidding right?’ she asked in-between bouts of uncontrolled laughter.
‘Er…what do you think?’ he was trying to read this woman. She didn’t seem like the average woman who got thrown off-balance by sweet talk.
‘I think you’re crazy or stupid. Or delusional.’ She cocked an eyebrow at him, ‘you’ve known me what – all of two weeks, yeah? And you’re already seeing vision? When I’m not mammy water or Miss World?’
He smiled then. He had to admit, her sense of humour was infectious.
‘So you don’t think you’re beautiful, is that it?’ he asked, still playing it cool.
‘On the contrary, I think I’m gorgeous. But I also don’t think anyone can possibly have visions about a woman he barely knows. Come on, all we’ve talked about is bible and church. So what about me is so adorable, apart from my nice ass?’ she wiggled her forefinger at him.
‘You. That. That amazing sense of humour. I admit you’ve got a nice ass…I mean, who won’t notice? He winked at her. ‘But you’ve got something more…you’re smart, you love God. You are hot. That combination is the bomb. I mean, what’s not to like?’
She laughed again, her right hand tucked beneath her chin as she looked at him.
‘I take exception to being called hot, by the way.’
‘Yes ma’am,’ he actually enjoyed listening to her talk, and she had taken his mind of Abbey at least.
‘Now that’s cleared…can we continue with our lesson?’
‘What’s cleared? You didn’t give me an answer, woman.’
‘An answer to what, Genesis? Don’t do this abeg, or…’
‘Or what?’
‘I might have to put in a request for a change…if we can’t make this work,’ it was the first time he had seen her looking so solemn.
‘Just one dinner, Lola. Let’s get to know each other better. You are, after all my new best friend, right?’
‘Genesis.’
‘Once. It’ll be fun, I promise. Look at me now, I’m Mister Fun Guy.’
‘Fine. One dinner. And it’s not a date. Now, can we go back to our lesson?’
‘Yes ma’am.’

****
‘The babe dey form like say my chest no impress her…’ Tango was saying.
They were at an isi ewu joint in the area; Chris had just been paid salary and had offered to take them out for goat head and drinks.
As usual, the topic of discussion was their recent escapades and how far they’d gone in their game.
‘Wait T, you showed her your chest?’ Chris asked, nursing a bottle of Star.
‘Accidentally,’ Tango grinned, showing off a set of shallow dimples.
‘Abeg how persin dey take show persin chest accidentally eh? Abeg enlighten us…I wan learn.’ Sly munched away on his meat.
‘She been come my house…’
‘Wait, your house already? Bros, you sure say that geh na true spirikoko?’ Genesis interrupted.
‘I don dey her case for three weeks now o. Besides, I had to lie that I was sick to get her to come,’ he winked.
‘Correct, guy!’ Sly hailed.
‘So di geh show o. Omo, I tink say she go carry food flask come, as per sick persin. Omo, babe carry big Bible come o. And me I been dey without shirt, dey reason say if she come, she go play mother and then one thing go lead to another na…chai, na dat day I know say Nollywood sabi lie! If na Desmond Elliot do dat kain tin, na so di geh go fall sharply like persin wey no get gravity. Mtchew.’
His friends burst into laughter at his words.
‘Na you be mumu for believing Nollywood,’ Genesis chuckled.
‘Na you sabi.’
‘Oya continue…’ Chris urged him.
‘Di babe no even look my chest twice. She just stand for door talk say make I wear shirt before she go enter.’
‘Erm… but wait o T. Wetin be the babe name? Shebi you’ve known her for three weeks? Why you still calling her ‘babe’?’ Genesis didn’t know why it suddenly rattled him the way Tango referred to the girl. He had done it himself several times before; referring to the girl he was sleeping with as something impersonal like ‘babe’ or ‘chic’. It helped him keep an emotional distance, no strings attached so that it was easier walking away when he needed to. He didn’t do pet names or endearments; he didn’t ‘baby’ anyone and let no one ‘baby’ him either. The moment a girl started calling him ‘baby’, honey or whatever; he knew it was time to call it quits. Once, a girl he had been sleeping with started referring to him as ‘Poo-pooey’ in her text messages and Genesis had immediately screened her number. What the heck was poo-pooey?
‘Since when did names matter?’ Tango was saying.
‘I dunno…I just think it sounds…disrespectful especially since you’ve known her er…’ Genesis paused, uncomfortable. What was he getting at sef?
‘G-man, you well so?’ Sly asked. ‘We don’t care about her name. It’s just a freaking game! When he’s gotten what he wants, he’s out. So why use her name when she’s not even his girlfriend?’
The logic made perfect sense, or it would have on another day. But today, it just didn’t sit well with Genesis.
‘I just think…what if she was your sister and…some guy referred to her like…that?’ he pressed.
‘Dude, you did not think about that when we were agreeing to nail a spiri-koko sister o. Why is it important now? Wetin dey do you sef? You get belle?’ Sly snickered.
‘Ah…I think Genesis has a point,’ Chris spoke up in his quiet baritone. ‘Even if it is a game, the least we could do is remember that these girls are human beings…it’s not too much to ask to use their names in a conversation. They’re not inanimate objects.’
‘Biko, pause with that your grammar, Chris. This thing is not a big deal. Shebi na my babe she be? Then I will call her whatever the heck I want. O pari.’ Tango’s eyes flared briefly as he spoke.
Genesis sighed. He couldn’t understand what he had been fussing about but to him it suddenly mattered. He couldn’t picture himself calling Lola anything other than her name. Maybe it was because they had taken a more personal approach. It wasn’t just like the normal chase, this was different.
Their table went into an uncomfortable silence after the semi- brawl and Genesis found himself looking at his friends in a new light.
He had known Tango for five years now and he remembered when he’d first met him; at a club, charming the girls off their feet. He had liked the guy’s magnetic pull. There were always ladies around him and he oozed a type of confidence that was attractive. And yet when Genesis got closer to him, he saw that that was all he was- body, muscles and looks. His confidence came from his looks, and all he talked about was girls.
Whenever Genesis wanted to have an intelligent conversation, he went to Chris. Chris, the quiet intellectual one. Ordinarily, he wasn’t Genesis type; he preferred the boisterous outgoing guys as friends, but he was drawn to Chris’ ingenuity.
They had met at NYSC camp, they had been in the same platoon and had both represented their platoon in the debate competition. That was where Genesis had gotten interested in Chris and he had not known the relationship would last this long.
Sly was the oldest of Chris’ friends. They had gone to school together, studied the same course, but where Genesis was genuinely interested in engineering, Sly preferred clubbing.
It occurred to Genesis as he sat with them, gulping down drinks and exchanging small chit-chat, that something was going on in him that he could not explain. Whether he liked it or not, he was yet to find out.

Unholy

Here folks, a short story to compensate for the long break from our beloved Genesis.

Ada shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the Pastor spoke. She wondered why the man kept punctuating his sentences with fornication.
Forni-cation. Funny-cassion. Foni-cashun.
The word turned around in her head. This was her fourth Sunday attending the church and the man’s sermons seemed to revolve around that topic. Like it was the only sin that riddled the ‘body of Christ’.
“When you go to a brother’s house at night, don’t you know you’re inviting sin? Inviting forni-cation?” the Pastor yelled.
Ada wanted to tell him that even when you went in the afternoon, when the sun was at its peak, fornication was always invited. Sometimes it came uninvited, unbidden, unannounced.
She could testify to that. She let her eyes stray to the choir stand, it was somewhere she’d been avoiding since the Pastor started screaming funny-cassion. But now as she dared look, she moistened her lips as the memories bombarded her.
It was supposed to be an interview, an opportunity to know more about the choir, to know how well she could sing, to know how motivated she was to join the choir.
It was her friend Nene, who was in the choir who had suggested that she join. She had even introduced her to the Music Director.
“It would help you develop your voice and work for God,” Nene said with excitement.
Nene was very good at convincing people so she had stood no chance when the girl had embarked on a join-the-choir crusade.
He had invited her to his house;
“I normally interview prospective choir members,” he said with an easy smile which made his face look better.
He had told her to come by 2pm on Saturday because he had rehearsals by 5pm that evening.
As she looked at him now, sitting in the front row, eyes fixed intently on the Pastor, she wondered how someone could be so ugly and yet so beautiful.
She recalled the hardness; of his chest and in his groin and she felt her body tingle.
She had gone to his house that day with all intentions to join the choir. She’d met him fully clothed and welcoming and she remembered thinking how his eyes were too close together. How he was too lanky with a tiny waist. She remembered thinking that God had probably compensated him for his looks by giving him the voice of a nightingale.

He had offered her a drink- Coke, if you please. Just to relax, before we get into business.
One hour went by and they had still not ventured into talking ‘business ‘, the more Ada tried to steer the conversation towards the choir, the more he pretended not to notice.
“Tell me about your family. How many siblings do you have?”
She wondered what her family had to do with her singing capacity.
And then he had gotten up at a point and turned on the stereo.
“Music, good for the soul.” he said.
He forgot to add for the body too.
It had happened in a flash, like she saw in the movies; one moment they had been sitting on the rugged floor, talking about mundane things, non-sexual or romantic things, and then the next his mouth had covered hers. Abruptly silencing her.
That was what thrilled her, the fact that he didn’t ask permission, that he took without asking.
The Pastor was right; stolen bread was indeed sweet.
At first she didn’t think, she couldn’t. He was kissing her senseless. His tongue playing with hers in a way she had never, never imagined.
And when she eventually began to gather her wits, he stopped.
She was breathless. His kiss had done that to her. She shut her eyes like a virgin, unsure and ashamed of herself. Ashamed that she had let him. And yet not wanting the moment to end.
And like he’d read her thoughts, he leaned in for another kiss. This time she welcomed him.
By the time his hands strolled to her green blouse and fumbled with her buttons, she knew she had no willpower to stop him.
And when he entered her, she screamed Jesus first, then his name, all in one breath.
Odogwu!
Thankfully the stereo was loudly blasting Frank Edwards ‘Thank God I Made It’.
Ada remembered thinking how ironic it was that they’d made love with that song playing in the background.
By the time they lay spent on the red rug, Ada imagined that the rug smelled of sex, of sin.
The next time she really looked at him, she saw not his ugliness, but a certain beauty. A beauty that came from giving pleasure.
And she wondered again, whether this was how the Spirit led people.
After having mind-blowing sex with the man and screaming his name in ecstasy, they would conclude that they were being led to marry him.
It had to be blasphemy; it had to be sin to get such fulfilment from sex. No wonder God had restricted it to marriage.

“So, did I pass the interview?” she turned to him, hoping he had enjoyed it as much as she had. She wasn’t an expert, not like him anyway considering that the number of lovers she’d had could be counted on just one hand.
He nuzzled her earlobe, tickling her.
By the time they went for the second round, Ada was convinced she would marry him. After all, a good marriage was sustained by a great sex life. If only she could have this for the rest of her life; she knew she would worship him. Worship at the altar of his little god- which was actually quite big.
And every night – and day maybe – he would take her to heaven.

“So what are we now?” she whispered, her feet curling into his.

“One,” he replied, kissing her again.
She chuckled to herself as she looked at him with his bushy eyebrows, looking so prim, proper and holy in his white plaid shirt.
She planned to visit him after service today, later this evening. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since their encounter a week ago.
She had to convince him that they were just right together.
Her attention was jerked back to the service as the Pastor said he had an announcement to make.
“There’s a wedding in our church. Pra-ise da Lord!”

She joined in the resounding hallelujah.
“Two of our members are tying the knot in a few months. They just informed me. Let us rejoice with Brother Odogwu, our able Music director, a man after my heart. He will be getting married to Sister Mariam. Please step forward both of you.”

As both parties approached the altar, Brother Odogwu beaming with pride and Sister Mariam, a shy petite woman clad in a sweeping skirt; there was a commotion at the back of the church.
It seemed a sister had just fainted or fallen under the anointing; no one could tell for sure.

THE END

Mimi. A ( C) 2014