–SUNDAY SERVICE AND SMALL SMALL DISGRACE
Dust and Silk
Sunday morning arrived like a knock on the head.
Amaka woke up to the sound of her mother's voice ringing through the compound like a megaphone.
"Amaka! Wake up! You think Jesus will wait for you because you want to sleep?"
"Mummy please…" Amaka groaned from her mat.
"Get up and get dressed! The kingdom of God suffereth violence but this girl will suffer slap if you don't get up now!"
Within minutes, Amaka was inside the bathroom with cold water shocking her back to life. She got dressed in a fitted blue gown that stopped right below her knees—approved length—while her mother tied her white scarf tightly like she was going to war.
"Amaka, go and tell your father we're ready," Mama said while applying powder aggressively to her face.
Amaka rolled her eyes but obeyed. She hated calling him.
That man might've shared blood with her, but he was no father.
He'd disappeared when she was barely out of diapers, and now he hid in their house like a broken chair nobody wanted to throw away.
"we're going to church," she called.
No answer. Of course.
She didn't knock again.
She went back to the sitting room. "Mummy, he didn't answer."
Mama hissed. "Let him stay there! Ashamed of the disgrace he brought on himself. A whole man hiding like rat in my own house. Nonsense."
They stepped out of the house. The sun was gentle, the road half-busy, and people in their Sunday best filled the path toward the village church.
As they entered the church compound, Amaka immediately noticed the buzz.
People were whispering, heads turning, lips moving fast.
"Is he coming today?"
"Dem say he go attend second service."
"I heard the pastor invited him personally."
Amaka turned to Ngozi, who had just arrived with her own mother.
"This man has started trending in church," Amaka said.
Ngozi shook her head. "He hasn't even stepped inside and people are already planning what to wear next week."
They slid into their usual seats at the youth corner, but Amaka's ears stayed open.
Her mother had gone to greet her best friend Mama Gloria at the women's side.
Ngozi leaned close. "You remember that woman fight yesterday?"
"How can I forget?" Amaka replied.
They turned to a soft-faced church girl beside them, one of those girls who was always nice but never fully in the circle.
"You don hear wetin happen in our compound yesterday?" Amaka asked, eyes glittering.
The girl shook her head. "No o."
Ngozi grinned. "Yeh! Let me gist you."
And they told her. Every slap, every insult. By the time they reached the part where Mama Ejike called Adaora's private part 'public toilet,' the girl covered her mouth in shock.
Amaka suddenly slapped her forehead. "I forgot to tell my mummy the gist!"
They all laughed.
Service began.
The choir sang with too much passion. The drummer was off-beat. One woman in the choir was doing runs like she thought she was on The Voice Nigeria.
Then the pastor climbed the pulpit.
"Today, we are talking about tho Testimonies," he announced.
He looked around. "If the Lord has done something for you, come out and share."
As if on cue, five women stood up and began marching forward like soldiers.
Ngozi whispered, "These women no dey fear shame."
The first woman started.
"Praise the Lord! Last week, my son swallowed a coin. I prayed. I fasted. I called mountain of fire hotline. And behold! He passed it out the next morning!"
The congregation clapped.
The second woman spoke.
"My husband used to be stingy with money. But last night, after I tied anointing oil on his boxer, he sent me ten thousand naira. Praise Master Jesus!"
People laughed.
The third woman adjusted her blouse nervously.
"Praise the Lord. I was having a strange dream. Every night, I see myself dancing in a shrine. But after our last deliverance service, the dream changed. Now I am dancing in a wedding gown!"
The entire church roared.
The fourth woman came with a serious face.
"Praise the Lord. I want to thank God because my neighbour has finally left my husband alone. Every time I fry akara now, my husband stays home. Before, he was always smelling of someone else's stew. Hallelujah!"
People were crying with laughter.
The final woman came to the front.
"Brethren, I want to give God glory. Because I had body odor for 17 years. I used everything. Soap, powder, lime. But last week I rubbed anointing oil mixed with Robb. Since then, I've been smelling like apple."
At that point, even the pastor had to bend his head to laugh.
Amaka and Ngozi were shaking, barely breathing.
By the end of service, the man everyone was talking about still hadn't arrived.
"He no come," Ngozi said as they walked out.
"Maybe God told him the church too hot for him today," Amaka replied.
They walked home, mothers ahead of them, heads held high.
The village was mad, dramatic, and loud.
And somehow, they loved every second of it.
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