CHAPTER FOUR
Elijah
He can make men dance
upon the brink of hell as though
they were on the verge of heaven.- Spurgeon
The first rays of morning pierce the room, slipping through the half-drawn curtains like a gentle caress. Elijah opens his eyes, savoring the early light’s peaceful stillness. He rises and stretches, luxuriating in the familiar sensation of freedom against his skin. Elijah prefers sleeping nude, relishing the unencumbered embrace of the morning air.
The full-length mirror in the sitting room captures a reflection of striking handsomeness. Elijah pauses, examining himself with satisfaction. His looks eclipse those of most men in the country, which he acknowledges with pride. His exceptional endowment only heightens his sense of superiority. On the bed behind him, two beautiful women lie tangled in the sheets, oblivious to the truth about him that would surely send them running.
To countless Nigerians, Elijah is an incorrigible womanizer, yet he commands respect as a revered minister of God. His ability to captivate married or single women is legendary, and his supposed miracles keep his philandering ways from tarnishing his reputation. Many of his pastors and the Tabernacle elders mimic his lifestyle, just as his master desires.
Elijah’s mission, however, nears its end, a thought that stirs an unexpected pang of melancholy. He has grown accustomed to human life, relishing its pleasures and indulgences. He longs to continue this existence, but the unexpected alliance of John and Moses threatens everything. His master warned him of unforeseen challenges, yet he did not anticipate Moses—a key player in his script—making such a dramatic U-turn.
Though the situation is not beyond redemption, it grows increasingly precarious. Elijah initially dismisses John, believing this will eliminate his only worthy opponent. Now, he understands he must correct this oversight personally. Trusting the government, even with the president under his influence, is not an option. There are specific tasks he prefers not to delegate.
Elijah embarked on this assignment many Earth years ago, a task humans could never comprehend. Foolishly, they divide time into minutes, hours, and days, enslaved by the sun’s rotation. They have forgotten that time is eternal, that yesterday, today, and tomorrow are illusions. To them, time and space are constructs they can never escape.
He glances at the half-naked women still slumbering on the bed, a longing stirring within him. Created in God’s image, humans perpetually seek solutions to their problems from lesser beings like him. He should be grateful they have forgotten their true nature; otherwise, his job would be infinitely more challenging. The world remains within their grasp despite the presence of angels like Compassion, who are presently living among them. Humanity is too wayward to walk the righteous path.
Elijah is number thirteen in the hierarchy—not just an enforcer but a figure of unique significance in the dark kingdom’s structure. Completing this assignment will guarantee him a place among the elite twelve, where he will sit face-to-face with the master. He anticipates this honor and will not let John or any so-called born-again Christians jeopardize that opportunity.
The assignment seems straightforward: infiltrate the leadership and corrupt the citizens with a twisted version of Christianity. Nigeria will be the launch pad for spreading his master’s reign globally. The first two tasks were almost effortless. The country is ripe for such manipulation, labeled the second most corrupt nation in the world. Elijah chuckles at the irony. If there is another more corrupt nation, he has yet to encounter it. Nigeria has been ripe for exploitation since the eighties.
Convincing people to accept him and his message is like leading lambs to slaughter. Many Nigerians harbor enough darkness within them to make Lucifer himself, Elijah’s master, envious. Despite this, Elijah cannot afford to wait nine months to be born like any other human. He needs to evolve instantly into a fully grown human being. Who knows what havoc those born-again Christians might wreak in that time? His master harbors deep distrust for these followers of the Messiah; they are dangerously unpredictable.
Elijah initially cannot fathom why he cannot deal decisively with ordinary humans. What is it about these born-agains that makes them so formidable? He believes he has neutralized that meddlesome Pastor Adam, yet the man makes a miraculous recovery with the support of his church members. Elijah wishes he could harness the same powers, seemingly more potent than his master’s, but such gifts are not meant for him. If he cannot kill these born-agains, he vows to make them suffer.
No one dares to question the authenticity of his origins. His numerous miracles ensure unquestioning belief. Even if they ever do, documents attesting to his birth will materialize in the right places with a snap of his fingers. He might have no parents or living relatives, but some will swear they had known him as a child. Such is the power of illusion and memory manipulation.
The day he arrives on Earth, rain pours from the heavens with a ferocity that darkens the sky. Thick clouds drape the country like a shroud. A few humans with spiritual insight realize the rain is no ordinary downpour. It is an ominous harbinger of something sinister.
The meddlesome Pastor Adam of the Vineyard organizes a week-long night vigil to avert the impending disaster. They might have succeeded if they had remained steadfast in their prayers. Elijah sends a spirit of confusion into their midst when the pastor leaves to retrieve some printed prayer points.
When the pastor returns, he finds an empty church. Poor man, Elijah muses, you should never have left your flock alone, knowing they lacked the spiritual fortitude for such a battle.
Without his congregation, the pastor stands no chance of victory. Tears stream down his face, not for himself, but for the soul of his country.
The city of Lagos lies shrouded in darkness, a suffocating blanket that obscures vision beyond a few feet. The rain hammers down relentlessly, its drumming rhythm amplifying the sense of impending doom. Elijah’s first stop is the central mosque on Lagos Island, where many people huddle together, seeking refuge from the storm.
Inside the mosque, bodies press against one another in the humid air, a palpable tension buzzing through the crowd. Elijah enters with calm authority, his presence barely noticeable amidst the chaos. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he calls upon the fury of the heavens.
A bolt of thunder shatters the air, a sound so sharp and sudden it seems to split the world in two. Five people collapse where they stand; their lives extinguished like candles in a gale. Panic spreads through the crowd like wildfire. When a second bolt strikes, claiming ten more lives, the mosque erupts into chaos. Screams and cries ricochet off the walls as people scramble for the exits, only to be swallowed by the impenetrable darkness outside.
Desperation drives them back inside, into the clutches of an unknown terror. They huddle together, eyes wide with fear, as yet another clap of thunder rolls across the heavens.
In the corner, Elijah sits smugly, savoring the spectacle. The fear and confusion around him seem to energize him, feeding the darkness that swirls within.
Amidst the chaos, a group of men approaches him, desperation etched into their faces. “How can you sit there so calmly while people are dying?” one demands, his voice a mix of anger and fear. “Do you have some death medicine? You’re not even praying!”
Elijah’s laughter slices through the noise, as sharp and cold as the storm outside. “Pray?” he echoes mockingly. “To whom shall I pray? I cannot pray to a God who stopped answering prayers long ago.”
“Who are you?” a bulky man asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“I am the only one who can make this madness go away, which you can do too if you pray to the right God,” Elijah replies, his words laced with challenge.
“Are you another Jonah who brought this calamity upon us?” another man shouts, panic rising as the heavens unleash another monstrous roar.
Ignoring the question, Elijah rises and walks to the door. The crowd parts for him to pass, curiosity and fear drawing them to the threshold, where they jostle for a view of his next move.
Standing in the rain-drenched street, Elijah raises his arms to the heavens, his silhouette stark against the storm’s fury. Lightning illuminates his form, casting an ethereal glow that blurs the line between this world and the next. Some onlookers swear his clothes darken to match the night, his body becoming transparent, like a ghost walking among men.
The storm’s rage frames him, each crack of lightning revealing a visage more otherworldly than before. His presence, more terrifying than the storm itself, attracts the crowd.
“Cease and fall no more,” Elijah commands, his voice slicing through the storm with an authority that defies explanation.
Instantly, the rain stopped. An eerie silence descends, heavier and more unsettling than the storm’s roar. The darkness lifts, and the sun breaks through the clouds, casting a warm glow over the city. The threatening waters that had surged towards the mosque retreat and vanish, leaving no trace of their fury.
In the space of ten minutes, the transformation is complete. The world has changed; the storm’s wrath erased as if it had never been. Those who witness it stand in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the power they have just seen unleashed.
Elijah stands firmly in the middle of the road, turning slowly as if surveying his dominion. With a deliberate motion, he points his right hand toward the mosque, and from his fingertips bursts a brilliant blue flame, crackling like an electrical storm. The current shoots out, and those gathered at the mosque’s entrance are knocked flat, sprawled on their backs as if swept by an invisible force.
The ethereal, flame-like charges dance around the bodies of the fallen, sparking and twining in an intricate pattern. As each charge encircles the lifeless forms, a miracle unfolds—the dead rise, one by one, their eyes wide with the wonder of renewed life. The witnesses, huddled in the mosque, are struck dumb, their voices snatched away by awe and terror.
Around Elijah, a crowd swells, drawn by the spectacle and the inexplicable power in their midst. Vehicles, once stalled by the chaos of the storm, resume their flow as though the madness of the past hour had been a mere illusion.
People throng closer to Elijah, an electrified mix of fear and curiosity etched on their faces. Journalists jostle for position, cameras flash, and a TV crew captures the unfolding drama.
“Listen, people,” Elijah’s voice booms with authority that demands attention. “I am who was, who is, and who will continue to be. I am the beginning and the end.”
“Are you a god?” a journalist shouts, fighting to steady himself as the crowd surges around him. In his struggle, his notebook slips from his grasp. With a subtle motion, Elijah clears a path through the crowd, leaving the journalist standing alone, his notebook at his feet. Elijah’s gesture beckons him closer.
“I am more than a god,” Elijah declares, his eyes piercingly on the journalist. His words hang in the charged air like an electric current. “I am a servant of the living one, the ruler of the heavens and earth.”
“Do you mean the Almighty God?” the journalist asks, breathless and wide-eyed, as he faces Elijah. Elijah scrutinizes the man, recognizing him as already touched by the divine truth he seeks to unveil.
“Which God are you talking about?” Elijah’s voice slices through the air, dripping with disdain. “The one you called on that never answered? My God is the one who responds with immediate effect. I am the One. The Holy book said, ‘Behold, I will send you Elijah the Prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord’—Malachi 4:5.”
The crowd murmurs, captivated by the audacity of his proclamation. Elijah’s presence, magnetic and commanding, holds them in thrall. The air crackles with anticipation.
“The fulfillment of that prophecy is happening in your presence today,” he continues, his voice rising in a crescendo of conviction. “I am here to deliver this country from poverty and disease. If you believe in the one who sent me, I will lead you out of your present Egypt to your Canaan. I will return your country to its past glory, lost through foolishness, pride, and the worship of the wrong God.”
With a flourish, Elijah distributes cards bearing the address of his Temple in Aja. The cards read, ‘The New Dawn Tabernacle: Temple of the Living One.’ The crowd, almost entranced, accepts the cards, their minds bending toward the promise of salvation Elijah offers. Unbeknownst to them, The New Dawn Tabernacle exists only in name—a vessel for Elijah’s grand design.
The next day, headlines screamed about the miraculous events at the central mosque. Front pages are dominated by stories of the midday madness and Elijah’s divine intervention. The newspapers hailed him as a deliverer, a savior who had come to lead the nation from its metaphorical Egypt into a promised Canaan. The legend of Elijah grows, glorifying him in the collective consciousness as the harbinger of a new dawn.
The image of the New Dawn Tabernacle dominates the front pages of countless newspapers, its sudden presence raising no eyebrows despite the mystery of its overnight emergence. Prophet John sits at his table, newspapers spread around him, each page echoing the same astonishing tales of miracles and divine intervention. He shakes his head in disbelief as he scans the headlines, each more fantastic than the last.
Meanwhile, Chief Oyekanmi, the head of the Ogunsola family, awakens to a surprise. A crisp cheque lies conspicuously on his dining table, its sum outrageous, far exceeding the value of the swampy family land it purports to purchase. Who in their right mind would pay so much for such a parcel of land? His eyes narrow suspiciously at the cheque as if it might suddenly reveal its secrets.
With trepidation, he flips the cheque over. The back bears a handwritten phone number—a curious personal touch. Unable to resist the curiosity, he dials the number, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.
“Elijah on the line; how may I help you?” comes a smooth, confident voice from the other end.
“I am sorry to bother you so early in the morning,” Chief Oyekanmi begins, his voice laced with apprehension. “I would like to confirm if you wrote a cheque for twenty-five million in my name to pay for our family land. Are you the person who wrote the cheque?” He glances back at the paper on the table as if it might suddenly transform into something menacing.
The voice on the line doesn’t miss a beat. “Is that Chief Oyekanmi? Is everything all right? Is something the matter with the cheque? Look, Kanmi, I am not in the mood for jokes right now. Please call me later, or better still, tell Bose to call me. Did you get Yomi yesterday to sign your copy of the agreement? He has yet to sign mine. Tell him to see me today.”
The line dies, leaving Chief Oyekanmi standing there, holding the receiver like a lifeline. His mind whirls with confusion. The cheque, ten times the land’s worth, made out in his name, lies before him on the table. The phone call addressed him with a familiarity he doesn’t recall. Is he losing his mind?
He sees his wife, Bose, emerge from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel, moving with the graceful ease of a morning routine.
“Elijah wants you to phone him as soon as you wake up,” he says, trying to mask the uncertainty in his voice.
Bose gives him a nod, heading toward her room without a word. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” he presses, his tone tinged with urgency.
“I heard you,” she replies over her shoulder as if Elijah’s request is a daily occurrence. “I just called Prophet Elijah, and he said I should come and collect the money he promised me when you signed your agreement yesterday.”
A tremor runs through Oyekanmi’s voice as he asks, “Were you here yesterday when we signed the agreement?”
“What kind of question is that?” she shoots back, a hint of irritation coloring her words. “Was I not the one that witnessed the agreement?”
Beads of sweat break out on Chief Oyekanmi’s brow. His heart thuds against his ribs, a drumbeat of doubt and fear. Is he truly losing his mind? He reaches for the phone, his hand shaking slightly as he dials Yomi, his brother. But before the call can connect, he hangs up abruptly. Yomi would only add to the confusion.
Desperate for clarity, Chief Oyekanmi dials Prophet Adam, the General Overseer of the Vineyard. As the phone rings, hope flickers within him—a beacon in his sea of confusion. When Prophet Adam answers, his familiar voice rushes over Oyekanmi like a wave of relief, grounding him in reality and restoring a measure of sanity.
A smile breaks across Chief Oyekanmi’s face as relief washes over him. The gnawing doubt that threatened to unmoor him vanishes. Seeking further reassurance, he dials Prophet John, whose sermons have hinted at strange happenings destined to defy imagination across the nation. Though Prophet John doesn’t offer many specifics, he assures Oyekanmi that the truth will soon come to light. How soon remains a mystery, and the ambiguity gnaws Oyekanmi’s patience.
Meanwhile, the limelight propels Prophet Elijah into prominence, his name on everyone’s lips. Overnight, he transforms into a national celebrity, his rising influence impossible for even the president to ignore. Elijah, never one to shy away from asserting his power, invites himself to Aso Rock, the seat of government in Abuja. What transpires behind those closed doors becomes the subject of rampant speculation and intrigue.
Newspaper headlines blare his name, editorials dissect his every move, and the country buzzes with talk of the enigmatic prophet and his New Dawn Tabernacle. Elijah is everywhere, dominating the airwaves and capturing the public’s imagination. Every other event, no matter how significant, fades into the background as the nation collectively roots for the man who promises a new era.
J.J. OlutiCreative Voice of Africa
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