CHAPTER TWO
Prophet John
It is not necessary for all men
to be great in action. The greatest
and sublimest power is often
simple patience. – Bushnell
A Nigerian Pentecostal Minister once affirmed that the downfall of a man often heralds a divine upliftment. If there is any truth to this statement, then the government’s persecution of me, Moses, for my innocuous remark during a television discussion must be an act of God.
Three weeks ago, I stood at the pinnacle of influence, possessing anything I desired. Even the president himself listens to me. Those who matter in society seek my friendship, vying for a place in my orbit. With a single phone call, I can alter the destiny of over two hundred and fifty million people in Nigeria. Though not divine, I represent something akin to it in the eyes of many.
The phone rings, and my group managing director delivers news that makes my heart swell with pride. “Moses,” he says, “your total assets, both in Nigeria and abroad, now exceed twenty trillion Naira.”
The news electrifies me, a testament to the empire I’ve built. I immediately dial my father’s number, eager to share the triumph.
“Joseph. Who is this?” my father answers, as he always does, identifying himself and demanding the caller’s identity. He never says ‘hello’ like everyone else.
“Hello, people call me Elijah.” I chuckle to myself, perfectly mimicking the voice of the prophet.
“The Prophet Elijah?” My father’s tone shifts to disbelief, like an angel graced him with a call. “My Lord and my shepherd, may you live forever. How may I serve you? Everything of mine is yours. Just tell me what you need, and I shall do it. I will…”
My mouth drops open as I listen to him. I shake my head in disbelief. What happened to the old Giwa of my youth, the man who once stood proud and unyielding? Why would he show such deference to another mortal man?
“Shut up and listen,” I say, adopting a tone of divine authority. “Hear the word of the Almighty and be wise. You must withdraw everything from your account and donate it to the New Dawn Tabernacle. Sell all your property and whatever belongs to your wife and children. If you do this, you’ll certainly make it to heaven. Remember, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle…”
A heavy sigh from the other end of the line signals my father’s sadness. I let the silence stretch, allowing him time to digest my words. He would do all I asked without a second thought, save for one catch: my mother. His greatest challenge would be convincing his wife to sell all her property and donate everything to The New Dawn Tabernacle, known simply as The Tabernacle or The New Dawn.
The silence becomes too long, so I break it. “Don’t tell me you want to disobey the voice of God,” I raise my voice, feigning annoyance to mask my curiosity.
“No sir, but…”
His hesitation hangs in the air, a testament to the conflict I’ve stirred within him, torn between faith and familial duty. As I listen to my father’s struggle, I realize the weight of Elijah’s influence, a power that feels both intoxicating and perilous.
“But what?” I shout, my voice booming with feigned indignation. I chuckle, covering the mouthpiece with my palm. “You won’t be able to persuade your wife to part with her property, is that it?”
My body shakes with suppressed laughter, imagining the look on my father’s face. It isn’t his fault that he, like countless other Nigerians, holds Elijah in such high regard, practically placing him on a pedestal next to God. Elijah himself rates his importance above even Jesus Christ. Such blasphemy! I cut the line with a smirk, leaving my father to wrestle with his dilemma.
Prophet Elijah is a polarizing figure, and many consider him bad news. The last time I visited my father, we quarreled over him.
Joseph Giwa had slammed his cup so hard on the table that the cutlery and other cups clattered to the floor. “You dare cast aspersions on the greatest thing to happen to this country? People like you give Elijah a bad name!”
I pushed my chair back, standing up from the dining table deliberately. I washed my hands in the large bowl beside me, the lingering taste of pounded yam turning bitter at the mention of Elijah. “Dad, Elijah is a con man. He performs fake miracles. Even if they are genuine, they aren’t of God.”
“How do you know this?” my father spat, his pockmarked face a mask of fury. “You don’t even go to church.”
“I may not be a regular churchgoer, but I can spot a fake Christian when I see one. Though you and countless other Nigerians see Elijah as the Jesus of today, I beg to differ. The man reeks of evil. Mark my words, Dad, one day he will make this country burn.”
His jaw clenched tight, my father turned away, refusing to engage further. Elijah has hoodwinked everyone except a few reasonable souls into believing in him. Could the man be what he claims to be?
Knock, knock.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Why didn’t Sheu buzz me through the intercom?
“Come in,” I call out. The door swings open, and a man strides in, followed by a lovely woman. I stare at her as if seeing a woman for the first time, rooted to the spot by her beauty. My mouth opens to speak, but words fail me, my voice lost in her presence. She coughs, breaking the spell.
“Oga, I wan announce dem wen dem tell me make I no do so,” Sheu mumbles in Pidgin English, his face a picture of confusion.
“Don’t worry, Sheu.” I quickly compose myself, realizing my jaw has dropped. I steer my gaze back to the girl whose presence does something to me I dare not admit, not even to myself. Her eyes meet mine with a questioning look, and I close my open mouth, regaining my composure. Sheu beats a quick retreat to the door.
“Sorry, I forgot my manners,” I say, trying to recover my dignity. “I would tell you to come in, but you’re already here.”
“I guess there’s no need to introduce myself,” I add, gesturing toward the chairs across from me. “Take a seat, and you Venus too.” My eyes remain fixed on the girl, unable to look away.
The girl laughs, her voice like music, and flashes perfect white teeth that catch the light.
“I am Prophet John, and the girl with me is my sister.” The girl kicks him behind the leg, eliciting a chuckle as he massages his shin. “Sorry, the lady with me is Jane, my sister. I wouldn’t call her Venus again if I were you. As the newspapers often call you, you’re Moses, the trillionaire oil magnate. But to me, you’re Moses, the deliverer. Like your biblical namesake, you’re the one who will deliver this country from bondage.”
I stand dumbfounded, words escaping me. First, the country isn’t in any bondage. Second, this man, John, must have me confused with someone else, or perhaps he’s read the story of Moses one too many times.
“Moses,” the man says, lowering his tone by an octave as if confiding a great secret. He shifts under the weight of his big Bible, catching my eye with a knowing smile. I quickly avert my gaze, feeling the intensity of his stare.
He cradles the Bible as if it’s a cherished lover, gently caressing its worn cover. “I don’t deny the sudden economic boom in the country. Note that I used the word sudden. Look at yourself, for example.”
I glance down at myself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I am who I am.
“No, there’s nothing the matter with you,” John continues. “Still in your late thirties, you’re already one of the richest men in Africa. But are you happy? Don’t answer. If you are, why are you still single?”
I rise from my chair and pace the floor, the rhythm of my footsteps a counterpoint to the chaos in my mind. I move to the window and draw back the blinds. Outside, Sheu sits on the elevated floor of the gatehouse with his back against the wall, a vacant look in his eyes that suggests he’s in a state of sleep or deep thought. “I’m not sure what you mean. Since I’m not unhappy, I must be happy.”
“If you’re not sure you’re happy, chances are, you’re not,” John says, his words lingering in the air like a challenge. “When you sleep tonight, think about your life. Are you what you want to be? Are you happy with the situation in the country? Are you content with your trillions?”
Why shouldn’t I be content with my money? The love of money might be the root of all evil, but the lack of it is the source of all the world’s misery. What’s wrong with the situation in the country? The income per head is one of the highest globally. There’s relative peace here. The rich sleep with both eyes closed, while the poor no longer go to bed on empty stomachs.
President Victor’s campaign to extend his tenure might be the only blight on the nation’s prosperity. Yet even that, I think, is manageable within the more outstanding picture of our national prosperity.
As I stand there, caught between the prophet’s probing words and my internal defenses, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a truth hidden within his questions that I’m not yet ready to confront.
“President Victor might be the best thing to happen to this country since independence, but the constitution is clear—he must step down after eight years. Despite this, the campaign to extend his tenure is gaining traction. People argue that no one else could do better, so they push to amend the constitution, allowing him another four years.”
“Well, well, at least we meet at a point. You’re not a fan of Victor, I suppose?” Prophet John says, smiling with an air of knowing.
“No, no, no, you got me all wrong,” I reply quickly. “I’m a loyal citizen of this country. My opinion is strictly mine. Whatever the majority wants is all right by me. After all, nobody is complaining. Things have never been better. The whole world is looking up to Nigeria. What else could anyone ask for? ‘Go on, Victor’ is now the most popular slogan in Nigeria.”
Venus stands up from her chair, fixing me with her gaze. “Do you believe all that crap?”
“What is there not to believe?” I give her my best winning smile, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Don’t you? If you don’t, then neither will I from now on.” I look into her clear blue eyes, and the room fades away momentarily. Good God, she’s beautiful. I can’t be falling in love so soon. I chastise myself.
“Why?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.
I smile at her. “Because anything you believe, I’ll believe too.”
“Why?” she presses, a playful challenge in her voice.
“Because that’s just the way I feel.”
“Why?”
“Why do you keep asking why? Because you’re Venus, the moon, and I’m the sun.”
She laughs, a sound like tinkling chimes. “The sun and the moon don’t meet, even during an eclipse.”
My expression shifts to one of seriousness. I lower my voice, drawing her in. “Then you’re my heart. Something tells me you’re the bone of my flesh or the flesh of my bone. Whatever. Anyway, you’re the woman I’ve always waited for.”
“I know.”
“You what?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her confidence.
“That I’m the woman of your dreams. I’m going to be your wife. We’ll have four children. My brother already told me all this, but it’s not why we’re here.”
“Of course, your brother would know.” I nod, recalling his reputation. “I remember him now as the only man who objected to Elijah joining the Pentecostal Fellowship of Nigeria. Just out of curiosity, sir, why did you do it, knowing you were a lone voice in the council?”
Prophet John rises from his chair, placing his Bible gently on the stool beside him. “Elijah is not a prophet. He’s a fake. He expected me to do it, and I did it.” He places his palm on his forehead, shaking his head slowly. “He became a member anyway.”
His words hang in the air, a testament to the struggle between truth and deception. Watching him, I sense the weight of his convictions, the burden of standing alone against a tide of misguided faith. I glance at Jane, whose confidence only adds to the gravity of the situation. In this moment, I realize that beneath the facade of wealth and power, a more profound battle rages—a struggle for the soul of a nation and perhaps even my own.
I take Jane’s hand and brush my lips gently across her knuckles. The softness of her skin sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but be drawn to her. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Prophet John observing us, though he pretends to flip through his Bible, his expression studiously neutral.
Jane places her hands on my shoulders, and a pleasant warmth spreads through me. “The time has come for you to take your place in my brother’s church to fulfill your assignment,” she says, her voice a soft yet insistent melody. She glances at her watch, her movements conveying a sense of urgency as if we’re late for a divine appointment.
I sigh, pulling her hands gently from my shoulders. “I had hoped what you said about us being destined to be together was right, but I can see that you’ve confused me with somebody else.” The idea of a future with her is tempting, but I can’t reconcile myself with the role they want me to play. “I can’t be the Moses you’re looking for.”
“Do you have a Bible?” John asks, his tone shifting to one of solemn inquiry.
“I am a Christian, aren’t I?” I reply, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my voice. “I may not be practicing, but I have a Bible.”
“When you have some time, read Revelation 14:11-18. You’ll find a reference to Prophet Elijah there.”
I reach for one of the day’s newspapers from a pile on my table and hand it to Prophet John. Splashed across the front page is a picture of Prophet Elijah, the caption declaring him ‘The Elijah of our Time.’ “That’s who he is.”
“Is he now?” Jane raises her eyebrows, skepticism etched across her face.
“Is anyone in this country or beyond who doesn’t know Elijah?” I counter. “He’s reputed to be greater than his namesake in the Bible.”
Jane takes the paper from her brother, glancing at it briefly before tossing it aside. “You won’t understand Elijah until you read the biblical passages my brother mentioned.”
“Can I read it now that we’re all here?” I ask, reaching for my Bible. I flick through the pages, but the passage eludes me.
John checks his watch, his demeanor shifting from patience to urgency. “There’s no time for that. You have an appointment in the next hour and thirty minutes. It’s one appointment you must not miss, as it will mark a new beginning in your life.”
An hour seems ample time to prepare. Yet, I find myself questioning their motives. Why have they come? The idea of changing my denomination doesn’t sit well with me, even if their tale of my being chosen held a glimmer of truth.
“You will consider everything I’ve said. Meanwhile, Jane will stay here with you. I’m embarking on a journey from which I may or may not return. I’m her only living relative. Take good care of her,” Prophet John says, winking at me with a knowing smile.
“You mean she is to stay here with me?” I ask, shock evident in my voice. The idea is both thrilling and daunting.
John nods, a serene expression on his face. As the reality of his words sinks in, I glance at Jane, whose presence now seems woven into the fabric of my life, both familiar and enigmatic.
“You are both adults, aren’t you?” Prophet John says, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’d rather leave her with you than anyone else. You’re destined to be her husband anyway. It is your fate. I’ll be on my way. Go for your TV program. Jane will fill you in on all the missing links. She’ll also take care of you after the nightmare.”
“I don’t have nightmares. I seldom dream. What are you talking about?” I object, a frown creasing on my forehead.
“Elijah will visit you tonight. His visit will convince you. He may not come in his form, but you’ll see his handiwork in your dream.”
I stand up and bid the prophet farewell, though his words leave a lingering unease in my mind. Jane sits silently, lost in thought, her expression distant and mysterious. I’d give anything to know what’s going on in her mind. I glance at her, and our eyes meet briefly before she looks away, leaving an unspoken question between us.
Just then, Aaron enters, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Jane.
“Where have you been?” I demand, grabbing the ashtray from the stool beside me and hurling it at him. It sails through his form and shatters on the floor, echoing in the quiet room.
Aaron picks up the largest piece and puts it in his mouth. It falls through him and lands back on the floor. I didn’t laugh. “What’s bugging you?”
“You were out all night yesterday. Where have you been?”
Aaron walks over to Jane, peering intently into her face. “You have her to keep you company. What do you need me for?” He leans in to kiss her, but his form passes through her. “Who is she? One of your numerous girlfriends? She can’t be because you’re too ugly for her.”
“I’m sure you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, Aaron.”
“Why would I do that? I’m invisible,” he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jane looks at me, alarmed. She shrinks back, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Who are you talking to?” she asks, her voice tinged with fear.
“Shh,” Aaron says, placing a finger over his lips. “Don’t tell her about me, at least not yet. She’ll think you’re… well, you know.” He makes a circular motion around his head, the universal sign of madness.
I turn to Jane, who watches me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Nobody’s here. I was talking to myself. I’m sorry,” I say, trying to sound convincing.
Aaron smiles, pleased with my response. “Smart move. She may be beautiful, but she could also be a fool.”
“I’m sure she’s not a fool,” I snap back at Aaron.
“How would you know? You just met her,” Aaron replies, his tone challenging.
I ignore him and address Jane, noticing her apprehension. “I can see you have no luggage with you,” I say, trying to shift the conversation. Aaron shakes his head in warning, but I press on. “What will you use for a change of clothes?”
Jane looks as if she’s about to back away, but she hesitates, caught between her uncertainty and the strange reality around her. I move to the dining table, taking a seat and giving her space to process everything.
“We’ll go to my brother’s place to pick up my things tomorrow,” Jane says, her voice soft as she stares at the floor. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow a shirt and trousers for a change of dress since we’re almost the same height.”
“Why should I mind? You’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?” I say, holding her gently by the shoulders and looking into her eyes, hoping to convey sincerity.
Her expression darkens, a shadow passing over her face. “You don’t believe it, do you? You think all this is a joke. Wait until nightfall; you won’t think it’s funny then.” She throws my hands off her shoulders and walks away, leaving a chill in her wake.
It can’t be true. How can it be? How can I, Moses, be a savior? The thought is so far-fetched that I laugh, a nervous, incredulous sound. But then I stop. Everything they’ve told me seems like one colossal joke, yet she and her brother don’t look like jokers. Her serious look ignites laughter inside me once more. I double over, covering my mouth to stifle the laughter.
I hit my thigh with my palm, laughing until tears streamed freely from my eyes. When I finally rise, I find Jane standing before me, her eyes meeting my merry face. She shakes her head slowly, her look of disapproval sobering me instantly. “I don’t have anything to say to you. If you like, get ready for your appointment.”
I lead her to the guest room, gesturing to the space. “Feel at home.”
She smiles, a soft curve of her lips. “I am already at home.”
Leaving her to settle in, I head to the bathroom for a shower, letting the cool water wash over me, trying to clear my mind.
When I emerge, my breath catches in my throat. Angel of mercy! Jane stands there, her long hair cascading down her back, wearing one of my shirts and trousers with an unexpected and breathtaking elegance. I place a hand on my chest, trying to steady my racing heart.
“I never imagined you could look this stunning,” I say from the doorway, my voice emerging in a strangled, awkward croak. My throat tightens as I drink in her beauty—more radiant than my mother or aunt ever were.
“I’m not just attractive. I’m beautiful,” Jane declares with a playful smile, tossing her hair back to reveal her face in all its glory.
“One thing I admire about you is your modesty,” I quip sarcastically, closing the bathroom door behind me. As I rub pomade through my hair, trying to tame it into place, my gaze flickers back to Jane. Damn! I’m losing too much hair around my temples. I comb my hair forward, attempting to mask the thinning patch.
The door creaks open, and Jane’s arms wrap around me from behind. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and a spark flickers between us—a connection I never dared to acknowledge. I swivel around, and she presses a soft kiss on my lips.
My heart pounds wildly. “What’s that for?” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.
She didn’t reply, pulling me closer, her lips lingering on mine. A shiver surges through me, igniting every nerve. The kiss sets me ablaze, consuming my senses. I reach to embrace her, but she slips away, just beyond my grasp.
Aaron bursts in at that moment, his timing impeccable as always. He winks, mischief twinkling in his eyes, but I wave him off, hoping he’ll get the hint. Undeterred, Aaron perches on the toilet seat, watching us with keen interest.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before except my brother,” Jane confesses, a secretive smile teasing her lips. “I always wondered how my first kiss would feel.” She looks at me with starry eyes, wonder lighting her gaze. “I feel all tingly. I kind of like it. I’ve never felt this way before. There are so many things I’ve never done that I’m eager to try with you.” She leans in, her words tickling my ear, sending me a thrill. I laugh aloud. She’s going to be fun—uninhibited, fearless. How could I be twice as lucky in one day?
I catch Aaron’s warning look but ignore it. Today is too bright, too full of possibilities to heed dark omens.
On the same day, I learned I was the youngest trillionaire in Africa, the most beautiful girl walked into my life. Yet, a chill of superstitious fear creeps over me, an old saying whispering: when two lucky breaks happen in quick succession, ill luck often lurks nearby. Didn’t the good Prophet say today’s TV program would mark a new beginning for me? Maybe I should cancel. Something terrible could happen.
“Jane, I must go for my TV talk show now.” I head to the bedroom and pull a new pair of shoes from under the bed. Jane stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
I reach inside the shoes for socks, finding a neatly folded pair. Glancing up, I meet Jane’s intense, unwavering gaze. “I can’t shake this feeling of dread. What could go wrong in an ordinary discussion?” I ask, trying to dispel the ominous sensation.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Whatever happens, remember it’s your destiny,” Jane replies, a sad smile tugging at her lips.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, confusion lacing my voice.
Jane bends to pick up some of my clothes, opening the wardrobe. A pile of dirty clothes spills out, and she wrinkles her nose, pinching it shut as she stuffs the clothes back inside. “I can’t tell you. It’s your destiny. You must fulfill it.”
Behind her, Aaron stretches his arms as if to embrace her. “Isn’t she beautiful? I think I’m in love already,” he says, his voice dripping with mock admiration.
I ignore him, focusing on Jane. “You and your brother love speaking in riddles. Where is he going, anyway?”
“He’s going to fulfill his destiny.”
Destiny. What does that word even mean? I know its dictionary definition, but nothing else. I’ve never believed in such things. We’re responsible for our actions, aren’t we? If anything happens, I’ll be accountable.
As I prepare to leave, unease lingers—a shadow on the edge of my consciousness. But I push it aside, determined to face whatever comes my way. After all, isn’t that the essence of life: living normally and embracing the unknown?
I take a deep breath and walk toward the door, my mind racing with possibilities. Just as I step out, a soft hand touches my arm. Jane stands close, her eyes searching mine.
“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely rising above the air conditioner’s hum.
“I will,” I reply, forcing a smile. I step outside into the warm sunlight, the world waiting beyond the threshold, full of promise and uncertainty.
J.J. OlutiCreative Voice of Africa
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