The Teaching Child...

Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

Pastor Ndama loved colour combo. His living room, painted lemon green was beautifully decorated with dangling curtains having Persian green flowery patterns on them, blazing every visitor's eyes. The turquoise-clothed settees were resting on a check patterned viridian floor tiles. Gbenga couldn't cast his eyes. He is just been observant as worries blinded him during the previous visit. He sensed the colour mixture forming within his reasoning faculty. "Pastor Gbenga, welcome." Ndama greeted as he stepped into the living room halting his imaginations. "My Ruth" he called his wife "please bring a soft drink for my friend." Few seconds later, his stout-figured wife appeared with it wearing a gentle smile. She went ahead to uncork it and knelt half-way as a sign of respect. 

"Ndama" he sipped it gently. "There is a problem" 

"What is it again?" 

"My wife reported me to the state pastor." 

"State? or Area?" Ndama inquired.  

"I say state-pastor." Gbenga repeated. 

"What got up to that?"  

"There was this rift as usual, but this infuriated me so much...let me say the truth, I had to use my hands on her." 

"Huh-huh, Pastor Gbenga! Why did you have to do that?! Don't you know that, now, either it is settled or not, you will be queried. And a query can be used against your promotion." Ndama shook his head "so, what did he say?" 

"He said I should go and bury the hatchet with her and such should not repeat itself again. Though he has directed my case to the area pastor for a query." 

"I said it. Look, those senior pastors you see are very smart; he will still go ahead and call your wife. My advice is you better start to treat her best; try all you can to give her all she wants, even if it's for this to cool off." 

"Ndama, thanks a lot. These few months have been so..." Gbenga expressed his feeling, shaking his head. 

"Such is life" Ndama added. "They make us strong, just keep pushing it."

"Romoke, he doesn't know what 'm planning for him yet; Me, I am not stopping at the pastor; before I divorce him, I will ravage that career of his. Ah, me. No, no, no, no...Look at my face. I feed him, I feed the children, I do more. He still had the guts to beat me; Romoke, see! See my hands, see my face..." Deborah cried narrating her ordeal to her friend. 

"Things like this are not unexpected. I do tell you, marrying a pastor do not make you safe. Many a times, they make things worse because it's always in silence. At least you know my story; I got him a multi-national job having supported the house for six years; then, he started complaining this and that-I am becoming fat, I don't cook well etc. You know such nonsense. It wasn't until he started to beat me...me, Romoke! I combed the city. I mean seriously, I searched for a good lawyer-all this women rights defender, you know? And, the one I got really helped my case. She came to my rescue totally." 

"Romoke, ah, I have suffered. What am I going to do?" 

"Your case is still reconcilable, try it. If he's still adamant, then...he wants you to leave. Please, don't make that mistake of being spiritual about it. If you do, remember, God will never come down and rescue you." 

"Make the mistake? As if God is not seeing him now, right?" Deborah remarked "I will never." 

"Women, we do suffer. Men are so...just speechless." Romoke shook her head, sighing. "Go home and think about it."

Deborah Agbola headed for her workplace instead. "I would still get an hour payment" she thought as she strode off to the taxi point. "Shogunle" "Come in, hundred naira" "huh-huh, Shogunle, there?" She motioned. "If you go enter, enter fast. Na me increase petrol money ni? If you no fit pay, commot. - If you want to enter, do it fast. Did I cause the fuel-hike? If you cannot pay, leave." Quickly, she succumbed.