The Teaching Child...

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

"see! You can't keep giving me *don'ts* if you can meet some needs here" Mrs. Deborah Agbola fired back at his gentle speaking husband "do you know how much it costs to maintain the house; you go there, on stage donating your month's salary, forgetting that, it's money that will keep us here...you seem not to care 'bout our living" she bawled in annoyance. "do you realize who you are talking to?" "Yes...I know, assistant parish-pastor Gbenga Agbola" she replied, smiling mockingly, with a posture to match. Gbenga walked out on her, embarrassed, straight to his room. With pains clicking in his heart, and all her wife's words resonating in his brain...he locked the door from behind, sat down, with head bowed, imagining himself living in affluence "when will these stop?" his heart bled. 

Unknowingly to Gbenga, his wife followed some minutes later; from the door came a loud knock which almost blare the eardrums of her hubby. "open this door now! You'd better open this thing" she waited. After some minutes of waiting, with no reply from her hubby, she turned to the sitting-room "rubbish!" she hissed as she lay on the settee, leaving both of them to separate reflective moods. 

"'m I being a bad wife" she asked herself sadly "'m I...no! I'm only making him see the need for our sustenance, he seems not to care; he lives like he's not having children, dropping his meager income as donation in church, forgetting our children wear shabby school-uniforms, use old sandals, school with no textbooks and still keep on comparing himself with other pastors" she hissed as depression was written all over her face; she knew she was crying but, she didn't attempt to clean up "don't do this, don't do that! The wife of a pastor can't work as a cleaner, it's an embarrassment to his personality...he keeps saying all these; I wonder the personality he's talking of, with hunger as the order of the day." She paused, still in tears "how much does he receive? How much? A hundred and eighty dollars-twenty eight thousand naira, how can that pay the house rent, feed a family with two children and an unemployed wife" she thought "how? How? How?" she wept bitterly "who will I explain this too, probably no one, if I tell my mother, she will remind of the prior warning she gave me concerning marrying pastors...but all the same, I know pastors that're rich and comfortable, so, why this man?! Why?!" shaking her head;  

"have I married wrongly? Is this your will for me, is this the wife you promised? God!!!" these questions raced pastor Gbenga's heart bitterly. He knelt down, beside the bed, about to say few words to God, when he heard his wife's voice again "listen! I know you can hear me...either you like it or not, 'm going to resume work there tomorrow; you know yourself, the no. of job interviews have entered for-five! Five!! For christ'sake; I wasn't picked, did I decide that? No...but this, I am going to start, I don't care about your own personality, or what you call it." She shouted, kicking the door. Mrs.Deborah was bitter about the financial status of the family. She has been calling God, and it seems He's not listening. "does God exist? I can't answer this...And on Sunday, we keep singing praises" she muttered.

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In chuks apartment, a small room housing a 75' by 30' bed, a bed-side TV, a CD-player, and bags stuffed with clothes. It is a total picture of a hustler's room with a brown-colored mat as the floor-cover, at the same time serving as Lanre's spread. It was untidy; used plates, dirty cups and sachet-water nylon littered the room...Chuks did not clean-up the room before leaving for the day's struggle; and now, he will still blame the small-Lanre. 

"you're just lucky! See! I will have broken your spine today..." chuks hissed wickedly; 

"I am sorry...sir." 

"who's your sir?! Do I look like your dad? Or 'm I your school-teacher...?" his face scared Lanre, like he should still be expecting the beating he escaped.