The Kingdom.
Written by Festus Obehi Destiny.
Akhere walked quickly. Stepping on thorns and wiping the glistening sweat off her brows. Her pace quickened as the wind blew in all directions. Around her hair and even beneath her thigh. She pulled the scarf to cover her hair. Covering every lock of her hair meant she wouldn’t become an object of derision later in church. Osas, her husband had once slapped her hard after the pastor had told him that her hair was exposed during the communion service. He mentioned an instance where a demon had possessed a woman by slipping its slimy body through the strands of her hair. That day, Osas had slapped her and kicked her face till her mouth had swollen up like an overripe avocado. Each thump and bruise accompanied a loud writhe of pain. Since that day, she counted more seconds in covering her hair. Her hand would hold the scarf and wrap the cotton so hard till it felt like blood stopped flowing to her head. She convinced herself that she was doing it for the kingdom. All for the kingdom. But her devotion to the kingdom began long ago, long before her husband’s fist planted an overripe avocado on her cheek, long before famished cheekbones and bulging eye socket became the structure of her face, long before the blood of her spawns flowed on the altar of the church. The drizzle of August roared as her footsteps graced the compound of the church. She took her position on the front pew reserved for the Deacon’s wife. The chorister, Esohe was already blessing the church with her sonorous voice when Akhere stood up. She let her eyes wander through the empty chairs. Soon her husband would come on the altar and lead the prayer session and the she would have to pray. But she would wait for him to prophesy before she spoke. And when he was done, she would speak in tongues the way he had thought her. Letting the words roll off her tongue and mixing the ishan dialect with the French she had learnt from Osas. She would be careful in meshing both languages and creating a blend of flawless harmony or else he would whip her. And when she was done, he would roll on the floor of the altar till he became a body of sand and sweat. And then she would cry till her sobs were drowned by the hoard of members screaming ‘Eli Eli’, ‘Forgive us Messiah’. And after the service was over they would all go back to their homes, refilling their kingdom seeking vessels while Akhere and Osas would rest in their theatre.
