A MEMOIR TO A PRIESTESS OF JANUS
En route Port Harcourt May 2005, I boarded a waiting Agofure bus, responding to an invite for a revised career choice for service to my motherland under the DSSC with the boys in blue. A chance encounter placed me right beside her – already loudly self proclaimed by nearly forgetting her bulging valise once before in Asaba where she revealed she was returning from and yet again in Warri. My thoughts were directed towards her as I beseeched God for an adventure and what an adventure it has been. In number it spanned the four seasons of a half decade; an ill destined adventure but an adventure I truly sought and was given. Janus announced his priestess by her talismanic BIRD handset which she clutched like an amulet, constantly engaged with it as a priestess would offer incantations. Such an avid roadster she was that even in the darkening hours, she freely dispensed locations to many like us who eagerly sought to announce our arrivals to those we left behind and those we were going to meet.
Breaking a self-creed of never engaging commuters on a commercial vehicle, I plunged head-first into the miry waters that have consumed many but for His Grace and Mercies which have long kept me. From lips that have been cursed with death, the lies were spun of a visit to a brother in Port Harcourt (born of the same source but yet her goat to command) concealing as usual a tryst with her sacrificial victim of the moment – the earnest cyber café owner. From the clutches of his embrace, she plied me with countless internet sms so much so that my host remarked with levity, your choice has been made. Like a benign tumor, a festering sore that begins with an itch, a tale of woe and regrets was beginning. Amused not by her, a companion so well versed with the shadows, that even her profile was but a silhouette as we parted ways that day; I was pursuing a request made and obtained, the re-enactment of many biblical characters was to be my purpose. To understand a love so profound, that it has been captured thus “while we were yet sinners, He loved us even to the point of dying at the hands of those He chose to love and save. A creation of His hand for His good pleasure – but yet a life of sin made by choice.”
An alumni of the Ivory Towers guarded by the two lions she professed to be but as the days passed, she erroneously revealed a course of study so plagued with failures that like the basket being used to draw water from the well, it was futile making it out. Another sacrificial victim – Mr Olu, she ‘blamed’ (as one of those lecturer types), for wanting to test her waters as a prerequisite to granting her the needed pass. As a knight to the rescue, I dropped in unannounced at her ‘institute’ to reason with Mr. Olu but alas ensconced in the embraces of yet another of her victims – Dr Lew the eckist, I met her. Like the renowned but un-acclaimed Oscar winner, she spun a tale of a student-lecturer relationship as he so eagerly waited on her and chauffeured her for the entire day to eateries and visits whilst I was cramped up behind in his Toyota coupe. Like a good host, he offered their chambers of indiscretion as a place for the night and like the weary traveler, I sought for sleep as my mind grappled with comprehending a tale so filled with discrepancies that it was though a fishing net could be used to cover one’s nudity. A kiss and more they shared as she sought to explain my presence to her client of the hour even as my weary eyes watched them whilst they believed I slumbered.
At the park, she pleaded with me and confessed she would end it with him even as he waited to drive her away, a lecturer turned lecturee. A bemusement to behold – the lecturer waiting on his student, but a sight so pitiable that the eyes would but water in grief. And yet others seasoned with the ways of the god would roll in bellows of mirth. On her return she swore it was over but alas he only was concealed beneath the identity of another client on her amulet even as she strung him along. doc P was her client in kada university but to me she explained that she was working on a fishery under the good graces of a major benefactor, the DJ. A heavyweight he was indeed, more of a horse jockey than a disc jockey. A relationship that she was emboldened enough to take to her home just like that of wuri, one of many that had pre-empted her banishment to the rural academic town where she was nothing but sorrow and woe to the relatives who were unfortunate to be saddled with the failed responsibility of a mother. Let the tare grow with the wheat, twas declared and so it was –a goat amongst sheep, a ram amongst deer.
A highly priced escort she was, as she was on call for the DJ whenever he had functions to attend and there she was like the locally enjoyed treat of ‘point and kill’ for the pleasures of the MPs whilst he sought to obtain the favors of the lewd male legislooters. Her amulet was constantly on ring, its ring tone would still be heard in my sleep as she answered many a summons of her clients – the legislooters seeking to plunder her waters and slurp at her breasts, a gift offered that must be received. Heady with her conquests, she regaled me with her exploits as one would seek to preen like the peacock. Her maternal Aunt’s husband, a client for virtual sex – she revealed correspondences that would make the readers of Fifty Shades of Grey blush at the explicit contents. Not incest she professed, he wasn’t related to her however his regular stipends of US$100 served as his payments for services received. Need I mention the regular gifts of yankee prophylactics he gave her as mementos?
As Hosea, this was not just a lady of the streets but a connoisseur of the amorous advances of men, she plied me with tales of brushes of would be ‘rapists’ – Bd, an armorer for the black axe but he provided entrance through the back gates of the ivory towers where she mingled as a student and plied her craft as an artisan – a weekend call girl. From a home so shrouded with mystery, gaining access was like literally encountering cobwebs such as one encounters entering an attic or the cellar of a house on the hills. Professing a form of godliness, she counted herself as a cell leader of the clan ruled by the jerry curled ones and on her list was Osondu and Emeka, erstwhile leaders too whose houses she was summoned to satiate their needs as and when due. Driven by anguish and desperation, an ultimatum was served by the matriarch ‘get engaged with one that year of 2005 or…..’. Azu sought after her with such passion that one would feel for him, but like others she strung him along and flitted in and out of his clutches almost driving him insane.
The street boys were not below her either, Paul the fisherman, illiterate but free with the funds that she so craved. The banking halls of Zenith and other banks were for you to display your wares. “I don’t do relationship” was her admission but I pressed on with the tenacity of one burdened with a task to conquer and in answer to that subtly asked question by His Spirit. “I am a free spirit” was another admission and the matriarch who like the feral mysterious predator with the vision of the prey in sight, hastily chastised her. She definitely would not let this one out of her grasp and she subtly applied the screws to a wayward Ada. Like the proverbial mbe (tortoise) she set in motion the wheels in the background for it was pertinent that yet again she needed to foist off this liability as quickly as possible before such grief would befall her shrouded empire. A patriarch who bellowed like an empty drum, he was hers to command and was already being tooled by his partner.
The bells chimed and the wheat were pressed to task as they watched with amusement who the unwitting one was, a fraud of such gargantuan proportions that the priestess’ sister was so bothered that she called a night to the big event “Do you really think you know my sister? She is an artful dodger!” What an understatement indeed for all of her siblings were already in her clutches and she manipulated them as she deemed fit but an effort she did make in all fairness and Star Asana I applaud you. But truly the ways of God are like foolishness in the eyes of the unbelieving and seeking to explain them would cause much weariness of the bones for understanding and conviction must emanate from the heart. “See who is getting married o?” Aunty Chi exclaimed as I went to fulfill all courtesies but already I knew that the secret to the ordination of the priestess would begin to be unraveled from the secondary place of upbringing.
The journey began, on a very rocky note as she insisted on being ‘disvirgined’ that matrimonial night lest the fabricated hymen lose its potency. That was indeed my first hearing of Postinor2, a tool of her trade that she could even prescribe it better than certified pharmacists! I believed God for the best confident that He would not let me go having brought me this far. My first act of impropriety was on account of her because of my self creed to always improve the other person. A false NYSC discharge was procured to match her already fraudulent credentials – including an EFE list of results that would make an ‘Efe’ cringe in shame, an SSCE and GCE result that could not provide a basic 4 credits but for a priestess, ‘you use what you have to get what you want’ was but one of her philosophies. My first task was to replace her already worn amulet which got lost on account of my declaration and which should have provided an avenue for conversion but alas, giving is always better than receiving. Jimmy spoke so vehemently against it because he already saw through you but even him could not understand the ways of the Lord. For the just shall live by faith and truly trust Him to always see one through.
CJ facilitated her obtaining all her false certificates, for services received in advance, that come with the exit from a tertiary place of study so armed she was but not before delivering on the mandate from her guardians “give us a grandchild, you are the Ada so as to pave the way for the others to follow”. A charming gift of virtue and righteousness the Sovereign One sent to aid my tenuous walk and to ensure I lose not faith in the beauty of His Creation; Eve. Brash and uncouth, I tutored her for her first job interview and the favor of God went along and opened that door which as usual became her highway of filth. In Oghara, away from seclusion, she despised the pride of motherhood and became an object of derision to the decent colleagues but to the Prince & his Bertyl, a match made in hell – swapping porn movies and guffawing to ribald jokes and uncensored chats. The work place became the perfect cover for atrocities that made Ad and Mrs Ej cringe in disbelief, for these were wise women who knew the value of family. Like the priestess she was, every act of correction was seen as an affront and dealt as such. Ridiculing them at every instance and magnifying their weaknesses.
Cmd Ben with an eye for “point and kill” recognized her weak attempts at concealment even though he was amongst those who partook in brokering the traditional rites. Another victim? I care less now for the silver thread has been broken. Onome(of known repute) schooled her and was also schooled – birds of a feather flock together. But despite her past, she knew the value of family whilst as a priestess you had taken vows of destruction. The night shifts for work were her regular excuses and coming home braless was the height of indiscretion. My relationship with all the Godly women I knew were all banished by you and my attempt at being weak with April5 was used to pummel me and taunt my convictions and faith, nothing would trifle with that was the vow that goes with a relationship with the slain Lamb and so I cast off despite me knowing I was more of a positive support than the contrary which you implied. However great is the cost of commitment, priceless the gift of parenthood.
Your list of clients are endless – an uncontrollable passion for what belongs to others; Obi Barry White, you gleefully and forgetfully let it slip in your many ribald jokes of how small his penile length was but notwithstanding that you solicited his amorous advances. I recall your nudity as you planned a clandestine tryst with him by virtue of his job as a pharmaceutical rep, offering to call in sick at work just to spend the day with him. Like Jezebel, you gave him no breathing space until you had destroyed his marriage even as you ‘counseled’ him and taken over his wife’s vineyard. Like the scalp hunters, you eagerly displayed his bloodied scalp on your belt even as he followed after you – a lost soul, promising to marry you whatever the cost. Can a pig be removed from its self imposed grandiose of filth? Definitely not! But such was your ordination that you were and are destined but for one purpose and all who come in contact with you tag along with you to your end.
In Oghara, you were the choice of your lewd bosses – summoning you to their various locations so much that the staff of their resident hotels knew you at sight. Displaying your utter lack of decency, you would in addition, just like the serial killers avidly collect the mementos from their victims – shower caps, bath gels, shampoos, body lotions were so much in abundance that you would have become a profiteer in such merchandise. You were an object of such derision to your supervisors dedicated to their duties but an object of fun and use to those who recognized and acknowledged your wares. Jero displayed your welcome form of greeting – a hearty caress on your buttocks even in the full glare of your spouse – But no, your defense was it was your waist. Coming back disheveled and without underwear was a norm until an ultimatum was given so you took to taking a shower after immersing yourself in filth.
Without standards, the dangling scrotum of Mohammed appealed to you whilst he sought to make his living as a garment maker, clothing you in the emperess ‘new clothes’ and in your days of suspension for gross incompetence at the office – the Queen of hearts, as sordid as a brothel could only be became your office where you received your numerous clients. A shameless display of your nudity, like a sewer, you readily received and were engorged with the seed of many. Cliff, the gas man – cast his bulk on you and yet so cursed were you that you had no will to rethink even in your moments of lucidity. Variety was your trip, penile sizes mattered less because you are consigned to be destroyed. Casting aside with derision the pleas of the wise women to turn around, you laughed in their faces and used their homes as guises to fill up your diary and launch off to attend to the demands of your many clients. Still I watched, bound to a summons and a conviction that only grace could sustain. Your own seed you left unattended to and Her Protector kept her from being sexually abused as a child whilst you were in the throes of whorish passion.
Petty Steve, your liaison and pimp in Port Harcourt avidly set you up even as you ostensibly accompanied his girlfriend to visit him but on the side, you pillaged what was hers whilst consoling her about men. Eka was already your ally and whilst she struggled to keep what was hers, you persisted in your ways. Sworn to the ways of the maiden of the waters, like a bitch on heat, yours was uncontrollable. “Come and taste my waters, you called out on the streets!” Mopol Paul waited anxiously for you everyday – the highway check point was not too inappropriate for you either, yours was a destiny to carry out, a purpose to be served, an itch to be attended to. None was too low or too high for you. The corporate take-away snack of Zain dignitaries – forthnitely ‘trainings’ were your means to meet the insatiable demands of the lewd managers and religiously you applied yourself even at the detriment of a daughter who never had a mother, a distraction and burden she would always be and peace will forever elude you neither will you ever enjoy the joy of a mother.
Your matriarch, yet again, assuaged your fears by pointing a finger at Aunt Maria as being responsible for your despicability and derision. Forgetting that her four fingers were clearly marking her out as being responsible – a failure as a mother but as crafty as the tortoise. Age had taken its toll and soured the wine, unable to even do the proverbial ‘omuigo’ – I taught you how to bathe your own offspring but that was not part of your job description. Your fiefdom was the streets and incessantly it called to you, an irresistible call akin to the man bitten by the wandering curse. The passport of Mallam Ilia pales in comparison with your tales and many woes will yet befall you. Like the priestess, you readily received the blessing of the HIV in 2009 and like a fool, you wore it like a tiara whilst it ravaged you. Single-handedly you distributed TB and achieved what no one had done in the past; declared a work free period for the Lagos call centre due to quarantine but like the bug, you flittered away like the moth drawn to yet others. Usman M. whilst consorting with you taught you a little bit that you swore by Allah that you would swim in the waters of adultery but only death by drowning awaits those who venture into those waters.
The church elders intervened but then it was too late, set on a self destruction course already, you admitted your amorous sexual relations with Dayo , Alex and Kola albeit in error but like the fool that goes wondering into the forest with a gun, you only shot yourself in the foot. Groveling on all fours like a beast in the pangs of birth, you came pleading for yet another chance but a million chances would be of better use to a fool than a priestess because your vision in itself is more than you can assimilate. Your task was to get rid of all the evidence gathered against you but you succeeded only in crashing a simple laptop. Your nightly offerings of juice spiked with sleeping pills only helped me sleep better whilst it offered you room to sneak out to attend to your numerous clients – like a thief in the night with the gateman watching you in abject pity. The undeserved gift of a car only made you easily accessible and it served as a mobile advert to all who waited on you. Otunba, you so sought after that even he took flight.
Lagos was your citadel, your headquarters, Festival of arts and culture town – your market place where your wares were so obviously displayed. Eve a helper sent from Janus, together you destroyed Nenye’s marriage and most likely initiated her to your cult. Your nude pictures you sent as souvenirs to your online clients – a breast sagging but desired by the amorous, your vagina a sheath to so many swords but well lubricated by the viral load you struggled under. A free distributor worthy of mention by The Economist, to as many as sought you blessed them, amassing an army of destroyers; Dr Bello rues the day he met you as will many others for your work is not yet done. And whilst you sit at the windows of your borrowed apartment and exhibit your wares, that which you have forcibly claimed will be taken away from you just like every good thing has been and listen ……….the baying of the hounds below you serve as a reminder that there is but one end to this. You will publicly ridicule the ones that bore you and shame those who have ever met you but the hounds are patient as they know that soon their bellies will be filled with your carcass. There is a way that seems right but alas only one certain end and that is your end. May God have mercy on your soul, o priestess.
What makes an eagle so majestic amongst its avian brothers? Do animals have souls? Can the loyalty of a dog to its loving master be ever put on trial? Can the stars ever be put out in response to the rising mayhem globally? Can the ant establish a school in order to avail us the wisdom of their ways despite their tiny size? As the Preacher put it, too much studying causes only weariness for to everything that is, there is a purpose. Why do good things happen to bad people? Why do the wicked seemingly go unpunished? Why do we judge others by their actions and judge ourselves by our motives?
. And that simple daily chore always sets me thinking with a huge grin plastered on my face as I turn into my driveway, that we are always limited by our own selves. Nothing is really as bad as it seems, for with every roll of the dice on a board game – fate decides what numbers come up but we do the counting. I recently watched a video blog of a courageous young lady who is also dystonic but has overcome her fears to begin a video blog and yet again I am in awe of the strength of the human spirit.
Aboard the Bus 364 heading back from yet another painful session with my chiropractor, one of the most amazing individuals in the medical profession I have ever come across ( and I can tell you that I have come across loads of them in varying shapes and sizes ego-wise), I could not help but catch a glimpse of an already graded assignment being reviewed by this lovely young foreign student. It was a task to state a case for the reason why the average age for marriages in the UK has rocketed skywards as against 2 decades ago and it got me thinking too.
Redzhis 