The Visit: From Dream to Reality

Bro King was taken aback when the guest minister called him out that morning. His mind skipped and then the melodrama began. 

"Remove your shoes."

The unexpected instruction from the plumpy guest minister and physician gave him a livid feeling. The guest minister walked down from the pulpit to meet him. He wore slippers having survived an accident on his way to the three-day ministration tagged “The Visit.”

 He felt embarrassed by his powerlessness to ask why. It was a thing rarely done in churches especially when the person behind the pulpit is acting prophetic. He worried because his shoes and socks had long lost their elegance.

"What is wrong with this stranger? He just wants to embarrass me in public." Bro Kings murmured inwardly.

The guest minister pulled his right foot from the slippers he was wearing and kicked it towards Bro King. 

 "Put your leg here and run to the entrance door and come back."

All eyes were on him. He pushed his right foot into the oversized slippers and limped to the entrance door. He did a U-turn and returned to the pulpit. 

 "Keep going and coming until I tell you to stop".

He continued to limp to and from. The congregation stood gasped, waiting for a prophetic interpretation from the guest minister. 

Bro King was on the tenth return when he grabbed him by the shoulder and led him to the altar proper. They both ascended the three-stair altar for the multi-color wooden pulpit.

 "This is the Pulpit of Many Colors. Lie down and put your head inside." The guest minister said and returned to continue ministering to others.

 Bro King was dazed. He wanted to get offended.

“At whom in particular: the message or the messenger?”

He had no answer to offer. So, he lay down and did not allow his emotions to cloud his spiritual sense of reasoning.

 "Lord, I don't understand what is going on here. This is not the first time I’ve been called out in church. Nothing unusual to show for them. Please let today stand out from the rest. He prayed briefly and tried to pray in the spirit, but nothing came out of the struggle. He merely lay down and eavesdropped on the ministration.

 "You see this man…" the guest minister addressed another person. 

  "There is this hunger you have, and you’ve been telling the Lord to try you.”

 There was silence in the church.

 "You desire to buy a bus for this church. Is that not your heart cry to God?" 

 "Yes Sir!" The man shouted in appreciation.

 Bro King recognized the receiver's voice and smiled.

 "God will do it for you. Watch out. " 

The guest minister announced, and the church burst into a locomotive hand clapping typical of a Pentecostal gathering.

 "God is a revealer." He said and walked to another person.

 "Come. You. No! …you in white shirt."

 Bro King strained his ear to know who was being addressed.

 "Please get a chair for this big man."

 Another round of applause erupted.

 Bro King smiled. 

 "Who is this new big man in our midst," he intoned.

 "Lord, today should be different from the rest." He said inwardly.

 "Get me a piece of paper and a pen."

He heard footsteps as people hurried to provide the required articles for the new big man.

 "Give it to him." 

There was absolute calm as silence swept through the congregation.

 "Write a cheque of ten million".

 The new big man hurried to write the amount on one of the pages of the jotter a member voluntarily gave to him at that penultimate time.

 "Write another ten million."

Bro King tried to pull out his head to catch a glimpse of the new big man but noticed that his resident pastor was standing behind the Pulpit of Many Colors. He stayed in his face-down position and listened. 

 "Write another ten million!"

The instruction can again authoritatively for the third time. The brethren clapped and clapped again.

"God will lift you up beyond your imagination that when this church is in need, the least amount you will give will be ten million!"

 The clapping was twice louder this time.

Bro King smiled. He remembered his homecoming as a graduate. The pastor behind him had told him under a charismatic outburst that he will be lifted and empowered that his word of prayer on telephone would turn the hand of clocks in people's lives. 

"You will travel to nations with the gospel." His resident pastor added.

 That was nine years ago. He smiled again. He was yet to obtain an international passport and no sign financially that he will get it any time soon. 

 "You can go and sit down." 

The guest minister said to the new big man and returned to the Pulpit of Many Colors. He bent down and tapped Bro King who pulled his head out of the pulpit and stood face to face with the stranger.

 "You know what? I don't have the interpretation for what happened to you today. Just go…time will tell."

Bro King removed the doctor's slippers and stepped down to wear his shoes. 

 “...and after this there was a feast.” the guest minister said, quoting part of John chapter five verse one.

 It was followed by a thunderous “Amen!”

 “You will invite me to come and celebrate with you!” he said again.

 “Amen!” the brethren chorused.

 “I shall come by air because I can see the air ticket.”

 The “Amen!” was loud and longer in rendering.

 At the end of benediction, Bro king received a million handshakes from brethren. Everybody looked forward to manifestations after the month of March, but Bro King left with one determination. 

"I need to act to move His hand to profit me with showers of blessing." He confided in his wife.

 "What do you intend to do?"

 "It's eight days to the deadline for submissions of anthologies for this year's NLNG Prize for Literature. I’ll contest for the prize with the poems I’ve written over the years."

"I thought you said you’d enter the competition next year with your drama."

"I can't wait for next year. What happened to me today is not for next year."

"Who said it must be this year? Abraham waited for 25 years. Joseph travailed and prevailed after more than 15 years." His wife said looking at him to contradict her authentic biblical position. 

"You’re right. Nevertheless, I’m going to take a loan to get my manuscript through the press. I’d toiled all night and caught nothing. I’ve this feeling of optimism that there is a great catch waiting for me this time." He said, looking at her for reactions.

"Eight days is too short to get that done. Publishing has processes and procedures. No publisher can guarantee you that he will get it done in eight days for you." 

"I wouldn't require the services of an established printing press." He announced with a smile.

 "How do you want to do it?"

"Direct labor. I’ll go to UTC. The center has hundreds of DI machine operators. It can be done in a jiffy."

 "That's a good idea. But…" 

 "But what?"

She later advised him to aim for the prize in drama for the coming year instead of making a hasty move that will amount to a failed attempt and a waste of money.

"Loan appreciates if you default." She warned.

"I know. Trust me. My first hard-copy anthology will be in Port Harcourt city in seven days' time. It will happen."

The only harm in his attempt to try was the loan. Money was required.

That night he obtained a loan from Fairmoney; an online microfinance bank. It was a loan that later got him into the police net for the first time. 

Twenty copies of "Why We Are Where We and Other Poems" were handed to him two days before the deadline for submissions by a self-acclaimed publisher. He was extremely excited but had one more bridge to cross.

DHL and UPS charged a lot of money to courier 12 copies of the anthology to Port Harcourt city. He later settled for FedEx which charged a relatively lower amount. 

"If you want to beat the deadline, it has to go by air and it will be delivered tomorrow unfailingly." A front desk officer at FedEx announced.

 He applied to FCMB for another loan to make it happen.

He started to worry a few days before the deadline to repay the loans with interest. His salary could not pay off the loans within the stipulated time.

Two days after the first loan tenor was due, calls started to pour in from the Fairmoney call center. 

“I am aware that I have a pending order to execute. It’ll be done before the tenth of next month.”

 “Please endeavor to make the payment so that the interest will not accumulate excessively. Also, if you delay, your credit score will drop too. You will not be allowed to take out a loan from the system next time.” The caller politely explained.

 “Thank you for the explanations” Bro King said and dropped the call. 

Tenth of the new month came and finished and another month came and ended. He was afraid of opening the App. The last time he checked, the sum of seventeen thousand had been added to the principal. Calls and SMS kept pouring in their numbers and he kept deleting the messages to hide his fears and frustration from his fragile minded companion. Within days, he memorized the e-bank call center numbers and unwillingly missed their calls.

“I can’t promise to pay when I’m yet to settle the smaller one in full. I will be telling lies.” he reasoned.

 “I can only buy time to pay before they come for me in person. They have my details and can deploy technology to locate me.

“Dear God, please help me to come out of this entanglement before it goes public. I’m too young to suffer from depression.” 

The more he struggled to clear the debt the more the steady rise in inflation reduced the value of his earnings. The cost of living grew and paying the loan became a logjam. He took to calling for help from above and the more nights he spent asking for help the more the interest grew. 

After six months the calls stopped coming. He was at ease and started gathering savings to commence paying the lion share of the loan. 

One evening in September, an idea struck him while watching Channels Book Club program. He wrote to the presenter on Twitter.  

“Send four copies of the book to the address below.” The presenter replied.

In October, the presenter sent him an invite to discuss his publication on air! He was on cloud nine. A date was given to him, and he gave it the best publicity he could on his social media handles. 

“My King, I am happy for you. I know you will make us proud. I will be waiting to hear you speak truth to power. Remember Ngugi Wa Tiago: Literature is a product of society. His course mate stated.

Bro king being an outspoken person did justice to the presentation.

“We as citizens, both the leaders and the led, have failed to understand that nations are built on mutual compromise. We are a people diverse on many fronts. 

“The in-fighting and the fight for ethnic supremacy is one of the reasons why we are where we are.” Bro King explained. 

“What about corruption?” The presenter asked. 

“Corruption is a product of the in-fighting.”

"Please explain that to our viewers."

“The in-fighting does not allow room for cohesion. People in leadership positions are like a disgruntled wife who takes from her husband to better the lots of those outside.

 “Wow! That’s brilliant! The presenter exclaimed.

 “What is the way out of the woods?” He asked

“The answer is in the anthology. Check the poem under Reflections: Part One of the anthology. The title of the poem is “When Will You Come?”

The presenter opened the book in his and read through.

“When will you come

To heal this land of inequalities

To upturn our livid countenance

And settle our age-long differences?”

“This stanza captures a lot in just four lines.” The presenter stated.

“Why We Are Where We Are and Other Poems” gained popularity thereafter. 

The following day one of his lecturers and project supervisor called him.

“I watched your book presentation, and I was extremely proud of you. The faculty dean, lectures and Vice Chancellor all watched the program.”

“Really? How come they knew about it?” 

“I first saw your post on your class Facebook page and also shared the info on all our pages and even WhatsApp.”

 “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you very much Sir.”

 “The Alumni president called me a while ago. The union is donating

five thousand copies of your anthology to the university libraries!”

 “Jesus!” Bro King shouted.

 His wife ran out from the kitchen with a knife and an onion in her hand.

 “What is it? Have you won the award?” she asked with eyes full of anticipation.

 He used his disengaged hand to wave her away.

 “I am not done yet,” his project supervisor said.

 “I am all ears Sir”

 “The Vice Chancellor booked an additional three thousand copies!”

 “Oh my God! Just like that?” He shouted and his wife pipped again.

 “Sir, you have done the impossible for me. Thank you very much” he said, raising one of his hands to the ceiling.

 “I am not done.” the lecturer said.

 “I am listening, Sir”. 

 “Send a copy to me by courier tomorrow. I am going to write a critical review of the anthology that will be featured in some international literary journals. I am not going to tell you what will happen until you start receiving calls and email.”

 “Like seriously?”

“Yes indeed. Get your international passport ready. Hope you have it?”

Bro King opened his mouth and shook his head.

“I will go and apply.”

“Don’t bother. My wife is an immigration officer. She will help you.” 

“I can’t thank you enough. God bless you richly for being my rainmaker.”

 “You’re welcome, my boy.” The lecturer declared.

 He ended the conversation and rushed to hug his wife with tears of joy in his eyes. He was about to explain things to her when he heard a knock. He walked to the door and met three people.

 “Mr. Smart, how are you?”

 Bro King shook his head refusing to answer the question.

“My name is King not Smart. Wrong address please.”

 “You are made!” One of them cursed.

 Bro King came out and shot the door. 

 “Do I have any problem with you? Have we met?”

 “Mr. Man, stop this your gentleman's behavior and follow us to the station.”

 “For what? …why”

 Just then his wife came out and some neighbors.

 “What is going on here?”

“Please may I know who you are and my offence?” He asked, praying for the opposite of his suspicion.

 The lady brought out her ID and held it up. The bold name on it made him calm down.

 “Please, give me a few minutes to change.” He requested.

The man in the front blocked the entrance and ordered him to move.

 “You will not enter this house. Follow us gently or do you want us to move you by force?” 

 “I am not running away.”

 “What do you mean by that? 500 calls and 120 SMS messages. Why didn't you take the calls?” The lady asked.

“You will bear the cost of the stress you have put us through." One of the men said as they walked to a black car parked a few meters away from his house. His wife had gone in to dress up and ran towards them while he was entering the car.

“Where are you going with these strangers?”

“We are not strangers…but business partners. He is one of our run-away clients.” The lady said with a smile. 

“Where are you taking him to?”

 “Police station” 

“Which one?”

“Maitama.”

 “Pick my phone while coming.” Bro King pleaded. 

 As the car zoomed off, the neighbors gathered around his wife with inquisitive eyes.

“They are going to the police station. I don’t even know why they came for him.”

“Go and prepare, let me pick my car key.” Barrister Okon, a neighbor, volunteered.

After many explanations, Mr. Okon signed an agreement promising to pay what Bro King owed the e-bank on Friday.

As they were driving home, his phone beeped. 

“Dear poet, your work has been shortlisted for the final stage of NLNG Prize for Literature. Log in to your email for more details.” the text message read.

On Saturday of the award ceremony, he couldn’t attend the event but delegated his roommate in the oil rich Niger Delta to represent him.

A digital screen on the podium displayed the ten anthologies.

“And the winner of this year’s NLNG Prize for Literature is….” The MC said and pursed. There was silence in the hall.

 Bro King streamed live on YouTube.

“The winner will take home a whopping sum of one hundred thousand dollars!”

 He went down on both knees and covered his face with his palms.

“Father, remember me.” He prayed.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, join me to celebrate…” the MC turned and pointed at the screen. 

Then gradually the book came up!

“Why We Are Where We Are and Other Poems!”

“By King Godwin!”

The hall was enveloped with cheers of congratulation as Bro King's friend ran madly to the podium. 

For a very long time it had not happened. But that night, his wife stood up boldly, sat on his lap and kissed him.

 “We are made for life! She said, robbing her palm on his head.

 It was an October to remember!