"You have a special place in hell. You did this again, God will never forgive you!"

It was not the first you had heard those words. God never seemed to ever forgive you for anything and you would be going to hell for everything you did. You would go to hell for not eating the yam slices, for talking to boys and Muslims, for wearing skirts that did not go past your knees, all in all, you would be going to hell for a lot of things.

You had to admit, there was a time it had scared you, the hell-business, and you had cried every night as you thought about the ever burning surface anytime your mother said those words to you. There was a time when you would have joined your mother to burn any short skirt or dress that your dad bought for you. There was a time when you would have forced yam slices into your mouth until you chocked. There was a time when you had hated Muslims, even your father, when you wouldn't talk to them or anybody with another religion for that matter. There was a time when you had loved your name and you told everyone, without them even asking, the origin behind it; your mother had been in labour but instead of taking her to a hospital, like normal people would have done, they took her to church and they had prayed and prayed and when you were born, in a moment of divine revelation, your mother had named you; Church.

You had adored your name, you were proud of it, but now, it held a bit of mocking air so when you told people your name, they stared at you for a moment and then laughed loudly at the irony it all.

At that point in your life, when you had begun to question the hell-list, you and your mother had constantly been at loggerheads and it had unsettled you so much. Your mother had always been your best friend, your father was rarely home because he could not stand your mother's church members and the way she always tried to turn him Christian, so when you began to wear things like short skirts and cropped tops you were a bit surprised that you fell out of favour with her. She would shout at you for the littlest things, she would look at you as if you betrayed her when you would not eat yam or something you did not like, she stopped talking to you when she realized that nothing she said about hell scared you anymore. It was like that until she died.

When your class teacher had broken the news to you, she had killed herself with a kitchen knife, you were in ss2 and you had been drinking water. You felt betrayed, guilty, angry, distraught, and lost. The combination of bad emotions had made you nauseated so when you fell forward, landing on your knees, you vomited water on the classroom floor.

Your father had been devastated. Sure, he hated your mother's religious antics and the fact that she named you Church, but they had still loved each other in the way people who have lived together for seventeen years seemed to love. He could not look at you for more than ten seconds, if he did, he would burst into tears that were in no way honorable. It had been too much for the both of you; the condolences, your mother's family and the fact that they wanted to burn her clothes, and the people from church. The final straw was when a pastor told your dad that it was "God's will." He had been beaten up by your father. It had served him right, the stupid pastor.

The other family members however, did not think so. They called him a violent man and begun to talk behind his back. He could not possibly take care of a girl child, they said, because who knew why his wife had committed suicide. Perhaps he used to beat her, they tutted, he had his little daughter wrapped around his finger and she would not say a word.

Your father stood tall through it all, but he sobbed often when he was alone with you. He sobbed when he stared too long at your mother's picture, he sobbed when he could not braid your hair, he sobbed when he tried to make boy/pregnancy talk and failed tremendously, he sobbed when you had both burnt he spaghetti you had wanted to have for dinner, and he sobbed when he told you that he had to travel to Turkey for business purposes.

That day, his sobbing had been extra loud so you had not heard him at first. You had turned the cake batter with vigor and had smiled a little because your father's constant sobbing amused you. It took a while before it hit you; travel, Turkey, dad, gone.
You dropped the whisk into the bowl.

"Dad, what?" You faced him with your hands crossed over your chest. You willed him to take his words back, to swallow them hardly like he did to his Panadol tablets.

"I'm going to Turkey for a while," Then he added, like an afterthought, "for business."

"Screw that, dad! We both know you can't stand the sight of me. It's not my fault mom died, why are you acting like it is? What the fuck is wrong with you, dad? You're not  meant to act like this. You are the dad, remember?"

His mouth hung open and he wiped at his tears hurriedly, he was embarrassed. Then he opened his arms wide and you did not hesitate before you ran into it.

"You know," He started as he twirled one of your Bantu knots with his fingers. "If your mom had been here, she would have spanked your ass for using such foul language."

Your small chuckles turned into full-blown laughter and you had both laughed, ignoring the fact that things would never, ever, be the same again.

~°~°~°~

And nothing ever remained the same again.

Your dad who had been a constant force in your life, was gone. You had escorted him to the airport and watched, numbly, as the plane took off.
You would not see him again, in real life, only on FaceTime and WhatsApp video calls, until you were twenty-five but that was not even the worst part.

The worst part was when you had to move from Victoria Island to Yaba. You had no idea why you could not stay in the island, after all, you were sixteen and quite capable of fending for yourself, your dad just had to send money for school fees, food and other necessities. Your dad had smiled a little when you suggested it and he had promised to think about it. He must have never gotten the time to do that because you went to Aunty Aya's house anyway.

Aunty Aya was your father's cousin (his father's wife's cousin's daughter) and you thought she was too flowery and you hated how she submitted to her short husband, curtsying when she greeted him or served him food. She was in her late 30's but she already tried wrappers to sleep, she had no children, her food was too spicy, the house was too stuffy and the school she enrolled you for your SS3 was disgusting.

The teachers thought you were dumb because you rarely smiled and you did not know simple equations in maths. It did not matter that you were the smartest in English literature and other subjects, you did not know maths! The girls did not want to be your friend, everything about you was a threat; your kinky hair that had a blonde tint at the end, your squinty eyes and your yellow skin. Surely they could not be your friend, you would steal their boyfriends. You attracted all the boys, all right, but when they saw that you would not date any one of them, they turned nasty. They spread rumors about you and made fun of your names. Whenever a teacher called out the attendance and said your name, "Church Abadi," they laughed and called you Ibadi instead, which made everything funnier because to them, you were as flat as a chopping board.

You never cried about it though and anytime your dad called to ask you about school, you told him you were fine with a plastic smile on your face. He never believed you and he urged you to tell him everything happening to you but you told him nothing.

But, very often, you complained about Uncle Dadeola, Aunty Aya's husband. You complained to your dad about how he would hug you longer than necessary, about how his hand would skim your breast and how he would brush it off like it was a mistake, you told him about the leer that appeared in his eyes right after that told you it had been very intentional, and as you told your dad, you watched as his frown got deeper and deeper until his lips were a thin line spread across his face in annoyance. Right after, he ordered Aunty Aya, in a booming voice, to get you a taser.

"Why?" She had asked with a fearful undertone.

"For protection," Your dad had replied, vaguely.

The sun was harsh the day you used the taser on Uncle Dadeola. Aunty Aya had been asleep in her bedroom and you were taking a nap in the living room. You had been torn away from a dreamless sleep when something had pressed your stomach lightly. You had mumbled incoherent words but you did not open your eyes because you had thought that the slight disruption had been caused by Pablo, the small chihuahua Aunty Aya kept as a pet. You had opened your eyes wide in alarm when your skirt was being lifted up, surely a dog could not do that, and even though you shouldn't have been, you were shocked to see Uncle Dadeola on top of you.

"What are you doing?" You fumbled beneath him in the hopes that he would fall off you but he was stronger.

"I know you want it. I've seen the way you looked at me," He said, struggling with his belt.

The man was delusional! You looked at him with nothing but disgust and suspicious. Perhaps that was what turned him on.

"You are fucking stupid! Get off me, fucker!" You screamed and kicked and he grew annoyed.

"You nuh have respect! You been dey run your mouth at me since you come here. Me, I go slap you o!"

You did not listen to him and you continued to kick him on his stomach until his fist pummeled into your face. Your head lolled back into the cushion and you tasted the metallic blood in your mouth. You gathered your spit that was a deep red, working your jaw energetically, and aimed for his eyes but it landed clumsily on his chin. It angered him more and as he raised his hand to hit you once more, you stuck the taser, hidden in your hand, in his armpit. You turned it on with a savage satisfaction and you laughed loudly, ignoring the throbbing of your left eye, at his girlish screams.

Aunty Aya hurried down the stairs as he rolled off you. "What is happening here?" She rubbed her eyes and retied her wrapper as she took in the scene in front of her.

"Ask your husband! He tried to rape me! Rape me!" Your head ached and you could only see from your right eye. All the evidence were in front of her.

"Rape you?" She tied her wrapper again and her eyes darted to her husband twisting in pain on the floor. "Clearly there must be some other explanation. There was no need to tase him, Church."

"Some other reason? Like what? Was he fucking trying to feed me Cheerios or something? He fucking hit me. He fucking tried to rape me."

She cringed at your words and moved closer to you, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You did nothing, Aunty, it's all this... this man. Don't worry, he'll be arrested before the day ends. Let me just call my dad."

She waved her hands at you wildly, "Please, Church, you can't tell your dad."

"The hell do you mean by I can't tell him? I can and I will, Aunty."

She held your shoulders and shook you harshly as if trying to rid your body of inane thoughts. "Please," Tears ran down her face and you bit your lip harshly so you could steel your resolve. "They'll be no one to help me, Church! No money, no nothing. Church, at least he did not rape you and I promise that he won't ever touch you."

"Wait," You laughed a little in disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You want me to forget what just happened? Really?"

She nodded like a small child and you looked away when you saw mucus running from her nose and into her mouth.

"Please. If he leaves, I won't have anyone. Please, Church, please."

As she begged you, you saw that you had started second guessing yourself and you began to think that he did not do any real damage, he had just punched you.

You looked over to your uncle, whimpering and folding in agony, and as you looked back to your aunt, you felt hatred for her pulsing through you because you knew you would never tell a soul what had transpired.

Later, while you talked to your dad, Aunty Aya hovered close to you as if she suspected that you would blurt the incident out to your father. She laughed too loudly at his bad jokes and begged you every minute with her eyes. You had been irritated with it all and when she placed her hand on your shoulder, you moved away from her and asked that you wanted to speak to your dad alone. As she walked outside, she paused at the door and searched you face. She left when she was satisfied with what she saw.

It would have been easier to spill everything out to your dad. You wondered why you didn't, it certainly was not because you sympathized with Aunty Aya, it was because as your father asked what was wrong with you, trying his best, he seemed so small. If he had been there with you, you would have told him everything because, in person, he seemed like a giant, larger than life itself, but when it was through the phone, he was so far away.

And as you realized that this was the reason, you felt another part of you wither away.

~°~°~°~

The familiar parts of you withered away little by little, until all of you changed.

You went to clubs, drank different type of alcohols, smoked and rolled with the "bad eggs." In summary, you broke all the rules.

Don't speak to strangers.

You did more than that. You went to parties with these strangers and drank with them, even fucked a whole lot of them.

Do not smoke, please.

Ah, but that was the best part. Weed made you forget. Weed made you bold. Weed was great.

Go to church more often. Your name is Church after all!

This rule you hated more than anything. Clubbing was more bussing on Sundays. Why waste it in church?

Aunty Aya screamed and screamed as she reported you to your father multiple times a day.

Uncle! A man dropped Church at home yesterday. At 11p.m!

Uncle! Church called me a bitch again and she is always rude to Dadeola.

Uncle! Church refused to attend church today.

Uncle this, Uncle that! Did your aunt not get tired of complaining about these things? Uncle Dadeola tried to advise you too but he quickly saw that you would rather stab his eyes out so he stopped.

Your aunt was more determined though. She had resolved within herself that she would change you back to the slightly spoiled, good girl and not this ashewo that paraded the house in shorts that did not quite cover your bum, this stranger that had the audacity to sleep with a man in her home, this brat that talked back, and if you were too stubborn to change yourself, she  would do anything in her power to convert you.

She nagged and sent you Christian write-ups about sex and holiness. Sometimes, she would go through your phone, seize it, and when you went out and came back the next day with a new one, better than the one she had seized, she would lecture you on the dangers of collecting gifts from men.

Did you listen though? Nope! You got wilder and wilder until a day came when Aunty Aya had had enough of your misdemeanors.

She waited up for you one night when you strutted in, half naked and drunk out of your mind. You had no idea where your heels were and you had been utterly confused when the living room lights flickered on. Aunty Aya was barefooted and she had on a robe, which was a bit odd because she only tied wrappers at home. Her two hands were strapped on each side of her waist and she tapped her right foot impatiently on the tiled floor. Uncle Dadeola was in one corner near the the dining room, arms folded, waiting expectantly for the drama to unfold.

"Church! Where are you coming from? It's 2:30 in the morning for crying out loud," Her eyes quickly scanned your attire. "And what are you wearing? You were on sweater and jeans before you left! This child, you will kill me! Your Uncle and I have been worried sick!"

You scoffed, "Yeah, sure."

She came closer to you and held both of her breasts in her hands in a rather theatrical way, "Church, what have we done to deserve this treatment from you? We have been taking care of you ever since Uncle Azim travelled to Turkey. Did we beat you? Did we starve you? Hm? Tell me! Tell-"

"Aunty Aya, why don't you fuck off, yeah?" It was the alcohol talking but you did not mind. "You make me sick, for real. You and your fat husband."

You had seen her hand coming down to your face but you were too slow, too caught off guard, to move out of the way, so you heard the sharp thud that echoed through the silent room and when you felt the pain tingle in your nose, you were stunned.

You did not know what it was, perhaps it was the small smile of triumph that grazed Aunty Aya's lips or the fact that Uncle Dadeola was laughing loudly at you, something made you slap her back.

The smile wiped off her face at once and Uncle Dadeola stopped laughing, but still, you slapped her other cheek. You continued this, again and again, until she fell down into the couch, her face red, almost purple, blood dripping from her nose, until Uncle Dadeola held you back tightly because you were still kicking her limp legs.

As you screamed at her, saying, "Bitch! Fucking bitch," she cradled her cheeks in both hands and stared at you, something akin to fear in her eyes.

She took you to church the next day.

~°~°~°~

The church was standing majestically at the side of the road in Oshodi. The powerful building dwarfed the ones next to it and announced itself to passerbys. Aunty Aya moved slowly towards it and her lack of quickness left an impatient aftertaste in your mouth. The people around you, plenty women but few men, also moved sluggishly; their right leg swung in front of them and they dropped to the ground before they raised the left leg to do the same thing. The whole thing was making your eyes sore and it seemed to you like a choreography that had not been practiced well, the kind that made people cringe.

The inside of the church was less distinguished than the outside. The altar was poorly designed, the tiles stained with brown feet patterns because everyone had to remove their shoes before they could be allowed entrance, rats scurried about and were oblivious to the people there.

The women were all dark and blankfaced, even the lightskinned ones had a dark aura surrounding them, so they all looked the same with their scarfs covering their foreheads and their droopy breasts visible through their thin shirts. Even Aunty Aya who usually wore power suits and sassy gowns was in a long Ankara skirt and a big t-shirt that had Rick and Morty drawn all over it. You looked at it and you wanted to rip it off so you could see if she was not wearing a bra too, if she was trying too hard.

The choir began to sing and everyone was clapping and shouting very loudly, falling over each other. It was very different from the Light Of Jehovah Int'l ministries, Aunty Aya and Uncle Dadeola's real church. There was a dignity among the members and they did not look sad like the people in this new church. They tied elegant geles and the women wore make-up and they smiled and laughed after they said 'amen'
They did not wail or roll on the ground. The differences confused you and looked around the church with growing suspicion.

The men's voices were sharp and it pierced your ears like shards of glass, you looked at them and saw that they too were not smiling. Their jaws clenched, unclenched, and they clapped and shouted "hallelujah" the loudest when the choir stopped singing.

The head pastor was a plump woman with a bum so big that you wondered if your phone would stay put if you placed it there. Her bum stretched her Ankara wrapper and it made the designs more beautiful. You looked again, obviously, a laptop would even stay there without any qualms.

She ordered, with a tenor so deep, her deaconesses to hand you bottles of blessed water. It was not free, of course, so your aunt brought out one thousand naira and bought two.

"Oya, Church, drink it quickly abeg," She chugged hers down fast.

You raised the bottle tentatively to your lips and you tasted nothing. However, as you drank the water, you could only taste salt and from then on, blessings tasted like salt to you.

You glanced around and you saw some drinking the water without any contortion of their faces, while some shook their heads, praying fervently over opened blessed water. Some were just staring straight ahead, empty handed.

"Is five hundred too big for the Lord? Is it?" A woman in a grey flowing jalamia said into the microphone.

About four people brought money from their bags and waved at the woman carrying bottles of blessed water. A woman stood there, confused, not bringing out any money, and she looked around. When she saw that everyone was staring at her, her head hung low in shame.

You wanted to walk over to her and give her five hundred naira, maybe even more, but your feet were stuck to the ground and suddenly you felt weak and you leaned on the chair in front of you with your hands.

When the woman in the jalamia saw that the woman had nothing on her, she shrugged and begun to pray passionately and loudly for only the people with the blessed water, as if because the woman could not afford to pay for the water, she had ceased to exist. She was mocking, jeering at the woman, and you felt tears at the back of your eyes because you remembered the boys at your secondary school.

When the jalamia woman was done, the head pastor with the big buttock, called out, "Testimonies?"

A girl not much younger than you, no more than eighteen, came out. She held the microphone too close to her lips as she said, "Praise the Lord! I passed my jamb exam! I have written this exam for more than three times now but since I joined this amazing church, I have passed enough for me to study medicine! Praise the Lord?"

The whole congregation cheered and shouts of "Praise the Lord," and whistles echoed through the church.

The next woman walked out confidently and she had her scarf pulled over her ears. "My husband had the same mistress for more than five years. I did everything in my power to get rid of her. I threatened her, threatened her children, even set her car on fire once. The day I joined this wonderful church was the same day she got crushed by a trailer. Praise the Lord?"

The cheers were low but they were cheers nevertheless. Someone had died, alright, but it was someone deserving of it. As she went back to her seat, some of the woman advised her to give her husband more sex, more food, more children, more everything. You zoned out after the woman.

"Deliverance?"

You were jerked awake by Aunty Aya who had already begun to drag you to the altar. She was shouting, "Deliverance here," until she got the front. You two were the only ones outside.

"Who is getting delivered?" The head pastor asked as she stared straight into your eyes. You could not do the same, you were distracted, her breasts were huge too.

"That would be my niece here," Aunty Aya pointed at you with her thumb and smiled.

"Child," The head pastor started. "What did you do?"

You shrugged, "Chile, I don't even know."

She raised her eyebrows at you, "Did you kiss a boy?"

You snorted, "You could say that."

Her lips curled up in anger, her eyes sizing you up, "Kneel and kiss the altar ten times."

You did as she asked, it was easy enough. The tiles felt freezing cold against your lip but you continued, counting until you slowly reached ten, you raised your head up and saw something sticking at the front of your face.

"Lick it."

It was the head pastor's big toe. It was brown and hairy and it reminded you of a misformed potato. You looked up Aunty Aya and saw that she was trying to avoid your eyes. What the hell was happening?

"Lol, what?" You stared at the toe as she tried to forcefully place it in your mouth. You slapped her foot away and a loud gasp resounded through the whole church.

"You have to lick my big toe," She bent so that your faces were on the same level. "Now."

"No, I don't."

She laughed now, standing straight, "You dare blaspheme God?"

You laughed too, so hard that your shoulder shook, "You mean you are God?"

"No, I'm his servant. You blaspheme me, you blaspheme God."

"Why would God want me to suck on his big toe? Does God even have a big toe?"

She ignored you and turned to the woman in the flowy jalamia, "Code 7!"

"Code 7?" Everyone was muttering words to each others' ears in the church, their teeth clattering from excitement. Maybe Code 7 was a good thing.

The flowy jalamia woman went to a room in a corner and came out with something; a long koboko.

Your aunt was the first to scream.

"What is that?! What is that thing?!" As if she did not know.

"We have to beat the devil out of her," She collected the koboko from the woman gently, stroking the hard ropes. "It is too stubborn."

"I wouldn't lick your big toe and you want to hit me?" You turned to your aunt. "You can obviously see these people are crazy!"

"It was a test, child," She said in rapid Yoruba. "Idanwo nì. If you had done the thing without hesitation we would have only prayed, we would know that the devil in you is only mild. You didn't do it, the devil has taken over you."

"Surely, Aunty, you won't let them do this. You won't let them hit me."

But you knew she would. Maybe it was the way she avoided your gaze, the way she twisted her fingers in her laps, the way she said "oya, let's try it." You just knew.

The koboko made a 'wii' sound in the air before it landed on your arm. Your skin tore immediately and blood gushed out. You bit your lips and refused to scream. When it went in the air again, you saw your blood there, still fresh and dripping from it. You saw dried blood too, blood that told a story or multiple ones. A lone tear fell from your eye and the koboko hit the middle of your head and you screamed before you could stop yourself.

"Good, good! The devil is coming out."

The koboko landed everywhere; your face, your breasts, your stomach, even the back of your legs. You twisted and turned until you could not feel anything you did anymore, until your tears blinded you so you could no longer see Aunty Aya to throw insults at, until your mind could no longer tell you that it would soon be over and you would soon tell your dad what they had done to you, until your heartbeats slowed and you came out of your body, watching. Watching the koboko curl in the air before it came down on your body, watching the head pastor's breasts jiggle and her buttocks push the flowy jalamia woman to one side unknowingly, watching everything and wishing you would stay like this forever so you would feel no pain.

Your wish did not come true, you did not die, and as you went back inside your body, you wondered if that was deliverance.