Category: Short Stories

“Son, let yourself in; I’ll put an extra key on the top step, under the mat.”

Day or night, I could get inside without bothering my folks. Dad first made the key available when I lived in the college dorm.

“Dad, I’ll call you or Mom first. I’m not going to just barge in.”

“Nonsense! Come and go as you please. Just remember to put the key back on that first step.”

From college-to-career man, to Dad’s caregiver, I’ve balanced life upon the top step. Stooping, I’ve retrieved the key countless times. Today, in great concern, I hurry home.

Mom passed peacefully three years ago. After 65 years of marriage, she suffered a massive stroke, slipped into a comma and never regained consciousness. A day never passes that Dad doesn’t grieve his great loss.

I’m hitting every red light.

Gripping the wheel, I mentally replay the early morning call from Dad’s home health nurse.

“Mr. Cunningham, sorry to bother you so early, but thought you should know about my visit with your Dad yesterday afternoon.”

“Has he fallen again?”

“No, nothing like that. I hate to cause a fuss, but he acted rather peculiar. As I was preparing to leave, he asked me to sit down beside him.”

“Was that unusual?

“Yes, he knew I had a busy schedule and needed to leave for my next appointment.”

“Did he complain about something?”

“No. He said he would not be seeing me again, that he wanted me to know how much he appreciated my visits. I asked if the home health agency was replacing me. I was confused. Why would they tell him before notifying me?”

“Had they?”

She hesitated, took a deep breath, and told me point blank, “He said he was going home. He would not be there when I came back.”

“Going home? I’m afraid he is getting senile!”

“No, he is not feeble minded. Your dad said an angel came to the foot of his bed the night before. The angel said it was time for him to be going on home. He pointed above with a look of serenity and excitement. He said he was going to his eternal home.”

I should have tried to call Dad, made an excuse that I just wanted to stop by to have a quick cup of coffee on my way to work. He’ll suspect something is wrong if I knock on his door so early.

Swerving off to hug the curb, I park and decide to grab the spare key. If Dad is still in bed, I don’t want to roust him out of sleep.

I lumber up the creaking stairs. Stopping on the top step, lifting the dew soaked mat, I begin fidgeting for the hidden key. To my surprise, I see two glistening keys.

That’s strange. Dad has a key; the nurse has her key and there’s the spare key. The nurse keeps hers on a key-chain Why would Dad leave his key here too?

I palm both keys, use one to unlock the door, and pocket the other. Once inside, I see light flooding the living room; between faded drapes, a blinding beam of light targets Dad. I see him in flannel pajamas, stretched out on the sagging sofa. Next to him, on the end table, a reading light burns brightly.

Dad is the picture of contentment with his right hand resting upon his tattered large print Bible.

Maybe he just dozed off.

I tip toe over torn linoleum, noticing he had circled a scripture on the opened page.

Why won’t he wear that new robe I bought for him?

I reach to the back of the couch to pull down Mom’s handmade afghan.

That’s all he needs, to get chilled and catch pneumonia

As I work to cover Dad, my hand brushes his bristly cheek. I draw back aghast. Devoid of all body temperature, I immediately know that Dad is dead. I go limp and fall down on my knees beside his lifeless body. Tears stream down my face, spilling onto his opened Bible. The circled passage from John 14 beckons. Beginning at verse 1, I thumb down the page

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you”

The Carpenter has finished Dad’s mansion. Jesus holds the only key to the heavenly door.

With God all things are possible! Published articles in Mature Living Magazine, Secret Place, Daily Devotionals for the Deaf, Light from the Word Daily Devotional. Available now in book store: FORGET-ME-NOT DAILY DEVOTIONAL

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Loud voices drowned the little hope I had. They were voices of loved ones I had called in a brief moment of panic. Here, they were; everyone had an opinion, an idea of what I should do.

The doctor’s report lay on my centre table. It looked a bit rumpled now that we had taken turns to peruse it. We had also gone through the motions – denial, fear, then, reality seeped in. Miss Jemima Okon HIV-POSITIVE. I had these rashes that defied treatment. My doctor said I should do a HIV test let’s see. I did and now we’ve seen!

As a church-going family, we had prayer points; none was that one of us should come down with HIV/AIDS! I answered all their questions truthfully. No, I did not sleep with anyone. No, I did not. No, I did not.

At the moment, God seemed to be in a very bad light. How could He let this happen to me? I mean, I was a good girl, if you could call me that because I was 43 and single; not divorced or widowed. My mother’s sighs and facial expression said it all – God had disappointment us!

Well, after all was said and done, we came down to the nitty-gritty. Treatment must commence to control and to reduce viral load. My mother knew an herbalist but she was quick to add that he was not a spiritualist, no incantations on the herbs. “He’s like Dr. Bamidele Ogaga but not quite.” Dr. Ogaga was a nutritionist herbalist or something like that. This other man used only natural herbs or just veggies and roots of plants. My Aunty Koko suggested going to Dr. Ogaga at once. He successfully treated a friend of her friend’s boss’s wife. My Aunty said Ogaga would treat me with apples or some nice-testing fruits. She never liked bitter herbs and roots.

My brother suggested deliverance. ‘There’s this church where they use loud prayers to invoke evil spirits. When they appear, the pastor asks them questions and then, casts them out!’ He went on to tell us how victims fall down in the process as if dead but later, they rise up healed. My elder sister did not like anything to do with evil spirits because we happened to be Christians. She suggested that I should seek out strong men of God or go to crusades where hands could be laid on me because HIV is demonic!

However, it was her husband who gave me a clue to what I should do. He said I should try everything. ‘Jemmy, don’t put all your eggs in one basket because AIDS is a killer.’

My father, who was away, phoned me. He sounded flustered, his breathing laboured. He promised to pay the bills and advised me to commence treatment immediately.

When everyone had gone, save my mum, I got up and moved around to see if I could feel the weight of the viral load (a new vocabulary in my life now). My mother sat in my cane chair, her eyes wide with fright.

“Jemmy, what are you going to do now?” she asked.

“I’ll seek help. I know a great physician,” I said with feigned confidence.

“But, you wiII also pray and use Dr. Ogaga?” she pleaded.

I nodded.

“Would you like me to spend the night with you?” she enquired.

I heard the trepidation in her voice. I shook my head.

My sister had said that viral load increases rapidly. My mum repeated it now. I nodded, wishing her to leave.

“Where is this physician, UNTH?” she asked, her eyes still round as two ‘O’s.

‘No, HTH.”

Before she could ask where HTH was, my cell phone began to ring. It was my eldest sister from the U.S. She was already weeping and talking.

HRH stands for Heaven Teaching Hospital. I knew prayer was considered a weak thing but when my brother-in-law said, ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket,’ I knew that was what I should do!

The first night, I spent in mumbling prayer and studying the word. But I felt like I was in a dream.

I took money from everyone that offered it for the treatment. I also cleaned out my account and I laid them at the altar. It was crazy but I was desperate. How could I survive without cash until the next pay day? But, was it not someone who was alive that would work and receive a pay?

Four weeks into my heavenly treatment, my mother discovered what I was doing and she came over to my house and just broke down and wept, pleading with me to get proper treatment.

“If I understood you mum,” I said, “God is impotent. But, I read my Bible; the woman with the issue of blood sought physicians and was nothing bettered. Then King Asa in 2 Chron. 16:12 sought not God but physicians. Mum, he did not survive. I choose to seek Him. When He fails, I’II seek earthly physician and not until then.”

We argued, my mother and I. She was a Christian before me and had read the Bible a million times before I came into the world. Was I saying that orthodox medicine was against God? Are there no Christian doctors? I quoted, ‘I am the LORD that healeth thee’ and ‘By His stripes I was healed!’ My mother asked, ‘what if God chooses to heal through doctors?’ There was no end in sight to the argument. I stood my ground – it was my body, I’ve made a decision. My mother left in anger.

Her argument threatened to destabilise me. Voices rose in my head, all of them negative. Fear stepped in. It pushed me down on the floor, somewhere near my bathroom. What if mother was right? Another voice reminded me what people say – ‘something must kill a man.’ What if God intended …? I stopped right there!

I tried to encourage myself. This was nothing but a test, like an exam in school. At the end of a term or semester, one is tested. Examinations are not easy but they are necessary devils to determine one’s progress in school. I looked at it this way to encourage myself although sometimes, I felt like jumping out of my skin. The world says don’t put all your eggs in one basket. But, that is what I have chosen to do, put all my eggs in one basket called, God. If He fails, He has dishonoured His Word!

Deaconess Lechi Eke contributes her short stories from Lagos, Nigeria

Bro Peter and Sis Pat Pataki (The Pees) were very religious people. They worshipped mammon though they knew it not. Neither would they believe it even if they were told. They were loved and respected by all and sundry in the church, in their groups and in the society. They enjoyed the favour of God and man. They were highly sought-after. They knew how to reach out to others, exclusively, brethren who could do without it.

When Bro. Udoma, Citibank’s company secretary, took celebrated golden voiced newscaster, Efe Asika to the altar, they footed the reception bill; when Deacon John Amana, Chairman of the Nigeria Liquefied and Natural Gas Company (NLNG) turned 52, they threw him a lavish bash at the Golden Gate Restaurant Ikoyi. Also, when the heir apparent to the shipping magnate, Isiguzo Isiguzor, Bro. Dickson dedicated his first son, Joshua, they were “overjoyed” at what God had done for him, and the Pees gave him and his elegant wife, a hundred thousand naira.

They were among the movers and shakers of not only their church but the society at large. They were in the timber business, exporting timber to Italy and other overseas countries. Neither Bro. Peter nor Sis. Pat had much education having stopped at Secondary School level but, being much travelled, they had become very cultured and because of the exposure, could hang out with the very learned and the very wealthy as well.

They had a trained eye to spot lack, no matter how faint in the life of the brethren. They usually made themselves scarce if they detected a brother or a sister was in need. You will seek them, you will not find them; you will pursue them with pleasant words but they would not have the time to attend to you. It was nothing to them, to ignore a brother in need, including his greeting or walk past such a person without acknowledging his presence no matter how well they knew him or her. They expected every good brother and sister to be abreast with fashion.

They were a very fashion-conscious couple, collecting labels from world capitals like Rome, Milan, Paris, New York, London, etc. Sis. Pee arranged her clothes according to their labels: Fendi, Channel, YSL, etc. Her wardrobe had a problem – overstuffing; for clothes she wore twenty years ago were still struggling for space with those of five, to two years and two weeks ago. Whenever she thought of giving them out, she shuddered, for it would be like casting pearls at swine as they rightly said. The brethren who needed clothes were mainly ignorant folks. Her husband too would not think of giving out any of his handmade suits as he often said that his outfits were not meant for ordinary employees of labour, but for MDs and CEOs and Employers of labour. The Pees’ favourite saying was that they were collectors: they collected houses, cars and outfits.

One night, Bro. Pee had a dream; he was in a situation that looked strangely familiar. A brother was sick unto death and people were pleading with somebody he could not see to have mercy with the brother and this person refused. After watching for some time, Bro. Pee turned away but as he did, he was looking into another place, an unfamiliar setting, somebody was seated on a throne and others surrounded him. Bro. Pee heard what they were saying. One standing said, “I have checked his bank account Sir, I’m afraid it is empty.”
The one who was sitting said, “Check very well, no matter how small you find we’ll use it for he is a son and you cannot throw away your son.”
The one standing shook his head regrettably. “Sir,” he answered mournfully, “he is bankrupt. He has never given sacrificially and he has never given to anyone who needed it.”

There was silence. The atmosphere was thick with sadness. Then as Bro. Pee watched, three people stepped forward and bowed down to the one on the throne and said they would love to go and help the person in question. They were permitted to. And Pee woke up. When he shared it with his wife, she said, “Well, let’s just pray that no poor person who has no money to treat himself will fall sick, that is all.” So, they prayed, asking God to protect all the poor brethren in the church lest any fell sick. And they believed God for prayer answered.

Wednesday, after service, Bro. Pee and his wife were sitting in their newly-acquired Prado Jeep chatting with one of the very fashionable sisters in the church. They knew not what she did for a living but she was always turning up to church elegantly dressed. She was one of their many “good” friends. As they were chatting with her, Sis. Pee’s eyes were travelling all over her noting the gold chain she wore around her neck, the Gucci bag and the Christian Dior blouse then, a figure sauntered out of the shadows towards them breaking Sis. Pee’s concentration. She stopped briefly to take in the fellow: somebody unfamiliar and obviously poor. She looked away.

The figure stood there hesitantly and then moved to the side of Bro. Pee. He approached him cautiously and said he needed money for food and transportation. “Go to welfare office,” Bro. Pee said curtly. “What is that?” asked his wife. He told her. “Let him go to welfare office, now!” she snapped impatiently. “Church people are too lazy. They will not work. That’s how they drive away people from the house of the Lord,” Bro. Pee said regrettably. “What is it?” The elegant sister asked. They told her. She reached into her bag and calling out to the figure, handed him some cash. He took it and thanked her and disappeared into the shadows again. “You know why I don’t like giving this people anything?” Bro. Pee asked, “Tomorrow, when I’m not there what will they do?” The wife nodded. “O – Oho!” she cried in agreement. The elegant sister considered it briefly and nodded somehow in disagreement.

On Saturday, as the women met, the angels were physically present in that meeting. They were the angels that came to help the Patakis. They discussed love and the women leader gave women opportunity to share their views. Sis. Pee stood and shared her view for thirty minutes. Everybody listened with rapt attention, all the while, smiling and nodding their heads in absolute agreement with her. When she finished, a thunderous ovation followed her contribution. Then, a sister who looked malnourished and badly dressed raised her hand. She wanted to share, to make a contribution, the women leader ignored her and looked around for worthier sisters. There were none. Then she grudgingly gave the obviously needy sister opportunity. But she was impatient with her, telling her to make it very brief as there was no more time. The sister shared. No one listened, no one heard. They stared at her disinterestedly. Finished, she sat down feeling very small. She was one of the three angels.

After the meeting, she went to Sis Pee to ask for a lift. “To where?” Sis. Pee asked peeved. “Anywhere along the road,” the badly dressed sister said self-consciously, clutching an urchin with her right hand. “I’m sorry my car cannot take more than two people. The shaft is bad. So, it’s only me and my driver that can sit in it,” Sis. Pee replied peevishly.
“Please sister,” the woman pleaded, “the sun is too hot and I don’t have transport money; my little girl…”
All fell on deaf ears.

Recently, the Pees had been seeing a brother who was always standing with a heavily pregnant woman by his side near their house. And they knew that if they lived in their neighbourhood, it must be in somebody’s Boy’s Quarters for obviously, they could not afford the houses in that area. So, the Pees would grudgingly exchange waves with them without offering them lifts: their three little children occupied the back seat. But surprisingly, when they got to the church, they would see the couple already there and they would exchange waves again while they hurry past.

One day, they saw the brother there alone. In the church, he approached them. When they saw him coming, they suspected his mission but could not run away because the only exit was the one the brother was using. They exercised long suffering as they patiently endured until the brother accosted them and made known his mission. His wife had delivered their baby through a caesarean operation. He needed sixty thousand naira.

“What cell fellowship do you belong to Bro?” The Pees asked him. He told them. “Are you in the men’s group? Which one, Nehemiah or Joshua?” Bro. Pee asked him. “Bro, you have to go to the welfare office!” Sis. Pee said exasperated. She was disgusted and angry. These poor brethren are all over the place now. They will not allow decent folk to worship God in peace! To the needy brother she continued, “Nobody has that kind of money to give out. We all have our own personal problems. It’s God that’s been helping us.” Bro, my wife will look for some used baby things to send to you. But, please, do as she said, go to the welfare office. I’m sure they will help you. Okay Bro, God bless you!” Bro. Pee said, nicely. “Yes, I’ll get the baby some used things. Greet madam for me and please, take it easy o.”
The brother turned and walked away in confusion. The Pees escaped. They did not see the brother again. The angles had completed their assignment.

“People should go and look for something to do. All these begging and borrowing must stop in the house of God. They’re desecrating God’s temple.”
“I think it’s laziness,” his wife replied. That is right.
As Bro. Pee finished supper, his steward handed him his glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He took a long drink and belched. It smelled like a fart. He faintly wondered why. But, there was good news on CNN. George W. Bush was getting ready to move into Capitol Hill while Clinton was moving out. He forgot all about it. But as he got up to follow his wife to pray with their children before they slept he felt nausea. He wondered why. The feeling came on very strong. He went into the guest toilet and vomited: His wife fussed all over him blaming it on the fish the steward cooked and giving him crackers biscuits to chew explaining how dry things stopped vomiting. But by morning Bro. Pee knew he was sick.

Probably malaria, he said. No, typhoid, the family doctor told him. They treated him for typhoid but to no avail. Each time he belched, it smelled like fart. He mentioned it to his doctor. The doctor looked worried and invited him for some tests. Some days later, the doctor stopped by at his house, he wore a heavy mien, like an undertaker. When the Pees saw him, they knew something was wrong. He told them, renal failure. Mr Pataki’s kidney had failed. “What?” screamed Sis. Pat. “He eats good food and doesn’t take alcohol. Aah, the devil is a liar. This is a joke. I refuse it; I reject it in Jesus Name. Hey, I say no to Satan…..” “Bro. Peter was too shocked to utter a word. Cold fingers of fear began to creep into his heart. His wife got up and started praying wildly. “I rebuke you, Satan. I rebuke sickness. I curse you in the Name of Jesus. I command you to die. Return to sender. Raboshkemamama….. Robozomoroboro Karakababa…”

In no time at all, Bro. Peter began to swell up with fluid retention. Treatment commenced immediately. He flew to England. He began to go through dialysis after dialysis. His brethren began to pray seriously for him especially his group in the men’s fellowship where he was very active. His condition deteriorated fast. His system rejected transplant after transplant so his only hope was dialysis. His pastor and his wife were heartbroken for the Patakis had been of great financial help to the church. Money began to run out. He was spending pounds per hour. They carried him from England, to France, to Switzerland; wherever an expert was said to be.

Soon, there was no more money to attend to business. All money was channelled into saving Bro. Pee’s life. Sis. Pat realised they were fighting a lost battle. Her beloved Pee was dying. She pawned off her jewels and sold off their properties. She began to lag behind in fashion. Y2K shoes came into fashion, she could not buy. Uglies’ followed, she could not afford them. New cars came out, they could not buy. New estates were built, they could not acquire houses. Men wore new suits – four buttons, six buttons, ten buttons, Bro. Peter was past caring. Their friends shied away from Sis. Pat now because she went around begging for money to keep her husband alive for he was barely living. When Sis. Pat spoke now, nobody clapped. She trekked often and used buses. Many brethren’s cars developed shaft problems so, no one helped her.

Their pastor and his wife embarked on a fast to seek God’s face concerning the Patakis. But their prayers seemed to be hitting flint rock. They persisted being people that hardly gave up. It was very difficult for them to break through in prayer. It was as if they were getting a ‘no answer’. They persisted, pleading the blood of the everlasting covenant and extending the fast and the prayer time. At long last, God gave his servant a Scripture, Psalm 41. They prayed more fervently, interceding for the Patakis. The Lord said to them, “Peter’s good deed account is empty. He never laid up any treasure. He gave where he would be applauded. He never loved my people. He treated those I shed my Blood for contemptuously. He loved mammon and worshipped him.”

They began to pray harder, standing in the gap. “You’re a God of mercy, what can be done to stop the evil?”
Finally, the Lord said, Ezekiel 18:32: for I have no pleasure in the death of he that sinneth but let him turn from his evil and live. They thanked God and worshipped Him and broke their fast.

Sister Pat was summoned. She came wearing old clothes, her face etched with pains; her palms hard and dry from doing house chores because they had no more maids. The pastor wondering where to begin; heard in his spirit, a dream, a dream. The pastor repeated what he heard … “Your husband had a dream, somebody sick?” Sister Pat squeezed her face in thought. “Tell us if you know,” he said.
She did. The pastor and his wife exchanged glances. He said to her, “That’s your husband.” He told her what the Lord said and gave her the scriptures. She broke down and cried repenting immediately. The shepherds prayed for her.

When she left, the pastor’s wife left the room to attend to something else. The pastor suddenly started as he felt a hand on his shoulders. He had no idea that someone else was in that room but he heard a voice, “Son, build me a compassionate army. Raise Me an army that will pay any prize to win souls into the kingdom and will pay any prize to ensure that the souls remain.” The pastor hastened to his knees and bowed down before the God of all the earth.

Sister Pat humbled and contrite fled home to her husband for he had been sent home to die. She shared everything with him and they repented and turned from their wicked ways. They began to give out the little they had left and not before long Bro. Pee had another dream. He went to the bank to draw money and he drew and drew – there was so much. He woke up, totally healed!

Deaconess Lechi Eke contributes her short stories from Lagos, Nigeria