Memoir of A Religious Girl

Source: Memoir of A Religious Girl

I held my head firmly with two hands as though I was trying to keep my head which appeared to be under the attack of atomic bomb, (type that greeted Hiroshima “welcome to a new world” during the world war), from falling apart.
My father busied himself wondering what on earth he should do. Money seemed to be a rare commodity at the time. It was in the time that Buhari paddle the canoe of our nation. I could see myself torn between life and death. The yearning to live longer and the cry to be liberated from this torment even if death is the answer, I would not mind. I was at that point where willingness to do anything to regain comfort could not be compromised. I felt like praying. But the last time I prayed before then is a subject we will discuss maybe when am strong enough to face the shame. I wished God should hear the cry of my heart. He hears our hearts cry, doesn’t he?
I felt that I was quietly losing trip life. I could feel right within me the host of heaven singing with a smile a welcome home song. I was not ready for such a feast.
That was when he came in. He could see my father sweating out his own life. He could hear my groaning. I guess he was confused just like my father too. He opted to pray for me, then stopped as though a memory flashed. Turned to my father and said, “the angels said that we should pour cold water on her”. My father was a quicker believer. What do you expect when money is not a commodity at our disposal? It is better to do something than to fold hands and watch your daughter join your ancestors in the work they do. That must have been his conclusion. He ran to the deep freezer that stood at the dark corner of his store and pulled out a bag of satchet water. He baptised me, I mean he that heard the angels. My father joined him. Soon enough, they proved that he really heard the angels. My predicament worsened. My breathing paced up. He changed the story immediately. He could not bear having my death tagged to him. He “reheard” the angels again. My father was almost flying in panic. He was in a worse state than I was; at least I had only death facing me but he, my father had more, regret must have been another side of the coin.
He told my father he actually did not hear the angels clearly. He had a new tale. The angels wants my father to invite the local drug store owner. My father could afford that just like the cold water too. My father rushed out to call this new tool the angels said would restore my health but when he came, the look on his face suggested that he was in no mood to be blacklisted as a murderer. He told my father to take me to a hospital which he did.
A week later, I saw he who hears the angels and he had more tales. The angels said that I was hiding something and I have a short time to live. I was depressed but thanks to my cousins, I now know that his brain was actually the angels.

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