“Sister Rebecca.” Our choir leader called out to me after 12pm service one Sunday afternoon, “Pastor B is looking for you.”

That was the beginning of the end.

“Me?” I pointed at myself in surprise. Eh me? A whole Pastor Benjamin was looking for me?

It was a miracle. This was one of the biggest Gen Z pastors in Abuja after Pastor Iren of CCI. The Pastor Benjamin with over 600,000 followers on Instagram. Moses Bliss and Nathaniel Bassey’s right hand man. The David Oyedepo of our generation. Was looking for me?

What did I do this time? Did I do something wrong? Did I offend him?

Omo I was scared. I was the most invisible choir member in the church, that shadow singer that hid at the back of the stage. The only person that could spot me in this church was Jesus Himself.

But I just accepted my fate and went straight to Pastor Benjamin’s office.

“Come in.” I heard Pastor Benjamin’s deep musical voice vibrate from inside the office.

I walked into the office to see not just one, but three men in the room. Wahala. Pastor Benjamin and these two other strangers sat on the office couch, rather than his desk. This meant business.

“Sister Rebecca.” Pastor Benjamin smiled, that devious smile of his that made the church girls fall at his feet.

“Good afternoon, Daddy B.” I greeted him.

He gestured for me to sit on the empty space next to this bald, full-bearded black man with glasses.

I obeyed and looked around in confusion. All men smiled at me like I was that 1 million naira cheque dropped inside the offering basket.

“Sister Rebecca, I want to introduce you to somebody very close to my heart.” Pastor Benjamin began, the devious smile never leaving his face as he pointed to the bald man next to me, “This is Isaac, my brother from Kogi.”

Blood brother? Brother in the Lord? I don’t know. All I knew was that he was someone important to the daddy of our church. So I must be on my best behaviour.

I simply nodded and gave him a small smile. 

“Welcome, Brother Isaac.”

Brother Isaac laughed at my response and placed his hand on my laps, causing me to shudder for a bit.

“It’s just Isaac.” 

My eyes were buried on his palm that rested on my laps, praying for him to notice my discomfort and just shift it away. But it seemed he had made it his number 1 mission to test whatever waters he wanted to.

“Rebby. Shebi I can call you Rebby?” Brother Isaac asked me, licking his lips as his eyes moved from my face down to my chest for a brief second.

There was nothing I could do but nod and give him a small, awkward smile. I glanced at Pastor Benjamin and the other elderly man next to him for answers, or rescue, but they seemed rather satisfied with whatever the hell was happening in front of them.

“Isaac, go on. Tell her what you told me earlier.” Pastor Benjamin said to him, adjusting himself with anticipation.

What the hell was Pastor Benjamin on about? Tell me what? Was I in trouble?

Brother Isaac cleared his throat and his hands finally drifted from my laps and onto the top of my palms, his fingers using style to entwine together with mine.

“Rebby,” Brother Isaac looked me straight in the eyes before he said the words that nobody, not even Jehovah Jireh Himself, could prepare me for, “God said you are my wife.

My eyes widen in shock.

Come again? Your wife? As per iyawo re?

When I tell you my brain disconnected from my body in that moment, you would not believe me. It was like that statement alone was the screwdriver to removing my brain from my skull and flinging it back to my creator. I lost consciousness for a second.

Who was this man? I didn’t know him from anywhere. This was my first time meeting him and he had made it his mission in this life to change my destiny all in one day?

“I don’t understand.” Were the first words that came out of my mouth.

All three men laughed at my answer, as if I had gotten the wrong maths equation to be solved on the board.

“Sister Rebecca, you’ve been chosen. God has anointed you for a great purpose.” Pastor Benjamin said in excitement, as if he was back on the pulpit preaching one of his aspire to perspire sermons, “Isaac here is the senior pastor of our branch in Kogi state. God led him here to find you. Isn’t that wonderful? You are the chosen one to be his helpmate. The Bible says that he who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favour from the Lord. When God created Eve, when He created woman, He made her to be a helper suitable for her husband’s mission. And you, Sister Rebecca, have found favour in the Lord’s sight. You are the one that will rise next to Pastor Isaac and build our Kogi branch…”

My mind zoned off from Pastor Benjamin’s aspire to perspire preaching. Brother Isaac’s hands were still rested on my sweaty palms. The room was beginning to feel stuffy; it was getting hotter and hotter like I was inside one cathedral hell.

God, what had I done to deserve this? I never wanted to be a pastor’s wife. I never thought of life outside Abuja. How could you choose me of all people to marry a man that I barely met seconds ago.

I knew God chose wives for great men of God. It had been replayed a million times in our church and even in the Bible. 

But why me? 

And I knew that if I disobeyed God’s instructions, I may never get married in this lifetime. 

Abeg, I could not die a miserable spinster like aunty Folake who was shamed her whole life for not finding a decent man to marry. She was rich, very generous, very confident and humble, but she was never worthy in our family’s sight. 

She was destined to marry one of the deacons at our family church back in Abeokuta, but she turned him down. And she lived the rest of her life being a miserable and shameful unmarried woman.


Would that be my destiny too? If I rejected Brother Isaac here?

Hmm. Maybe I should allow God do his work. After all, He had big plans for me. 

Maybe there was a purpose in my life after all. Who was I to go against the almighty Yahweh’s wishes? If He said I would marry Brother Isaac, a very important person to Big Daddy B, who was I to say no?

“So, Sister Rebecca, do you accept to answer the call of God on your life? To lay down every other distraction to advance His Kingdom and forsake your soul for the soul of many, including your husband’s?” Pastor Benjamin concluded before he teased, “Or do you want to be a Jonah?”

Jonah who ran away from God’s call for his life and ended up being swallowed by a fish. That Jonah.

I looked at all three men whose eyes were focused on me, waiting to see if I wanted to be swallowed by a fish or if I wanted to stay afloat. It was like I didn’t have a choice. No freewill, just command. After all, God was the author and finisher of our faith. 

“I do not want to be a Jonah, sir.” Was my final answer.


I quit my job.

I left all my family and friends in Abuja.

And began my new life with my fiancé, Isaac Adesanmi, at Kogi state.

Brother Isaac and I were given a three-month trial— courtship— to grow our relationship. With God and the church.

I was made to stay in the boys’ quarters at the back of the church compound. Brother Isaac slept in his office inside the church, he had not been able to afford a house yet as he was believing God to “provide” him a house one day. By magic. 

He did not work, he did not have any business, he did not make any money from anywhere. All his time and energy were invested in building the house of God in the streets of Kogi state. 

On my first night in Kogi, Brother Isaac barged into my room by 3am, with the loud ringing of a bell in his hand.

“Rebby, get up! Get up!” He yelled as if he had seen the worst abomination happening before his eyes, “How can you be sleeping at this time?!”

I sat up on the mat I slept on, my eyes squinting in confusion.

“This is the time you should be praying! The devil is awake and you’re asleep. Don’t you know the evil spirits and forces of darkness are at work as we speak? Get up and cast them out of this church, right now! Hurry!” 

I did not have time to hesitate. I quickly followed Brother Isaac to the church altar to pray away these imaginable forces of darkness that have decided to be a full-time night worker with Dangote money. 

I was tired from the long trip and bad road we had to endure earlier that day. My body was beginning to shut down, but whenever Brother Isaac noticed any sign of sleep coming my way, he would bath me with anointing oil.

“Pray!” He yelled at me. “Pray! Rebby, pray!”

I wanted to cry.

God, abeg. Was this what I had to endure for the rest of my life? Even my village people were sound asleep as we speak. 

After we had finished praying for three hours straight that morning, I was ready to sleep my beauty sleep. 

But omo, Brother Isaac had other plans. He demanded that I make breakfast for him in the boys’ quarters kitchen. 

“A Proverbs 31 woman gets up at night and provides food for her family and servants. Don’t you know your Bible? She brings glory to her husband. They praise her in the streets. Do you want to embarrass me, the lord and head of your tabernacle?” He preached to me.


I bent my knees in apology, “Sorry, let me prepare something for you to eat. What do you want to eat, Brother Isaac—”

“Call me ‘my lord’.” 

I looked at him with wide eyes. He looked back at me with a stern expression. I looked at him. He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at me. Uncle was serious. And I had no other choice but to play along.

“My lord, what do you want to eat for breakfast?”


There was a price to pay for every call God had on your life. Even Jesus Himself knew it cost His life and that everything requires sacrifice.




Brother Isaac took everything from me. No social media. No music. No TV. No novels. 

Only Bible Bible Bible.

Pray pray pray.

Everything that gave me a sense of identity was stripped off from me.

Even when I begged him to let me read self-help books that would advance my knowledge, he would condemn me.

“Rebby, all this is for your own good.” Brother Isaac would say, “If not, your mind will be corrupted. You will start to think like these ‘jezebels’ of our generation! All these so-called feminists, don’t you know they are the antichrists?”

Like a fool, I would buy everything he said. After all, he was the lord over my life. My king. The man God ordained for me. This was my destiny and I could not go against God’s command.

A good wife must submit to her husband as to the Lord. Brother Isaac was the head of my life as Christ was the head of the church. He knew life better than me. He knew God better than me. God spoke to him, and anything God told him was right.

I was only to follow his instructions and nothing more.

We were not like the regular engaged couples out there. We did not kiss. We did not hold hands. We did not hug. We were simply brothers and sisters in the Lord, betrothed by our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. 

Even when I made an attempt to be affectionate, Isaac would swing my hands away and tell me to flee from all appearances of temptation. 

But there would be few moments I would catch him looking at my breasts or his hands would slightly touch my bum bum, but he would say it was by accident. Which it wasn’t.

Most nights, I would cry myself to sleep. This was not the life I imagined for myself. When it came to marriage, I imagined a man that would be all over me. That would let me dress however I wanted. That would support my career. That would buy me flowers and take me out on date nights.

Not prayer prayer prayer only.

The days I hated the most were Sundays. Ah! The days I had to sit for three service, nine hours straight at the front of the church to hear Brother Isaac preach. 

He was no Pastor Benjamin, but I watched the way he imitated every bit of Pastor Benjamin’s mannerism. From the devious smile, to the way he swung his hands around while preaching, to the moments of pauses to let his rhythms sink in, to ending every sentence with “somebody shout hallelujah”, to breaking into songs halfway through his sermons, to vibrating like one thunder was firing him, so that he would look like he was on fire for God. It was all too fake. I could see it. It was too hard for me to watch somebody try to be something they were not.

And he, in turn, also made me something I was not. Isaac made sure I wore blazer and suit skirts that reached down to my ankles every Sunday. No high heels, only leather flats. I was only allowed to wear three head coverings; mantillas, fascinator hats or the gigantic wide-brimmed hats that every pastor’s wife wore.

And even with these little efforts of mine, the monitoring spirits, aka the deacons’ wives, would complain about one thing or the other. 

“Your blazer collar is too low.”

“That earring is too shiny, remove it.”

“We don’t use red lipstick here.”

“That skirt is too tight.”

“My dear, lose weight. Your bum bum is distracting the men of the church.”

My God. I cannot do this again.

I’m done!

One day, I walked into Brother Isaac’s office to say my mind. We were only one and the half month away from the wedding. It was time to clear the air before I walked down that aisle.

“My lord,” I sat across from him on his office desk, his eyes focused on his Bible in front of him, “I’m tired.”

“You’re not tired, in Jesus name.”


He looked up at me in shock. I called him by his first name. For the first time ever. I looked away from him, shielding my eyes from the disappointment in his eyes. 

“I am tired of this life, my lord.” I continued, “I want to live my own way. Can’t I worship God and still live a normal life like everybody else? What is the crime there? It’s already hard enough for me to accept that God told you I am your wife. I have accepted God’s call for me to help you advance this church. But I want to go back to work. We barely have enough money to eat three times a day, talkless of getting a house to live in. You can focus on the church, while I bring the money. We can’t rely on God for everything. God gave us hands to work for our money, He is not a magician. My lord, consider my plea. I am very very tired.”

After I was done, there was a short moment of silence. What was Brother Isaac thinking? I looked up at his seat, but it was empty. Before I could look around to find him, I felt a hand grab my neck from behind and began choking me.

“Get behind her, satan! I command you to leave her right now! Father in the mighty name of Jesus, I bind you spirit of abnormality, spirit of confusion, spirit of madness, spirit of dishonour, leave my wife right now!” Isaac choked me from behind. 

“My-my lor—” I struggled to speak, my hands were tugging at his hands around my neck as I struggled for my life, for him to let me go before he killed me. But he did not stop. He was convinced that I was possessed by the devil for speaking my mind.

Next thing I knew, I was being lifted up to the air and dropped to the floor Undertaker style. I saw my life flash before my eyes as Brother Isaac removed his belt and began beating the devil out of me. He started spitting and speaking in tongues with each whip he lashed on my body.

I screamed for help, but no one came to my rescue. My mother never beat me. My father never beat me. Not even one of my friends have slapped me.

But here I was, receiving the beating of my life from the very man that was supposed to protect me. All because I spoke my mind.

It was in that moment that I knew if I truly wanted to survive in this marriage, I had only one job.

Shut the fuck up.

For the remaining days of our engagement, I was scared of Brother Isaac. Anytime he came close, my body shuddered in fear at the thought of him hitting me again.

He apologized for beating me the other day, he said he was led by the Holy Spirit to do it, to remove that devil that wanted to tear down the house of God through me. 

Brother Isaac and I fasted for 40 days leading up to our wedding day. No water, no food.

When I was on my period on the 27th day of our fast, I almost passed out. I begged Brother Isaac to let me drink water for just these three days of my menstruation and I would make up for it after the 40 days. 

He locked me up in the prayer room for those three days. I bled on the floor, I cried in pain on the floor. I begged God to just kill me that instant. Life was not worth living anymore.

The fasting continued even after my period was over. How I survived it, I don’t know. 

But what I could not survive was what happened on the 39th day of the fast. Two days before our wedding.

My family and friends had come into Kogi for the wedding. They stayed in the boys’ quarters with me, and I knew I had to make their stay worth their while.

I walked down the street to help my mother buy pure-water to bath since water did not run in our church compound. 

As I waited for the pure-water seller to bring my change, I glanced at the rowdy Mama Put restaurant opposite the small shop I stood by. Jealousy filled my heart as I forgot what ordinary food tasted like on my tongue. Before I looked away, I saw something shiny stand out. Bald head. Two bald heads.

I stared directly into the Mama Put canopy to see something for myself.

Pastor Benjamin and… enh?!

Was that Brother Isaac, abi my eyes dey pain me? 

His bald head moved from one corner to the other as he devoured the pounded yam and egusi soup that was filled to the brim on the plate in front of him.

Ah, my chest!

I cleaned my eyes and looked again. It was actually him.

It was Brother Isaac!

This man! This was the same bafoon that locked me up in the prayer room during my period because I begged for a tiny drop of water?! And he was here eating pounded yam and egusi?! Without me?!

Wait. Was this where this man has always been disappearing to in the evenings for the past 30 days? To break his fast while I starved to bed?

Ah! Ah! This man has finished me!

I lifted my skirt and ran towards the Mama Put canopy. What I was going to do to Brother Isaac, I don’t know. But only rage and violence had the answer.

Before I could reach the canopy, a metal flashed before my eyes. A white Toyota Hilux appeared from nowhere and threw me five feet away from where I was standing from. And I found myself lying flat on the ground.

My body could not move. My brain felt like exploding out of my head. 

Then all I saw after… was darkness.

I woke up in the hospital later that evening. I had been hit by that Toyota Hilux car when I was on my way to kill Brother Isaac.

For a moment, I thought the wedding would be called off. I thought God had redeemed me. But the doctors said my surgery was successful and that I would be able to walk down the aisle… in a wheelchair. 

Everyone that came to visit me rejoiced at this news.

“Indeed, this is a match made in heaven.” Pastor Benjamin praised me and Brother Isaac, “The devil tried but he was defeated. What God has joined together, no man put asunder. Somebody shout hallelujah.”



The wedding day was finally here. I was about to become Mrs Rebecca Adesanmi. Mummy A of the church.

I begged my sister to carry me and run away to Abuja. Let nobody see us. I did not want to walk down that aisle. Brother Isaac was a mad man.

My sister told me she could not interfere with God’s plan for my life. Even you too?

As I was pushed on the wheelchair down the aisle to meet Brother Isaac on the altar, I looked at the faces all around me. There was a smile on everybody’s face, that same devious smile Pastor Benjamin wore. They all smiled at me like I was a sheep to be slaughtered. Like I was the burnt offering about to be sacrificed for the atonement of their sins.

All through the church service, there was an emptiness in my spirit. It was like the life and spirit left in my body had vanished into thin air because of Brother Isaac.

I looked up at the small wooden statute of Jesus Christ hanging on the cross. His face… as if He were looking down at me with sorrow. Poor me, abi? The agony in Jesus’ eyes looked exactly like the agony in mine. Life had been sucked out of both of our bodies.

For the first time in a long time, I felt a connection with that cross. 




Then it hit me. There was a sacrifice already.

He was right in front of me. Jesus.

Why did it have to be me to lay down every other distraction to advance God’s Kingdom and forsake my soul for the soul of many? Kilonshele? Am I Jesus?

“We will now invite the bride and the groom to come to the altar.” Pastor Benjamin, the pastor who officiated our wedding, called out for Brother Isaac and me.

I was wheeled to the altar and stood opposite the bafoon. He smiled as if this moment was all he dreamt about. I was to be his wife, and he was to be my husband.

But I did not see a husband standing in front of me. I saw a bastard with Maltesers head devouring pounded yam and egusi during our 40 days fasting together. A Judas Iscariot. A pharaoh. A Saul. An Ahab. Satan himself.

“Rebecca, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” Pastor Benjamin asked me.

“God forbid.” I blurted out.

There was a gasp in the atmosphere, eyes wide open in shock at my response to the vow bestowed upon me.

“Rebby, what are you doing?” Brother Isaac asked through gritted teeth.

“What I should have done the first day I met you.” I said and stood up from my wheelchair.

I began to run down the altar, but my legs failed me, and I fell flat on the ground.


What should I do now?

I wanted to stay on the ground. To just lay down flat and bury my face in shame. See embarrassment. I thought I was super woman. 

Or… should I just go back to my wheelchair and accept my God-given fate with Brother Isaac?

Pray! Rebby, pray!

Ah, no. I shook my head.

God forbid.

I looked up, ignoring the judging faces in front of me.

I only had one thing left to do.

I crawled my way out of the altar. And nobody dare stop me.

Nobody even offered to help me because, “What mannerism of madness is this girl displaying?”

Yes, Brother Isaac. I was possessed. I was possessed by the spirit of abnormality, the spirit of confusion, the spirit of madness, the spirit of dishonour… and the spirit of insanity! All because of you!

Call me what you want, I don’t care anymore!

I would rather die like aunty Folake than live with a mad man like you. Aunty Folake died a free woman. She died a woman with peace of mind. She died knowing her own rights. She died with her dignity and sanity left intact. No rubbish manipulator told her how to live her life. She lived instead of surviving. 

Aunty Folake was not miserable. The true misery was this “God-given” life. This life of bondage, all in the name of being a pastor’s “wife”.

That was no living. That was torture.

I continued crawling towards the door of the church, glimpse of sunlight escaping through the glass. That was my ray of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel.

Mad woman? That’s okay. Shameless woman? Thank you. Being alive? That’s the goal.

I would crawl my way back to life. 

Baby steps. That was all it took.

I would get myself together bit by bit.

No more cathedral hell. 

No more lies anymore.

No more deceit.

No more chains. 

This cross was not mine to carry. Jesus already paid the price many years ago.

I pushed the church door open, the brightness of the sun blinding my entire existence.

I was free. I cried. I was finally free!

Isaac Adesanmi, I don’t know what God you heard, but God would never give me a husband that would want to kill me.

You were a deceiver and a user. 

God punish you.

One thing I know… my God is not a dictator. 

Brother Isaac, you are. 

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this blog are fictitious.

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  • T
    Posted January 26, 2024 9:20 pm 0Likes

    Amazing 🔥🔥

    • Husseina Jafiya
      Posted January 27, 2024 1:09 am 0Likes

      Thank you! ❤️

  • Fatima Gidado
    Posted January 26, 2024 11:42 pm 0Likes

    I really love it ❤️ so proud of you hussy

    • Husseina Jafiya
      Posted January 27, 2024 1:09 am 0Likes

      Thank you so much boo! ❤️

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