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As my son Ebuka came back from school yesterday, the first thing I noticed was his wrist. Lord Jesus!!! He was not wearing his amulet.
‘Where did you keep your amulet?’ I asked him, alarmed.
He said it was inside his school bag. I quickly reached for the bag and brought out the amulet- a holy wristband blessed by Daddy GO, which I bought for two thousand naira each for every member of my family.
Carnal men and women of this world would see it as a mare wristband, but it was a mantle of protection.
‘As long as you and every member of your family wear this around in the morning and night time, no danger shall befall you in Jesus name.”
Those were the words of Daddy GO as he blessed the wristbands, mantles and Vests, and the saints of the Lord said ‘Amen!!!!’
I quickly wore him back the amulet and asked why he removed it. He said that it was his teacher that asked him to take it off.
‘What? What nonsense!!!’
what kind of teacher could have made my son remove his seal of protection? I couldn’t believe that my son trekked all the way back from school without his amulet. What if one those reckless okada men had hit him down?
At that point, I picked up my phone and called their proprietor. I gave him enough scolding that before I dropped the call, I was sure to have rebuked the devil inside him and all his teachers.
The buzzing sound of my alarm woke me up the next morning. I needed to stock up my shop, so I planned to join one of the early morning buses going to Kaduna road market.
I dressed up, put on my amulet and protection shield- the green vest Daddy GO blessed which we always wear on top of our normal clothe. Then I headed off to the park.
‘Gwa-gwa! Karimo!! Dei-Dei! Zuba!!’
‘Lokoja! Lokoja! Lokoja!’
‘Nyanya! Maraba! Nyanya! Maraba!’
The voice of bus conductors filled the air, shouting their destinations, as commuters and pedestrians struggled through the busy motor park road.
The bus was almost filled up when I boarded. The man sitting beside me was a Muslim. His dirty long mustache quickly gave him away. I was sitting by the edge of the seat next to the door, and I felt so insulted that my holy shield was touching this unbeliever.
‘Lord you have to give me a car o! I can’t continue sitting in the same place with the ungodly, scornful and uncircumcised!’ my spirit barked.
As the car began to move, I rested my head on the edge of the seat in front.
“Power belongs to you,
Power belong to you,
In heaven and the earth,
All power belongs to you
The voice of Chris Shalom rang forth from the car stereo, filling the air around us as the bus zoomed speedily through the busy Kubwa Express way.
I felt my spirit swaying to the rhythm of the music, but I quickly stopped myself. That was one of those songs sung by one of those new generation gospel artistes who are not endued with the Holy Spirit. They parade indecently dressed women in their music videos, so a child of God like me shouldn’t be dancing to this!
After Oando filling station, there is a junction. The traffic light had become faulty, but the government hadn’t done anything about it, so there was always traffic gridlock there.
The bus was stuck in the gridlock, drivers hauled insults at each other as they struggled to navigate through the tightly backed spaces between them.
‘Jesus!! Jesus!! Jesus!!!’ Everybody started screaming, from the driver to the Muslim man sitting next to me. I looked out and saw a trailer racing towards our car from the other road.
It all happened so fast. Boom!! A loud slam followed. People screamed out in pain, smoke covered the whole place.
I felt a hand pulling me. It gripped against my protection vest and tried to pull me out, but then I felt the green vest tearing off. A second hand joined.
“Only you…. Only you…
Only you… it all belongs to you.
Only you… heavenly father…
Only you… all power belong to you.”
I could still hear the song as I was rolled on a stretcher into the ambulance. A thousand clouds and a million stars were flashing through my eyes. My vision was blurry, and a heavy lump lay heavy in my chest suppressing my labored breath.
I would later open my eyes to see that I am still alive, but I won’t feel my legs again because the trailer had slammed the door against it, making it go numb, and confining me to a wheel chair for at least a few months, as the doctor would predict.
I would then hear that only the conductor had died in the accident, everyone else escaped with either a broken bone or two minor fractures.
Here in the hospital, the sound of that music would start again, and for the first time, I would turn around to see the Muslim man lying on the bed next to mine, holding a transistor radio playing the song.
‘I don’t know why I screamed Jesus, but I know that Jesus saved my life’, the Muslim man would declare, smiling, flashing a scattered set of brownish dentition.
Then it would dawn on me that no amount of physical amulet, wristband, ring, vest, holy water, olive oil or mantle blessed by any man of God has the power to save, because all power belongs to God, and only he alone can save those who call upon his name.