She dreamed about it again and it felt just like it had felt that day, hurt just like it had hurt. She awoke from the dream, sweat beads dotting her forehead. The top of her sleep wear was drenched in sweat, either as a result of the anxiety the dream had imposed on her or the heat from lack of power supply. She left her bed; her heart beating wildly, her chest still heaving and walked slowly towards the bathroom like a heavy weight was placed on her shoulders. She indeed had a heavy weight seating on her shoulders, inflicting pain on her body and mind. She cried everyday for relief. She splashed cold water on her face and rested both her hands on the sink.
She let out a groan and hot tears began to flow unrestrained. She let them be as they ran down her cheeks. She looked at her reflection and cried harder. She was broken. The pain had broken her. She would give anything to feel happy, to breathe, to live without the pain piercing her heart, to feel normal again.

She forced herself back to sleep after two hours of turning and tossing. She didn’t dream this time and was beyond grateful.

She was cleaning up her room later than morning when a call from her ‘long lost friend’, Sharon came in.

“Sharon? Ehn? Are my eyes deceiving me?”

She swiped to accept the call and put the phone to her ear.

“Sharon? Wetin happen wey you remember me?”

Sharon’s high pitched laughter rang through the phone. “You are always in my heart, babe. I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy running things abi? Because you nor get work, you nor dey school but you dey busy,” Fikayo spewed without giving it much thought. She almost regretted her words...almost.

Sharon’s voice was furious as she said, “WAIT! What are you insinuating?”
She wasn’t one to back down or shy away from a confrontation.

“I’m insinuating exactly what I said, Sharon.”

Sharon chuckled humourlessly and started to talk but Fikayo cut in quickly, “And NO, it’s not an insult. I just want to know why you’ve decided to tread this path.”

“It’s none of your business if I decide to use my body to get a good life, Fikayo. The last time I checked, you aren’t exactly a saint! Let’s not forget your dirty little secret, you smoking addict. Daddy hurt you a few times and you become a whiny, crying baby, pretending to be broken like you did not enjoy it. Hypocritical b***h!”

Fikayo’s body trembled and she slid to the floor, shocked at the words of her friend. She did not recognise Sharon anymore; her sweet friend who was as broken as she was; their brokenness had brought them close and they had opened up to each other, cried, comforted each other in their pains. She had taught her to bury the pain with a lit cigarette. She had introduced her into this madness that was supposed to comfort her but had further broken her. How had she become a smoker? Who was she and what had this pain done to her?

***
Fire noticed her sour mood and probed her to tell her what was wrong. As usual, she didn’t budge, instead she lied that she had menstrual pain. Fire went ahead to cook Jollof Spaghetti for her and gave her two paracetamol tablets after she ate. She swallowed the medicine so her sister wouldn’t suspect her lie.

“Let’s go to the mall. We’ll take a taxi, no flying bike things. I don’t like your sour mood,” Fire held her cheek and caressed it. She moved her face away from her sister’s grip and cleared her throat.

“I’m not sure about that, Fire. I just want to sleep,” she said in a low tone.

“You need to cheer up. We can watch a movie or play games at the games centre. I’m not happy seeing you so moody.”

Once again, she wished she would just brace up and tell her sister. She wouldn’t judge her or would she? She didn’t think she would but then again she wondered if Fire would see her differently afterwards. She would still tell her anyway...but some other time.
She shrugged and her sister squealed, grinning like she just won a lottery. She smiled a little, shaking her head.

Thirty minutes after, they were at the mall, window shopping and laughing at Fire’s dry jokes. She found them funny because they were silly and lacked good sense of humour. They stopped at Shoprite, bought some junk and started to the exit. Fire sighted an old classmate of hers and she left her side, practically running to the girl. They both squealed and hugged each other tightly. Fikayo cringed at the display.

After five minutes of waiting for her sister, she walked towards them, said a quick hi to her friend and whisper yelled in Fire’s ear.

“Biko, I want to go home. I can’t be standing, waiting for you like a jobless person.”

Fire exchanged numbers with the girl and they continued towards the exit. The hot air outside embraced Fikayo as they stepped out of the building. Her eyes found a group of young adults or probably teenagers in a circle, holding hands in a corner of the parking lot. It looked like they were praying. Fire followed her sister’s gaze and did not miss the hiss her sister let out.

“Why did you hiss?” she asked, still looking at the group of teens who had stopped praying and had let go of each other’s hands.

Fikayo shrugged, a look of disgust imprinted on her face. Fire grabbed her hand and pulled her along towards the gate.

At home, back in her room, her mind kept journeying back to the image of the teens praying outside of the mall. Why did they devote time and energy to a God who dismissed the cries of people in distress, who had turned a deaf ear to her prayers?

“Fools!” she said loudly, fighting the tears that threatened to pour out of her eyes. She struggled to keep the image out of her mind but failed. Through dinner, washing dishes and retiring to the room, her mind continued to stray to the praying teens at the mall. Even after smoking, they still stayed on her mind. She decided to force herself to sleep. Maybe when she woke up, the thought would have been erased off her mind.

Sadly, she woke up with the same image plaguing her. Genuinely, she was curious as to why people devote their lives to a God who didn’t care about them. There could be something she was missing, something they saw that she couldn’t. Also, they may not have experienced anything that would make them question God. He might have been good to them. She could just be the unfortunate one, the one he had left in danger – danger that threw her into a dark hole with no room for light to flood in.

Her curiosity drove her to the search button on Instagram, her fingers typing in Ike’s name. An account with his face as Profile picture soon popped up and she clicked on it gingerly.

Ikechukwu Obalolu Nnadi
Preacher of the Gospel
Devoted to sharing Light
Christ died for me and so I live for Him
Founder @LitforChrist

Her eyes dashed to his smiling face in the small circle displaying his profile picture. His arms were folded across his chest and his white teeth shone at the camera.  He was so handsome, she thought before pushing the thought to the back of her mind. Clicking on the first post, she wondered what she was doing here. What did she hope to find?
He smiled at her from the screen. She scrolled to read the caption.

“This gospel ehn! We’ll preach it,” it read. “Follow @litforchrist to read all the amazing testimonies from teens who accepted the light of God and how it brought them out of the darkness they were once buried in. Gabriel was delivered from masturbation, Kelvin from depression, Abdul from self harm and suicidal thoughts. The list is endless. I share some here but there is more on @litforchrist. There’s no pain Jesus cannot take away, no sin he cannot wash away, no addiction that cannot lose its grip. He has been chasing you relentlessly. Receive His light! Become #litup with the light that is Jesus. #litforchrist #litup”

She felt goose bumps reading the caption. She did not like what she was feeling. She couldn’t believe she was considering checking out the “Litforchrist” page. It was mere curiosity, she assured herself, shrugging. She was afraid of losing her unbelief in God. She was afraid she’d change her mind about Him after reading the testimonies. She had been so sure God did not care about her but now, questions were flooding her mind. Could it be that he cared?

No, she shook her head vehemently. If he did he wouldn’t have left her in the heat of danger, surrendering her into the hands of torture. She could not seek healing from Him. She was not even sure he would grant it to her, being that he had ignored her in her distress. Or was it her sin that had hindered her prayers? She remembered being taught in Sunday school that sin was a hindrance to answered prayers. Then, her father had not strayed and the whole family used to attend church.
She wasn’t sure who God was. Even if she sought Him, she was too dirty for Him.

She closed the app, turned on her side in bed and continued her musings till sleep engulfed her, taking her far away from her sorrow.

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