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FICTION

FICTION:: The Shield (Enjoy The Read)

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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.

#GospelWrappedInFiction
© Anwuacha Dandy Samuel for Sonshub.com
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FICTION

READ STORY: Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) – Final Episode

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Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) 

<< READ PREVIOUS EPISODE HERE


“Wake up, child.”
Efie stirred, and yawned, rubbing her eyes almost violently. She struggled to sit up.

“Where-?” She asked, squinting at Ujanga Maa, not quite remembering anything.

“We are back at my cave, child. You are safe, now.” Ujanga Maa reassured. With a voice filled with resigned acceptance, she said, “But my brother is not.”

“Come, now, child. Do not keep picking at a fresh wound-” “I am weary. I am weary of it all.” Efie interrupted. “If you have something to say to me, say it. I am weary.”
Ujanga Maa stood, and held out a hand.

“Come with me, child. I want to take you somewhere. A place you will hear the words that will give you rest. Come.”

Efie looked up at him, and smiled sadly, not believing that she could ever find rest. How could she? Her only brother who had depended on her for protection, was dead. She had failed him. Nonetheless, she stretched out her hand and grasped his, allowing him to pull her up. Her knees buckled, but he held her firmly, so she did not fall.

“My wound!” Efie cried, patting herself in frantic, jerky movements. “I tended it while you slept.” Ujanga Maa reassured. “Come now, child.”
Together they walked, one leaning, the other supporting. One a ragged mess, the other a pillar of succor and strength.

Once more, they were back under the wormwood, and he helped her sit close to him on the leafy forest floor. And Ujanga Maa began to speak.

“Nineteen years ago, a man came to our village, with nothing to boast of, but a small book. This man spoke of a God. One who created all, but was created by none. Who had no wife, but had a son. Who had no other son except that one, yet sacrificed him for a world filled with people who did not know him, or even care.”

“What foolishness.” Efie spat, turning her head away, disgusted at such blatant waste.

Ujanga Maa smiled. “Foolishness, you say? Well, perhaps. But what made God foolish?”
Efie hissed, and kept her head averted, saying nothing.

“Efie, why did you rush into the arms of the ones who took your brother, knowing that you might die? Not caring for yourself, but consumed with the desire to bring him back? Tell me.” “I loved M’idawe. He was my blood! What would such a god know about love?”

“My child. He created love. Brought it into being with His sacrifice. And because he loved, we too have the ability to love.” Ujanga Maa said, pleased that Efie had turned towards him.
“But, why? You said we did not care. He did not have a reason to sacrifice his son. So why?” Efie asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ujanga Maa stood.
“I do not know, child. I do not know.”
***

Efie stirred and awakened. She looked around and saw that she was still under the wormwood. And Ujanga Maa was nowhere to be found.Puzzled, she held onto a branch of the tree, and struggled to stand.

“Efiesisi!” A familiar voice cried. Efie swung around to see M’idawe running towards her, a huge smile on his face.

She sank to her knees.
“Brother, my brother!”

THE END.


Click Here to read all Episode


© SonsHub Media | Written By Toyin Uzoma

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Toyin Uzoma is a vocalist, writer, motivational speaker, editor, content writer and TV presenter. A student of Imo State University, studying English Education and Chinese Language.

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FICTION

READ STORY: Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) – Episode 8

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Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) 

<< READ EPISODE 7 HERE


He put her on the floor of his cave, and moved to stoke the slumbering fire. As the fire roared back to life, Ujanga Maa raised his head, and allowed the tears to fall freely. Tears of gratitude, of joy.

“It is almost over, Master. It is almost done. It is time to draw close the far and wandering, the lost and helpless. Master, help me. Help me to speak words that will reveal you. Your love. Your great love.”

He bowed his head, overcome by the overwhelming emotions flooding his heart.
Ujanga Maa had watched and waited, ever since he first found the girl and her fledgling, weak brother, with their mother lying awkwardly beside them, in the throes of death. A man had come to their village from the far West, as he said, when Ujanga Maa was but a lad, talking strangely, clutching a book he refused to part with, singing songs about a God who saved, and did not require sacrifices and libations. A God who did not lie with a woman, but had a son whom he loved so much, but whom he did not mind allowing to be killed to save people who did not even like him. Ujanga Maa remembered how he laughed heartily at this tall tale, thinking-like the others-that the man was mad. But after that day, Ujanga Maa could not sleep. Sleep refused to come, and one day he went in search of the mad man from the West.

That day, Ujanga Maa opened up his heart, believing the ridiculous story, and received the salvation that the God who allowed his son to be killed, offered. He stayed with the man thereafter, learning how to love God.

“Love a God! Forgiveness!” The man shouted. “Patience! Kindness! Meekness! Joy! Hagiwe!” Ujanga Maa repeated in the native language. “Goyeyi! Disehi! Fafeyu! Hiika!”
“What should you do if i raise my hand against you?” The man asked.
“Hagiwe. Hagiwe w○.Forgive,” Ujanga Maa answered.

“What should you do when i am stubborn?” The man asked again.
“Goyeyi. Patience. I will wait for you to change,” Ujanga Maa replied again.

“And if I do not change?” The man asked for a third time. “Kraase. I knock your head with a staff. And still continue to be patient, in love.” Ujanga Maa answered.

“This, my child, is how to love this God. Just do what he has said.”

********
Ujanga Maa welcomed these memories, for he had lived all these years with the words in his heart, with a will to obey. Now, many years after, the time had come to bury these words deep into the heart of another.
He turned to look at the girl. Though asleep, she wore a troubled look. He reached out to place his hand on her head, stroking her hair, eyes filling with tears again, for he knew a miracle was about to happen. He could feel it in his bones.
And he would rather die, than prevent this.

His grip on her head grew firmer, and she stirred. It was time.


© SonsHub Media | Written By Toyin Uzoma

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Toyin Uzoma is a vocalist, writer, motivational speaker, editor, content writer and TV presenter. A student of Imo State University, studying English Education and Chinese Language.

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FICTION

READ STORY: Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) – Episode 7

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Ujanga Maa (The Saviour) 

Ujanga Maa (The Saviour)

<< READ EPISODE 6 HERE


She crept into the hut, looking around furtively. Seeing no one, she crept out to the back. There, lay sound asleep, a man clutching a dagger like a talisman to ward off evils. Efie knew he killed her brother, her M’idawe, with this very dagger he clutched. She moved towards him, picking up a rock, looking to bash his head in.

“Hara eeeee
Gawi eeeee
Biji eeeee
Toh!
Hiise e ya e yaa”

This, she sang under her breath, pushing all kindness, all compassion away, and inviting wicked spirits to help her avenge her brother. The closer she got to the slumbering man, the more determined she was, to kill.

“Madi goo ha sa ya!” She spat, and raised the hand holding the rock high,bringing it down hard, on another rock half buried in the sand.
The slumbering man woke with a start, and was instantly on his guard, gripping his dagger firmly, eyes open wide, legs spread, with feet firmly planted on the ground, muscles bunched for action.

“You killed my brother! “Efie yelled, and ran towards him, bringing the rock down on his left shoulder. The man yelled, grabbing the affected spot. He swung the knife with his right hand in a wide arc, slicing Efie’s thigh.

“Arghhhh!”Efie yelled, more out of anger than pain. Quick as lightning, she knocked the knife out of his hand.Kicking it far away, she brought the rock down again and again on his body, deaf to his cries for mercy, too blinded by sweat to see the blood pouring from his head. She raised her hand for the last time, about to deal the final blow.

“Efie!”

Ujanga Maa burst out from the tree line, holding out his hands in supplication.

“My child. Do not do this evil thing!” Ujanga Maa pleaded.

“He killed my brother. He deserves to die,” Efie uttered with a guttural voice, quite unlike hers.

“Who is he?” Ujanga Maa asked, moving forward with great care.

“A killer! Nothing but a wicked killer!” Efie answered, shaking with rage, and unquenched thirst for bloodshed.

“Very good. You kill him, you become him. A killer,” Ujanga Maa reasoned, hands still outstretched, “deserving death.”

“I have nothing left to live for,” Efie said, gripping the unconscious man’s hair, pushing his head back, for maximum impact, “he took him away from me. Everything i have ever lived for. He must die!”
Saying this, she raised her hand again, ready to strike.

“Efie.” This time, the voice was gentle, soothing.

Efie’s hand wavered, and her knees shook. Her face lost the angry, vindictive look, and crumpled in agony. She thrust the man aside and screamed, throwing the rock far away, hearing the soft thud, as it fell.
She fell too, unable to shoulder the weight of her anger and hurt, not knowing who to give it to.
Ujanga Maa moved to pick her up. Cradling her in his arms, he raised his eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Master. ”


© SonsHub Media | Written By Toyin Uzoma

Subscribe to Out Latest Post Notifications with the Bell button floating on your screen to Get Updated on New Episodes


Toyin Uzoma is a vocalist, writer, motivational speaker, editor, content writer and TV presenter. A student of Imo State University, studying English Education and Chinese Language.

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