Dr. Abejide Olusegun
As night wrapped its ominous arms around the earth like a relentless plague, those who toil in darkness to serve the light found solace in their beds. Yet, I found myself outside, naked to the world, as the cool night breeze kissed my skin, and the chill crept through my hair and settled upon my heavily egged balls. The vast expanse above me, my ever-faithful canopy, was devoid of the stars’ souls tonight. Disappointment gripped me as I turned to retreat into my darkroom, but then—a sudden burst of light flooded the heavens. It was so bright it seared my eyes, and before I could grasp its presence, it vanished.
In its fleeting brilliance, it revealed to me secrets buried beneath the earth—the silent tongues of the sand, whispering truths of ancient treachery. Could it be that rain was coming? It had been an eternity since the land saw the ropes of life and hope woven in the water’s embrace. We had sacrificed all we had—our goats, our chickens, our tears—but still, the rain eluded us. The sacred ritual stone now drenched in blood stood as a monument to our desperation. Meanwhile, the chief priest, resplendent in his self-imposed glory, grew fatter, healthier, and greedier as the villagers withered under hunger’s cruel hand.
As I pondered this grim tableau, a cold raindrop kissed my forehead, and a shiver ran down my spine. My thoughts wandered back to the market square, to the chief priest’s proclamation: “There will be no rain for four months unless two fat cows and ten chickens are placed on the sacred stone of sacrifice.” His words echoed like a haunting dirge, and I remembered how the villagers had scrambled to scrape together the means to appease the gods. Yet here it was—rain, heavy and unrelenting, pouring over the land. As I returned to my room, the thunder roared, a drumbeat of rebellion against false prophecies, and the rain cleansed the earth. I did not know when the night carried me into sleep’s warm embrace.
The morning brought with it another summons to the village square. The chief priest stood before the crowd, performing his rituals with an air of desperation. The villagers murmured, their faith beginning to wane. They questioned, doubted, and whispered among themselves. Could the gods have lied? Was the priest truly their voice, or was he merely a cunning deceiver?
“The gods cannot lie!” The priest bellowed, his voice a brittle facade of authority. “It is an omen! Rain fell without the gods’ permission, and now we must appease them with four cows and twenty chickens!” His explanation was as hollow as the promises he had made before. The villagers, emboldened by the rain’s defiance of his prophecy, demanded answers: “Why must we appease the gods when the rain we prayed for has already come?”
But the priest, unwilling to relinquish his grip, danced wildly, his charms jingling like madman’s laughter. He spun tales of divine wrath, coercing the people into compliance. And though anger simmered in their hearts, they still gave in. The contributions flowed, a testament to the fear that bound them.
I stood apart, seething in fury. It was clear now—the chief priest was a fraud, a parasite thriving on the desperation of his people. My anger was a silent storm, and that very night, the heavens opened once more. Rain fell in torrents, cleansing the land of its accumulated evil. The deluge swept away the shrine, the priest’s sacred stone, and his tainted legacy. By dawn, the village buzzed with news: the chief priest was dead. The very flood he could neither foresee nor control had washed his body, bloated and lifeless, away in a pit.
The waters of justice had cleansed the land not only of its physical dirt but also of its spiritual corruption. The waters of justice carried away the false priest, his lies, and his blood-stained stone. And so it shall be for the chief priests of our land, Nigeria. The earth cries out under the weight of human blood, and the Almighty will not remain silent. Soon, the ritual stones will shatter, and the wicked priests who perpetuate the cycle of oppression will meet their end.
As the flood swept through that village, so too will a flood of righteousness sweep through Nigeria, cleansing it of its pain and deceit. The human blood spilled in vain will no longer cry unheard. A new dawn awaits—a dawn where truth, justice, and hope will rise above the ashes of corruption and despair.
So let the wires and gates that hold us in bondage tremble, for the end of false priests and ritual stones is near. The Almighty is at the gates, prepared to bring back the lost. Let those who have ears hear.
Dr Abejide contributes this piece from the US.
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