Blind Faith: Stories from the Church next door

Photo Credit: Kenny Eliason 

Hey friend. I've always written to you in my mind. I hope you have been receiving them through our very tenable bond. And now, not for the lack of connection between us, I decided to write to you again, physically this time, just in case the telepathy connection gets fuzzy at the climax of the story. I know. I know. Very demure. Very mindful. Very cutesy. You are welcome. 

Once there had been a woman. Well, two women but we will start with the first, pregnant and heavy, waddling her way down the doctor's office with news weighing more than her child. She will make her way to the pastor's office, where all news are dispatched, whether good or bad. And she will dispatch this one too. The doctor said the baby was too big to be born naturally, at least not without a life-threatening tear on her. He advised her to go under the knife. You see, in any other country, this is not news. You could close your eyes in a second and find your baby in your arms in the next. But this is Nigeria, anything can go wrong with surgeries. The surgeon, worried about the uncertainty of his family's fate at this time of economic crisis, can absentmindedly forget his scissors in the womb. The power supply can go off and there will be no fuel for the generator. Even village people can happen. You can also buy one and get one free. The surgery can be successful until you discover a vital organ missing. Kidney for instance. There are post surgery complications too. What if the cut doesn't heal well? It could get infected. So many what-ifs. This is why you of all people understand why this news ended up on the Pastor's desk, a place where the spiritual merges with the physical. She will walk the thin line between life and death. In a country of uncertainties, you must increase your chances and fight from both realms. I am sure you understand. Even unreasonable me does. 

Photo Credit: Jeremy Yap

What I, however, did not understand was why the pastor screamed at the top of his voice and forbade the woman from speaking of it again. ‘Why speak it into reality?' he said. 'God forbid such bad thing!’ And like we who had been birthed by C-section were abominable sins of heretics, he told her to reject such heresy. This was where he lost us. He was supposed to assure her of the Lord's providence. And his prayers. Instead, he said, ‘this is a test of Faith and you can not be found lacking. And to prove our lack of Faith, he told the story of the Hebrew women. ‘You need only believe,’ he said. 

You snorted. I followed. So did the doctor. Perhaps, we were lacking. But unless we put a bullet to this woman's head and force her to consent to surgery, it is a personal decision and we are stuck with her choice. These are few instances where freedom and rights do not do us much good. It reminds me of those sci-fi films where a proud antagonist wakes up and decides that men are incapable of thinking for themselves. And he, out of the immense compassion in his heart, decides to do the thinking for them. For a second, I understood them. You will begin to when she clocked her 27th hour in the labour room. Her groans of anguish still in the place of a baby's cry. It will make more sense when you see the doctor's frantic efforts to control the bleeding. The gruelling battle to fulfill his oath. You will see first, the pessimism etched on his face before you see the futility of his efforts. You will fully understand when the nurses spread out the white sheets over the woman's body, her bulging stomach showing no evidence of its emptiness. 

I found a similar experience on Twitter and I couldn't resist sharing it with you. It's not this story but it gives credence to the theme. 

I turned to the second story and pretended like I did not see you wipe a tear. I will tell you about the other woman who walked with a limp. How her limp came to be. You did not believe at first, until I told you how I came to know. She told us herself. It began with a night crusade. A power-packed one, she called it. She had even invited us. But we, innocent and unaware of the evil of the world, chose sleep over it. So she went to vanquish the evil spirits alone. She closed her eyes, deep in prayers, communing so deeply with people in the spiritual realm that she did not see. She fell. It was supposed to be a simple fall. The kind you get up from and continue walking. Except that she couldn't. At least, not without intense pain and support. The pastor's explanation was simple: the evil spirits seeing her soulful concentration sought to distract her with the things of the world. This world is a battlefield. You must fight courageously to win the prize. Like St. Paul advised us to. Like our Father Jacob had done. 

‘So I've fought courageously ever since,’ she told us. Even when the pain became so intense that I limped. I know I will triumph like Father Jacob. And have a crown of blessings. 

‘So you didn't go to the hospital?’ we asked. 

‘And have them remove my Jacob limp? And my Blessings? Never!  Don't worry. I can deal with the pain. I am a fighter, she told us before she limped away. 

Photo Credit: Edwin Andrade

The air was silent. It must have paused to hear her story. So did you. Then it blew, as if to shake it off. You shuddered. I would have engaged you in a longer conversation. I would have told you my thoughts on blind faith and how it is spurred by ignorance. I would have told you how much I hated it and the plans I have to change things. I would have even quoted my favorite bible verse, ‘my people perish for lack of knowledge (Hosea 4:6). But your shudder was fast becoming a chill. And I, worried you will lose your strength, wrapped you in a warm blanket and promised to write to you again. 

Until then, my friend. 

To every Rose that grew from concrete; Blossom! 

I would love to tell you that I plucked these stories from my imagination. But you know my imagination is rather lacking. So I will simply tell you that I grieve.