Prophet Alabi

*Mazi Abe Idris*
Prophet Alabi was the head of the Cherubim and Seraphim church on Aggrey road, in PortHarcourt, back in the 70’s.

My dad was then ‘remarried’ to a lady from Abonnema, of Kalabari extraction.

Auntie Briggs was a fervent and senior member of the church and went by the title of “Mother in Israel”

On Sundays, she wore her crown with the inscription “Mother in Israel” with such pride, you would think she was on her way to Heaven as she made her way majestically downstairs to the car and church.

She was rich in her own right, so I knew she was able to afford spraying herself with a whole bottle of Joy perfume every sunday.

She probably believed the Angels would come down and dance with her in church, attracted by the gallon of lavender oozing off her sutànä.

At least it worked with Prophet Alabi.

The man will gum to her large backside, singing and praising Jah Jehovah, as the church drummers beat the hell out of the leather drums, Prophet Alabi trembling and shivering to a crescendo and climax screaming “Jehovah Emmanuellllllllllllll!!”

Auntie Briggs, half bent over, her wide ikebe stuck out in spiritual abandonment to the Gods and Prophet Alabi, eyes closed tight in supplication, will also tremble with passion.

I always suspected that they were cumming, but I jus minded my own business, me too looking out for any free shaking ikebe.

By that time, the whole church has gone wild in dancing and singing.

Me too, I will find any shaking Ikebe and glue my boner to it, shouting “Jehovah!”  as I give my stiffy to Jesu Christi and the soft valley shaking in front of me.

Oh, I loved Cherubim and Seraphim in those days, especially when it was dancing time.

“Let us pray” Prophet Alabi will finally manage to extract himself from behind Auntie’s big thing, using the big Bible in his hand to cover his raging hard on.

My Dad never really bothered to go with us to church, but I used to wonder if he ever knew the method of praise worship at his wife’s church.

He knew Prophet Alabi fairly well, as the man always stopped by every Sunday for a ride to Church.

“Aaaa! Alhaji, èkarò sir.  Are you going to honour us and come to church today, sir?”

Popsy will jus smile and offer him a drink.

He knew the man was a fraud, but if it meant his wife spending the whole Sunday away from the house with her nagging, then Pastor Alabi was welcome to climax on her ikebe. As long as he was left in peace to watch his favourite James Bond movies.

The Sunday ritual was always the same:

Prophet Alabi and his short Rasta hair will roll into the sitting room at exactly 9:05 am.

The Sunday Sunday jollof rice is always ready by 9: 10am.

The Prophets timing had become so legendary that the front door is already open, awaiting the arrival of Prophet Alabi.

After pleasantries:

“Abe!!!”

“Yes Daddy?”

“Get Prophet a Guinness from the fridge”

“Yes daddy”

“Aaaah! this one is too big o, Alhaji. I can’t finish it sir. Do you haff small stout instead, sir?”

“Erm..... no small stout o, but I will help you drink some of it”

Gist about Govt and politics will go on as the big stout decreases, popsy winking at me in amusement as Prophet Alabi’s voice gets louder and more excited.

He has forgotten to share the big stout with popsy.

Then the jollof rice arrives and they relocate to the dining table.

“Abe!!”

“Yes daddy?”

I know the drill, so I don’t need any prompting, as I place the second big stout besides Prophet Alabi, as he begins to tackle the jollof and fried chicken.

No protest this time, as to whether it is big or small.

Jollof and Guinness continue to battle for space inside Prophet’s fat stomach.

At a point, his untidy dreadlocks seem to be getting longer, but maybe it’s my imagination sha.

Finally: “Aaaah! look at the time. It’s almost 10 o’clock ké! Time for church”

Prophet lumbers to his feet, swaying a bit, but steadies himself.

Popsy smiles, a slight shake of his head as he shepherds the obviously tipsy Prophet toward the door.

Mother in Israel is not far behind them, giving her hubby a quick kiss, shuffling after Prophet Alabi on their way to another kokoma dance.

“Are you going with them?” Popsy will raise his eyebrows in surprise, knowing I don’t like the whole church charade.

But ever since I discovered the “one corner” dancing in her church, I had become a Cherubim and Seraphim covert, looking forward to glue on to available soft mountains during offering time.

“Yesh daddy, ayam going with them....”

To Be Continued

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©️ Mazi Abe Media 2019