Reigns of Morta, Episode 1

By Yami Bamgboye
It was a wet morning. Osiya had just woken up with a slight headache in the village he had been hiding with intentions to seek asylum in a neighbouring country soon enough. He was such a fine young man who had just crossed into manhood. As he twisted in his bamboo bed, he remembered his girlfriend Oga a second time. Oga had a charming physique that made mouths gape. She was indeed pretty. She deserted him since the news of the manhunt reached her through one of her closest friends.
He had met Oga several months after he had strained rapport with the girl he ever loved before she travelled to the U.S. It was a boy-like-girl-girl-like-boy thing which Osiya felt was a coping mechanism but later paved way for transfer of emotions. Oga was a craftsperson. Every time Osiya muttered he loved her, she would stammer, chuckle and start another conversation. ‘That was gone past’, he thought.
Osiya had subconsciously joined the league of expressionists in his country when he had a poem published in one of the national dailies.
‘Ili ti ma imi ma’, his weary grandmother said in a weak voice as she walked into his room to see him in bed. While she made more steps closer to his bed, he twisted again and opened his eyes.
‘Iki ira Mima’, he said.
‘My son’, she paused for a moment as emotions ran through her bones. Her eyes became laced with tears, then she continued.
‘Your father was my only child…’
‘I know Mama’, Osiya interrupted with sympathy.
‘I know you do but I’m making a point’ she retorted.
‘He was vibrant and relentless’, she continued with encomium.
‘Fearless and selfless. Hmm… his persecution was different. It was in the church. And like a thorn, God… hmm… it remained until the end. Why? We never knew and still don’t know!’ She let out an outburst and streams of tears trailed.
‘Live for me’, she begged. ‘You can’t change them, they are too powerful for you. What matters most is you, not them or the community, please!’.
Osiya’s father had been a fervent brother in a new generation church. He had strayed in one evening to hear the Founder as he was fondly called, preach. He dwelt on holiness and he spoke with so much passion and exertion that one would think he was the cleanest thing on earth. These trappings of holiness he displayed somewhat regularly, really had Osiya’s father immersed and soon, he became a member.
One evening while the Founder spoke on sacrifice, a favourite topic of his, he delved into his financial status, citing and contrasting his days of poverty with the present. The overwhelming response of whirling laughter he got every time he did this like a comedian cracking up some troubled souls, made him tell more lies. It was just a struggling church and only the Founder had a car.
Few minutes after another round of laughter had doused, a man who had listened all the while but had his own counter thoughts running in his head raised his hand to ask a question. He was a stammerer.
‘Yes Brother Kilila’, the Founder said.
In jerks, Kilila said, ‘Fa…Fafafa…’ just continue Brother, the Founder cut in.
‘But the Bible says tha…tha… no one receives ex…ex…cept he be given. Whaa…wha…y…’
‘You see’ the Founder interrupted again. He sensed a serious tackle. ‘The Bible is so broad’, he continued, ‘and the knowledge therein is so inexhaustible. Sometimes, you just have to work your way through’, he ended. This was right but was in defence of his sacrificial giving mantra which worked like magic.
Thanks for reading our story. Stay connected for another episode.

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