IG @Ijaya dynasty
That day the preacher-man went mad, everything he did was against the church itself. When he preached, he stamped his feet on the white tiles and clasped the microphone between his palms. When he sang, the church muffled and swayed from here to there like an Iroko tree blown by the desert wind. He called out verses – he carefully picked the verses – the ones that were long, long enough to throw the congregation in disarray of whispers.
He opened the holy book and read it out himself, he spoke with the congregation as a father unto his child but the church’s ears were shut. He asked questions and answered it himself. He jumped from here to there and at the falling of a leap he went back to his former position. When he heard the snoring from the congregation, he packed his Bible and eye glasses and went away; then after he had gone, the church woke up. The church secretary called the ushers to pass the tray for offering. They dropped their pennies and pence and with the prayer of the church leader, they went back into the week: to work, to sweat, to strive, to till, to sow seedlings into the earth and to come the following week to drop the gains of their daily perambulations, again.
Cheers to our Amazing Tribesman, Isaiah. We are proud of You!