It’s Christmas day and for some reason, there are decorations everywhere. My street is decked with ribbons and the fireworks have been on an all time high. This is a good thing, for them, for folks who believe in throwing away hard earned and borrowed money. It’s a good thing for folks who believe everyday is a party, complete with Aso-ebi and well there are a lot o’ Yoruba folks living here….
Now, don’t get me wrong. Don’t pin the sadist name tag on. I am vaguely happy with the illusion created by the masses. Y’all need something to hang on to. To say, this year wasn’t the most messed up year of my life.
You need a testimony when you wear your carefully sewn lace top complete with sequins and a knotted velvet wrapper up the pulpit and grab that microphone.
“Praise the Lord”. Then you’ll pause, slightly surprised by the squeaky sound emanating as your voice. The congregation will laugh and you’ll start again, determined to prove to them that your life is as fabulous as the Balogun “Loubothings” you’re wearing.
“Praise the Master Jesus!. I want to thank Baba God because even though my husband filed for divorce because I’m lousy in bed and unfaithful, I am happy it’s Christmas. The year has ended well.
“Gbam!, a heavily accented voice will bellow.
“Let us give our Father seven Awilos for his blessings this year”.
Owoo, owoo…., the church folks will scream as you walk down the pulpit; beaming and dropping an envelope stuffed with tissue into the offering basket. You’ll wink at the gbam man and sashay away. To be continued after the service.
Last Christmas, all I asked Santa for was a job or some entrepreneurial venture that would let me have 10million Naira by this December. Just ten million and the miserly old fart could not part with that.
I know t’is the season to be jolly but think about it. Was Jesus really born in December. Was he? Do some research and when you find the truth come join me on my couch. I have a carton of Alomo and WWE matches on.