Life Goes On …

I returned from Abuja and instantly went back to the rhythm of my life. As was to be expected, my trip to Abuja did not yield any fruit. I smile as I remembered the word the Lord had given me before I left, “the things that are highly esteemed with men are an abomination with God.” Maybe I should have listened to Him.  All my connections and name dropping became useless and proved futile. I found out the hard way and had to apologise to God.

By Christmas that year in 1999, we were able to spend the holiday with my mum in Jos. Kev drove us up there and left me with the children and the car. It was a treat for them to spend time with their grandmother whom they called “Granny.” Kev’s mum was Grandma and mine was Granny, nice and easy. Granny would never come back home empty handed, it would be either suya, boiled ground nuts or roasted corn. She spoilt them rotten, and they loved it. They chose whatever they wanted to eat, and the house help made it for them. It was also a period of rest for me, spending time with Musah and Esther Gunen, the children getting to know their cousins.

Two weeks later, we returned to Warri, and I felt so fortunate to have my job still waiting for me. I made my way to the Shell Estate in Ogunu twice a week for my French classes with Jimmy. One thing I always looked forward to, was the cup of tea I got from the cook. It would be delivered to our classroom behind the main house and that tea always tasted so good. It was not one of our local Nigerian blends but imported from the UK, the highlight of my day. I remember one day Jimmy asking me where I went to for my summer holidays, and if I travelled abroad with my family? I just laughed in my head, holiday? Abroad? I told him I didn’t normally travel anywhere  except to Jos to see my mum.

By early February, we had our annual Pastors wives’ meeting with Mummy G.O in the Lagos Redemption Camp. Attendance was compulsory and so, I had no choice but to go. I took my children to Aghogho, my “co-wife”, who was married to my husband’s younger brother. She was a sweet lady, always with an open house for my children. She took all three of them and I was soon on my way to Lagos. I can’t remember the content of the meeting except for one night that still stands out. That night, I decided to pray after the session in the auditorium. I went on the altar and fell flat on my face intending to pray. As hard as I tried, the words would not come out. It felt like I had a large lump in my throat that wouldn’t allow me to speak.  In a moment, the flood gates were opened as hot tears started flowing down to the back of my hands and unto the carpet on the altar. I wept and wept and wept and wept, with my body heaving uncontrollably. I didn’t care if the whole world was watching me, all I wanted was an audience with my Father, the King of Kings. The only thing I could mutter was “Lord, have mercy on me, have mercy on me.”  I had so much to say but my tongue seemed disconnected to my brain as I couldn’t speak. Forming the right words in prayer was impossible. Where would I start from? Which problem would I present to the Lord first? Was it the much-needed house? The job I needed? School fees for the children? The dreaded laundry? There were too many things I was grappling with, and I needed help in everything. I was just so overwhelmed with life and could not see the light at the end of any tunnel.  

As I laid on the altar crying, I heard the Lord speaking to me. He comforted me and reassured me that He had heard my cries and would make a way. That was enough for me as I got up and wiped my tears. The auditorium was deserted, and all the ladies gone as I made my way to our living quarters, eyes red and puffy. We went back to Warri the following day and life continued as usual. I wrote down what the Lord had told me in my journal and held on to it.

My husband was still away in school rounding up his course but would soon be home. As was my style, I wasn’t telling him everything because I wanted to spare him the extra pressure of knowing what I was going through. He was a fantastic husband; the love of my life and I knew he always had my back. I felt he was carrying enough pressure without having to take on mine. He was anxiously waiting to graduate so as to relocate his family and start all over again.

It was April 2000, time for “Let’s go a Fishin’”, an evangelistic outreach that took place every Christmas and Easter. As one of the pastors’ wives, I was in the thick of the planning. Peju Odedina and I were assigned to run around for God knows what. As part of our runs, we ended up in the house of Biola, one of the service providers in Kosini. I remember quite well, as if it was yesterday. It was a green block of four flats, and we went into the bottom left one. I exclaimed as we entered because it was so pleasantly furnished with soft lush dark red carpeting. I couldn’t help myself as I exclaimed, “wow, is anyone leaving here soon because I want to move in, I’m in love with your house.”  Anyone that knows me would agree that I wear my heart on my sleeve and tend to be quite honest about how I feel. It was a large sprawling room with the dining table, a massive TV and a cute adjoining kitchen. Right on cue, I asked if I could use the toilet, just to nosy round abit more.

The response I got from Biola was a pleasant surprise. She said they were actually on their way out of Warri as her husband had recently landed a new job in Lagos. She said the house would be up for rent and if I was interested, she would tell the Landlord to secure it for us.  Without batting an eye, I told her yes, we were interested in the house. There was no time to lose, good houses were difficult to get in Warri, especially one in such a choice location. I was sure my husband wouldn’t mind, besides there was no way of reaching him immediately. I felt I had nothing to lose, the worst outcome would be a no from my husband. Biola took me seriously and set the ball rolling.

The next day, Peju and I continued with our runs. We needed to pick up a few things from Mrs Tina Aikore, another pastors wife. During our chit-chat, I mentioned casually that I had seen the “the most beautiful house in Warri”.  Little did I know that what I had said had stuck her. Unbeknownst to me, she contacted her husband and other brethren to see how they could assist with securing the house until my husband came. By the following week, he arrived for the Easter break, and I was trying to muster up the courage to tell him what I had done. Unfortunately, his friend beat me to it. Patrick Anenu  confidently asked him “how far with the house”. You could imagine my husband’s confusion. To cut a long story short, after a very intense discussion with him about finances, he finally agreed with me to go along and see the landlord. Yes, we got the house but couldn’t collect the keys immediately.

After my husband left for school, I eventually got the house keys and decided to move in as soon as possible. There were no mobile phones to speak with my husband and so I requested the use of a pickup truck and driver from his friend, Bros Pee (Patrick Anenu). I told my partner in crime (Grandma) and she gave me her blessing to move into my new home. I single handedly went round to our storage locations and picked up all that I needed. I got the carpet for the living room, the dining table, the massive family bed, my kitchen stuff and everything I had in my little apartment. It was heaven on earth to be in my new home.  That first day, I was too exhausted to do anything but to crash on the mattress with my three children.

The carpet was laid out in the living room and I put the XL mattress on it, directly under the fan. I concluded it would be big enough for me and my children who were aged six, four and one and half. We would sleep vertically on it and if anyone rolled off the bed, it wouldn’t be a far fall. They would survive. We had our TV and game, the only thing missing was my gas cooker. In the interim I had to use a kerosene stove which was far from safe. It had this habit of exploding once it got hot.  I had to time it and plan the explosions into my cooking routine. It happened about every 15 minutes, and it was a loud BOOM. Whatever I needed to do would need to happen before the next BOOM. I would open the pot, add whatever needed adding, stir, taste, add more, check my timer, cover the pot and move away, BOOM. My cooking experience was laughable, but I wouldn’t have swapped it for anything, BOOM.

I was ecstatic for my two-bedroom mansion, even if it was green. Our new house was practically next door to the children’s school, and I could walk them there if I didn’t feel like driving. It was with excitement I awaited my husband’s arrival so we could start the next phase of our lives. We eventually got settled into our new house which was also not too far from Church. After the “Let’s go a Fishin” outreach, we got posted to a new parish. It was located in a place nicknamed Maroko on the outskirts of Warri, a very poor area with a lot of underprivileged people. The first Sunday we got there, we provided biscuits and squash to the Children’s department as we were setting up.  This became a fantastic door opener and before long, all the village children had gathered at the new Church. I was front and centre trying to make friends with them when this little girl ran to me. She looked “special needs”, with her skin covered in scabs and rashes. You couldn’t miss her dirty clothes, bare feet and dried mucus.  She came right up to me and raised up her arms smiling. I froze for a moment steeling myself for the ordeal of picking her up.  ”Hello little Miss, what’s your name?” I asked, smiling down at her. “De geh” they all chorused.  “De geh?”  what kind of name is that, I asked, trying my best to keep smiling. The smell was pungent as she wrapped her skinny arms around my neck and her dusty legs around me. I could see her delight as I swung her up and down. Her smile lit up her face showing her yellow plaque-stained teeth. In my head I was already planning to get some medicated soap, toothpaste and antisepcreams for De Geh’s mum.  As quickly as the thought came was as quickly as I discarded it. What would her mum think? Was I trying to tell her she couldn’t take care of her baby? Was I so posh that all I could see was her skin infections? These were the first members of our children’s Church and we needed to love them just the way they were. Maroko was a tough terrain, rife with crime and drugs. We spent one day a week fasting and praying for the work we had been assigned to.  One day the penny finally dropped; “de geh” was simply “the girl” in our German.

I remember one Thursday after service when Kev and I decided to visit mum in the main house. It was a flash visit, and we were eager to leave after a long day in Maroko. As we were driving down Airport Road on our way home, a motorbike (locally called okada) came out of a side street at high speed, overtook us and did a u turn in front of us. As if in slow motion, I watched helplessly as an accident began to unfold before my eyes. The collision was inevitable with Kev slamming on the breaks, swerving and tyres screeching. That period our car horn was not functioning and repairing it would have been a luxury. I couldn’t understand the madness of what the okada rider did. We hit him with such ferocity that he was lifted into the air and onto our wind shield/bonnet. Needless to say, he smashed it and fell to the ground on his bike. We sat for a moment frozen in shock as all other okada riders surrounded us. You could feel the hostility in the air as the mob continued to grow.  At that time in Warri, it was jungle justice for any car that had the misfortune of hitting an okada.  They would instantly lynch motorists who they felt were taking advantage of their “vulnerability”. After a few tense seconds, we scrambled out of the car to inspect the casualty on the ground. He was a bloody mess, injured but still alive. We got him into the car and took him to the nearest clinic for treatment. I’m not sure how much we had between Kev and I, but it wasn’t near enough to cover the expenses. We also had a damaged car and a motorbike to fix. No one believed that Mr Okada was at fault, the car driver was always considered the culprit.

A sudden depression hit me after the accident. Why would God allow us to go through all that? What was He thinking? Were we not under enough pressure as it was? Were we not also serving Him faithfully and sacrificially? Where was He anyway? I used to spend a lot of time praying and seeking the face of the Lord, but our situation never seemed to improve. I would make suggestions to God on what He could do to make our lives better and easier, but He never listened.  It was a lonely time for me in my walk with God. Although things were tough for us, I still knew that God was with us. He had not abandoned us, rather we were in a school.

My pity party continued as I watched other young mothers about my age who had it “all together”. It always stung when I felt snubbed (real or imagined) by someone whom I would consider not better than me in any way. Sometimes I tried so hard to belong but would be ignored stylishly. I would not get invited to certain functions or be treated in a certain way (real or imagined). I shed many a tear in that season. Looking back, I wonder if I was imagining a lot of those things. Maybe it was a case of the “old woman getting uneasy whenever bones were mentioned”. One day I wore a new dress and a new hat to Church. I later told my husband that “so and so” was chatting with me today and it’s probably because I was nicely dressed. He smiled and told me I was imagining it because I was always beautiful. My Kev, what does he know!

Our electricity bill was also mounting, and we were both still not working. That week, NEPA brought our overdue unpaid electric bill again. It was never a happy experience seeing “NEPA” coming to your house, especially when you know you are owing over N3000. This was a lot of money back then and it was a miracle we hadn’t been cut off. He stuck the bill into the metre on the wall as I watched him from behind the window curtain. I waited for him to leave the compound before venturing out to get the bill. I was estimating it would be about N3500 by then. I picked up the bill and looked hard at it not believing my eyes. They had made a mistake and billed us N11,500. I let out a long “mtscheeow” sound as only an African woman could, dreading having to sort out the confusion with NEPA. I felt so fed up and dismayed with life. How much worse were things going to get before God intervened? I was glad my husband was around and would be sorting out NEPA, he spoke fluent Warri pidgin.  

That evening, I took a second look at the bill and discovered that the contrary was the truth, we had been credited the amount. Our entire debt had been paid off with an extra N11,500 as credit.  We were not owing anything anymore but were rather in credit. As I looked at the bill, I became conflicted and wondered if someone had made a mistake. I considered going to the NEPA office to report the error but later changed my mind. Whoever had paid the money would definitely go and correct his error. I was so sure that by the next month it would all be straightened out. The error was however never corrected and we ended up enjoying the N14,500 paid on our behalf. It was God once again showing us his love and mercy.

In that season, we never had money in abundance, we always had just enough. Every new school term when the children’s school fees was due, my husband would be called to do a private survey job which would take care of the fees. Whenever there was a need, a big job would come. I remember during that period, a family decided to send us their huge tithe because they knew my husband was a pastor. We graciously accepted it as God’s provision for our needs.

My greatest worry was that I still didn’t have a proper job as it was the holiday season. My private teaching job had come to end because Jimmy would be off to secondary school in September.  I remember us having a special programme in Church in late July, and I asked God to give me a proper job by September. The Minister prayed for us and told us it was done, that we should believe God and thank Him. I went home and wrote it in my journal and forgot all about that encounter. Once again, on a busy August afternoon we went into the Shell Estate in Edjeba to speak with one of the service providers for our ongoing Church Event. I was exhausted having been running around all day for the programme. Just as we were about to leave, one beautiful, dark-skinned lady came to speak with me. She had sleepy looking eyes and was well put together. She asked if I was Hennang, and I answered yes. She said she had been looking for me because about three people had recommended me to her saying I would be a perfect fit for her new school as a French teacher. I was gob smacked but ecstatic. This was more than I had hoped for. She invited me to see her when school resumed for a proper chat. It was the last day of August 2000 just as I had requested from God. He had indeed come through for me.

This began my life as a teacher with Lakeland School in Warri. So far, it’s been the best experience of my work life, all thanks to the angel God sent, Mrs Angela Osaruwense.

To be continued as a book:

Thank you for faithfully reading my blogs. Thanks also to all those who have encouraged me to write a book. I have finally decided to take the plunge and turn my life story into a short e-book. I have never written a book before and I’m not sure who would want to read about my life story (except you guys 😊). 

Can I please plead with you to encourage my effort by buying it.  My target is to have the completed work by September 2024.

Its only 40,000 additional words :(

There is still so much to write about as I reminisce over Gods fire and His faithfulness. I want to share how He relocated us to the UK in seemingly one day, a few days before we were meant to move to Port Harcourt. We were all packed and ready to go when my Kev arrived on a Thursday night and said “get ready, we’re leaving for the UK on Sunday”

Please leave a comment below, especially those reading from Iran, Sweden, Singapore, Russia and all those faraway lands.

Drop your name and location.  Watch this space!!

… and buy the ebook 😊