Stepping on the box of tissue that fell, she headed towards Tiffi who was almost in tears and wrapped her warm arms around her. ‘Tiffi Banke Otumba, daughter of HON. Br Dotun Otumba, the C.E.O of Otumba & Associates, tearing in public like some commoner,’ thoughts of who she used to be rushed through her. “Ah!”, was marriage supposed to reduce her to this. She’s tearing on the shoulder of a woman she was older than by a decade. This time, age didn’t matter to her. She needed help and she was willing to get it from the Rev Mrs Period!

Temilade held her so close she could feel her heart beat. Her long hands covered in her uniquely tailored multi coloured fitted suit, wrapped around Tiffi. Again, Tiffi’s mind raced home. This time, she was crying like a baby. She wanted to wake up from the nightmare she started herself.

“Mama, tell me these past eleven years of my life has been a dream,” she muttered holding Temilade very tight. She wanted her mother. She would have had a solution to this mess she thought. Mothers always do. “The wicked hands of death snatched her from me!” now she was screaming and Temilade was silent. Tiffy needed a mother and after seven years of having Temilade as the wife of her pastor, she was now beginning to see the mother in her, unlike other women in the church, who still likened Temilade to a beautiful flower vase beside the Bishop. The warmth of her hands and the cologne Temilade wore was more than enough even if that was all she could give. But no! She had a long history of helping women in bitter marriages, even life threatening marriages. Temilade was known for many good things including good perfume, a smile, beautiful human hair, nice shoes and love for God and women.

Finally, Temilade broke the silence, “Let’s go to my place, Deaconess T.” She carefully unwrapped her hands around Tiffi who was still sobbing and gently led her to her ash mini hatchback.

They both trampled on the box of tissue again, for the Deaconess was now aware of herself and was ashamed. There had never been a time when she was caught off guard but today. Being the only daughter of the Honorable Br, who raised her like the son he never had, tears was never an accessory she was ever allowed to wear. Even when Eng. Mrs. Dotun Otumba, her mother, died after her fourth chemo session, the Otumbas were not seen crying. Bar Otumba’s eulogy at the funeral ended in a victory applaud. It was more like a tribute to Florence Nightingale than an eulogy. You could not tell that cancer yanked his wife, Bellinda, well before her prime and that was how it was meant to be. Well, that was what Br. Otumba sold out to everyone around him. His favourite line, ‘Tears are for the weak and not for us!’ Tiffi was thankful her father was not at the wedding today. He was long gone to Russia, for the 10th Annual IBA Management Conference to be held in Marriott Novy Arbat, Moscow on the 2nd of December, 2016. She sat quietly at the passenger seat, fastened her seat belt and raised the tinted side window to avoid being seen by Rev. Kel and Mama Rhoda who made their way to speak with Rev Temilade.

“Leaving so soon, L.R!” Rev Kel called out, waving his hands at Temilade who was making her way to the driver’s corner of the car. He walked faster to meet her. Temilade was not going to allow them keep her for she had a date with Tiffi. She was more interested in this broken woman.

“Yes, Rev.” she responded with a broad smile. Winking at Mama Rhoda, she continued, “I need to make a quick stop at the house and return for the reception.” She was not going to allow any more conversation. She lowered down, twisted the ignition key of the car and stood up again. “Rev, we’ll talk when I return please, I have to run now.” Praying that Mama Rhoda would buy her excuse, she called out in praises waving at her, “Beautiful mama, I wouldn’t be long.”

“Hope all is well o!” Mama Rhoda asked unconvinced; trying hard to see through the tinted glass of the car. She was very intuitive and strong-willed but Rev Temilade loved her. They would always pray together for the women in the church. Mama Rhoda was one of the few PWs Temilade knew, who was blessed with a very loving, zealous and exemplary husband and pastor. She handed her handbag and extra shoes to her husband and tried reaching out to open the door to the passenger’s seat but Deaconess Tiffi who could see her from where she sat, locked it. “Open the door, let me come with you,” she asked Temilade, still trying to open the door.

“Oh, don’t worry Mama! I would see you when I am back, okay?” she said with her straight look that Rev Kel knew too well and he held back his wife’s hands.

“L.R, let’s not keep you longer. Run along so you do not miss the reception.”He was pulling Mama Rhoda away from the car. Temilade would not allow Mama Rhoda to speak for she knew that even the Rev could not keep her from herself. What Mama Rhoda wants, Mama Rhoda gets. She gave a loud horn and drove fast past them and through the black gate of the church waving at church members who called out to her as she drove off.

They drove in silence. Tiffi, still in tears, was anxious to get to the Bishop’s house. She’s been a member for eleven years and she’s not been to the Bishop’s house, ever! Her husband and other church leaders had been there severally but she hadn’t. She was not raised to visit people. She was a go-getter; never interested in people’s lives but today, she was being driven to get help. “What a shame!” Those words were not hers but her father’s playing in her mind and she was worried.

Temilade too was worried. Worried about opening up her home to someone else, again. For the last time she welcomed a church member home, she paid for it. Paid with her blood. Phew! She convinced herself that Tiffi was not like Tina who didn’t understand life. Tiffi was broken. She had had her share of pain, for pain had a way of refining a man.

Soon, they got to a massive entrance and Tiffi’s tears dried off. Fear, fear my friend, gripped her. It was too late to turn back!

                         To be continued…

The Called, the Call and the Caller…

The first is the Me-Willing to yield to a pressure-for years of running has shown that there isn’t the Me without SOMEONE BIGGER…

The second is like the feeling to powder your nose-You cannot be relieved until you give in-People often don’t understand the pressure…

The third is a Personality-Very gentle but strong-Cannot be defeated so the Me yields or looses to this SOMEONE BIGGER…

The call speaks. The called must respond. The Caller is the ONE behind all the happenings; for we are nothing but the white and black on His chessboard! Let Him Play!