STORY: I DON'T NEED YOUR GOD. PART 1

   Hi there,

Do you guys remember when I said that I write stories? Well, I have one for you today. It will be divided into parts so stay tuned so you don't miss out on the rest.

Picture from: www.thewordyhabitat.com

  Hi, my name is Christiana. A nineteen-year-old Nigerian girl who isn't really good at describing herself but if there is anything I know about myself, it would be that I do not believe in God. You may wonder how someone who has a 'Christian’ name does not believe in God. Well, I don't, I don't believe in a being I can't see, I don't believe in the made-up stories in the Bible. Christianity is a religion with many rules that don't even make sense. I hate it when those Christians go around trying to brainwash people to be just like them. They speak so passionately just to lure them into their so-called religion.

  The funny story is I was born into a Christian family. I would go to the Children's church every Sunday when I was little. I learned about Jesus, Samson, David, and Goliath, Joseph. I knew so many verses in the Bible, I won Bible quizzes more times than I can count. I gave offerings every day of church service and lastly, I was a pastor's kid, the only child of my parents.

  My dad was the parish pastor everyone in church admired and ran to for prayers, the perfect preacher, the anointed man of God. In the eyes of the church and community, he was after God’s heart. My dad would pray for hours in church but when he comes back home, he beat me and my mom every single day. When the bed wasn't laid to perfection or the food didn't taste just as he wanted, he would beat my mom and if I was nearby, he would beat me too. My mom would cry and tell me that the devil wanted to tear down her home but we needed to pray. So I would pray every night on my knees, crying and begging God to save us from the devil.

  My mom used to tell wives in the church to be submissive to their husbands. She was the women's leader and would advise married women and ladies who wanted to get married anytime they came to her for counseling. She kept saving people's marriages but couldn't save hers.

  When I was ten years old, my mom had cervical cancer but it didn't stop my father from beating her up. He would grab her hair, push her to the ground, and kick her hard on different areas of her body. I didn't stop praying to God. My mom would always sing 'Prayer is the key’ to me so I did pray. Four months later, I heard she only had a month to live as the cancer had reached its final stage. My dad became scared and caring. I had mixed feelings because it had to take my mom being at the point of her death to change my dad. My mom died. My tears and prayers didn't save her, God didn't save her, the Bible didn't save her. Nothing and no one saved her and as for my dad, things only grew worse from there.

  The church members came to sympathize with us for the loss of my mom and some gossiped. My mom was a good leader but some people still hated her. These were the people who prayed at the altar in the church every Sunday, always participating during services. I thought the church was a body of believers who would stand by each other in times like this but I was wrong. Everything I learned about Christianity was proven wrong and I was just obeying the instructions from one big book of lies.

I wasn't doing well at school anymore. My grades dropped outrageously and I paid zero attention to my teachers in class. The school headmaster told my dad about how poor my grades were. I went home and my dad beat me saying I wanted to disgrace him, he said that was what I was good at. I hated my dad so much. The pastor who would have drawn me to God pushed me far away from God. I hated pastors, I hated the church and Christians. I stopped praying to their God because he never did me any good. I still went to church to avoid getting beat by my dad.

At thirteen, I remember pointing a knife at my dad while he slept so peacefully but I didn't have the guts to kill him. So I tried running away but Mrs. Jeremiah, my neighbor and member of my father's church saw me and stopped me. I screamed and cried as she dragged me back to my dad's house. My dad thanked her as he took me inside. This time, he flogged me till I fainted. I wanted to kill my dad when I woke up, so I tried it this time but not with a knife. At night when everyone slept, I went to the back of my house and found fuel kept for my dad's car. I took the big can it was kept in and I poured it round both my dad's house and Mrs. Jeremiah’s house. I moved away from the houses as I switched on a lighter and threw it at the houses. As the fire engulfed the houses, I moved further away from them and into the streets. Everywhere was quiet and when I was sure the houses had burned for some time, I screamed for help, knocking on every door and waking everyone up. "Help! Fire! Please help!” I screamed running down the street. People woke up and came out looking confused until they surged to the houses with buckets of water and fire extinguishers. The fire was spreading to the other houses on the streets. I wailed as I moved towards the houses shouting "Daddy! Daddy!”

My dad was saved but the fire had burned his legs to an unrecognizable extent. Mrs. Jeremiah could not be saved. Her whole body was charred. The fire also burnt some of the neighbors' houses but the people survived with burnt faces, legs, or hands. My heart raced fast in my chest. What did I just do? I was a murderer at thirteen and I had to live with it for the rest of my life. At that moment, I knew I didn't need to set the houses on fire. No one needed to die and I didn't need to kill anyone.

 My dad had spent a month in the hospital as the police kept on investigating the cause of the fire but nothing led to the truth. The police sometimes questioned why I wasn't burned, I told them that I ran out to get help but I couldn't get help on time. While my dad was in the hospital, I stayed at Miss. Kola’s house, the church's financial secretary. She was unmarried and lived alone. She was one of the few nice Christians I met at church. She made sure I was fed well and she always told me that my dad would get better if only she knew who made him that way. He finally returned in a wheelchair with his legs amputated, he was going to remain like that forever. Miss Kola drove to the hospital to pick him up, she suggested that I go with her but I refused, the guilt was eating me. When they arrived, I opened the door and just stood there as Miss Kola helped him get out of the car “Won’t you come and welcome your daddy?” she asked but I didn’t budge. The man before me looked impuissant, his eyes met mine but they were not filled with anger, they were not vile instead they looked helpless. Miss Kola took him inside “Come inside, please” she said but I still didn’t move. The night of the fire kept replaying in my mind as I stood there “Christiana, my daughter, please come inside” my dad said, his voice was low and cracked as he spoke. He was a terrible man but he didn’t deserve what I did, how could he ever forgive me? I went inside the house and sat on the couch. Miss Kola had cooked jollof rice before she went to the hospital so she served the food but I refused to eat. My dad watched me quietly as he ate “Prisca” he said as Miss Kola answered “Sir?” “Please can I talk to my daughter alone after eating, I know I can’t be making such demands…” he said but was stopped from continuing the statement “No problem, sir”. After eating Miss Kola left us, “Christiana, how are you?” he asked “Fi…fine” I stuttered. The next words that came out of his mouth didn’t match how he looked earlier “Better behave, just know that this wheelchair will not stop me from beating you” he said with the familiar anger in his eyes. I realized that nothing had changed, he was still a mean man and I knew I couldn’t stay with him any longer not just because of his wickedness but because of the penitence I felt in me, I would explode if I stayed too long. “are you listening to me? I’m talking to you, this stupid child” he said “I’m listening, sir”. The next day, when Miss Kola was not around she left me to look after Dad who was sleeping after receiving quite several visitors. It looked like the perfect opportunity to run so I packed up the small number of clothes and shoes I had and left. I walked and never looked back not even once.

TO BE CONTINUED.