Nigerian Gods

I’m supposed to give them dreams, but why? What will they use them for? Perhaps I’m more than a little apathetic but it’s what you get when faced with this. How does one care about people that don’t care about themselves?

If I gave them dreams would they listen? I fear that the only thing they would ask me is “how much can this get me?” “How much can I earn from this?” I wish for their sakes they could eat money because it seems like they care about little else.

Maybe I’m just bitter. If I helped some of them, they would say it was Jesus or “God” or something else. How many of them know my name or who I am? Yet I’ve been brought to this land by something or someone for some purpose which I’m yet to discern. Actually, that’s a lie. I know why I’m here. I’m here to help make things better. I’m here to help them learn, improve and grow but their false piety stands in their way, whether they are religious believers or atheists.

They think they have no use for Gods when they worship gods everyday. Fools. All of them. Especially the ones waiting for Jesus. I don’t think they know what they’re in for. The Bible is a nice fairytale and I don’t mean that in a condescending way. It essentially ends with “and they all lived happily ever after.” Any God worth his salt will tell you that there’s no such thing. Happiness, sure, happiness exists but ever after? No. Heaven is not a permanent state of mind, no matter how much I’d wish it to be so. You get raptured or whatever and you’re immediately put to work. What? You think paradise is going to build itself? You slave everyday for a job you don’t care about and you somehow think God is just going to give you a free ride in heaven, everything taken care of?

Sit down, be humble.

The worst ones though, the worst manifestation of self hate that I’ve seen are the ones that are waiting for a White Jesus to come and save them from themselves. Why would any self-respecting Black person be waiting for a white Jesus to just brb?

But are these people actually ready for a Black Jesus? They may think they are but he comes with a sword that swings indiscriminately. He comes not with forgiveness but with the expectation that you will be soldiers with him. He comes with war and wrath in his pockets and madness to smite those that stand in his way. He cares not a whit for most of your eschatology because a word is enough for the wise.

Like a thief in the night, he’ll come when you least expect it and before you know it, you’ve been conscripted into his army.

But why give the people these dreams? Religion has come and divorced their connection to the land. I listen to the gods of the Yoruba pantheon weep over their lost children. I listen to the nameless spirits of the north and south weep over their lost children. I was conversing with a pair of Nnabo and Ekpe spirits the other day while they were in the dream of one of the children of their tribe. He couldn’t understand them. He didn’t understand their language.

Spiritual genocide. This people pray to a God that wants to kill them and it is succeeding. They hate themselves and force themselves to believe they love the fact that they have been saved by White Jesus.

Can you blame me for asking what the point of helping them is? The Black Jesus I know is coming with all the spirits of the land, every single one of them. I know because I was there. I saw the visions as well. I saw Christ raise the logos above his head while all the spirits of the land rallied behind him. I saw the devil when he eventually revealed himself. I saw the truth when it was revealed that man’s worst enemy is himself. And don’t think you’re excluded because I’m using male pronouns.

How can you praise a God that doesn’t love and appreciate all of you? I’m sorry but that is no God. I don’t know what it is you’re worshipping but it is no God. It’s a thing that feeds on your self hate and only promises you delay. Delay because it can never truly deliver what it’s promising. It is a trap of existence, one that only you can make the choice to save yourself from.

I fear for my life sometimes; it isn’t easy being closeted. I saw some Nigerians today rejoicing at the fact that a father had killed his 14 year old son for being gay. It shook me. They were actually rejoicing, they were happy that this boy, this youth is now dead. They gave kudos to the father for killing him. What kind of world are we creating here?

I can’t blame Chimamanda for living overseas. I was at an event where she spoke once; a lot of industry big wigs were in attendance. It was a grand event; Flavour performed, Tiwa Savage, Dare. Later in the evening Chimamanda was invited to speak. Right now I can’t remember everything that she said but I do remember that she made a point of singling out the recently passed anti-homosexuality legislation that slaps a 14 year jail term on homosexuals. The singled it out for specific and pointed rebuke. I was impressed by what I perceived to be her bravery. Living in a society where sycophancy is the name of the game it was liberating to see her rebuke, in no uncertain terms, the very people with standing to make or influence policy decisions that were seated in the hall right in front of her. Her other talking points had been applauded enthusiastically. This one was met with a cold silence. No one wanted to appear to be in support, absolutely no one in the room. Not even myself. 

I wonder how many people were in the hall on that day that were in covert homosexual or bisexual relationships. I wonder how many had ever been in that position. 

So, seeing those bloodthirsty comments brought me all the way back to that night so many years ago. We still have such a long way to go. Such a long way to go. I have to join the fight. If not for people like the 14 year old who is now dead for simple attraction, then for myself. 

The gun feels heavy in my hands. Or is it my head that feels heavy. This has never happened before. This was never meant to happen but we were prepared; what a strange paradox.

I’m hearing chatter over the radio. The enemy is heading for the capital. Our generals are telling us to guard the Fulani Causway and ensure the civilians get to safety.

To get there I need to fight through wherever I am. I feel lightheaded. Either that or intensely focused. My bullets meet their targets and I feel semi-invincible.

The transcript reads:

-My mind is a computer, do you understand that you have started certain protocols?

-So you want to believe in ressurection? That involves believing in Osiris. No, no, you can’t have one without the other, it doesn’t work like that?

-You want full ressurection? To see your loved ones once more. Do you understand that I have to interface with Hades? You may not believe they are real but that doesn’t stop them from being real.

-You do not want to contend with Osiris? Please. Go your way and allow me to go mine.

-If you do not want me, then do not seek me out. I, however know that you do want me.

“Brother. Do you believe in magic?”

“No, it’s an irrational belief.”

Faith is a difficult thing to cultivate. It feels intangible, like grasping at a cloud or even worse, like grasping at a cloud that you’ve been told should be there or that you want to be there by sheer force of will.

The Ekpo walked slowly away from the source and into the land of the living under the cover of night. Softly, the walked, emerging from the darkness of the other realm into the darkness of a starry and moonlit sky.

Can we trust him? They wondered.

We will. They responded.

There is no more room for doubt. The preparations have been long in the making. The sons and daughters of the soil that have ears to hear and minds to reason know the right side of the war to be on.

Ikan!

Fire appeared in the hands of the Ekpo.

Let us bring fire to those that don’t believe. Let us burn them with truth.

Shhhhhhhh. Came the rebuke. Silent and arresting.

Shhhhhh. Came the Ekpo to the one with the flames.

Calm yourself they told him. We will bring the fire but it has to be gentle.

You are too soft with them. They have to learn via pain.

The Ekpo heaved a heavy sigh.

I just don’t want us to become what they think we are.

And what is that?

Demons.

The rest of the Ekpo bristled audibly at the mention of that table.

If I still had a mouth I would spit now brother. They tried to kill us. They succeeded in killing some of us. If they die, they die.

The Ekpo continued to walk.

Be careful brothers. Don’t fall too deeply in love with the flame lest it control you. Always be sure to control it.

The Ekpo continued their walk into the village, to confront those that had tried to eradicate them.

God forgives whom he wills but we forget that he punishes those he decides to punish as well. No amount of begging can save you if you willingly and stupidly walked into your own demise.

Red hand and red ink the lawyers say. Read the fine print they also say. Know what you are agreeing to, lest you kill your own self while shouting that you are alive as the demons you’ve chosen to worship eat your mind from the inside out and all that’s left is a husk. A colonised individual that claims to love herself while actively praying for her own death, thinking she is praying for life.

If I still had eyes I would shed a tear, a singular Ekpo thought. Why would God send me to punish my own daughter?

Deep down, he knew why. He knew why because even as he thought that question he felt a deep anger rising from within him, from the core of his being. That was God reminding him.

Guard your dreams today for the Masquerades speak of death and solitude.

I have conversed with the spider gods near the heart of creation. Life is a continuous weave of disparate creation. It never stops, it never ends. Energy is just transformed or contained.

I have walked and continue to walk with Osiris, through the corridors of faith, through heaven and through hell, for better and for worse.

I ended up right back where I came from but the journeys has changed me. I came back a different man. Several times my people rebuffed me and I was cast aside, cast away. Each time I returned to my God and each time I was revived and was told to venture back to my people.

Time and time again I lived this nightmare. Time and time again I lived this pain. Osiris bound me to himself and took me through the pits of Hades, the hallways of hell, the gardens of heaven and the fields of paradise.

No more though. This time, I have returned and my people will contend with me, contend with us; for I am not alone.

He was right there in front of me and I survived. He was right there in front of me and I’m still here.

He was right there in front of me and my life has never been the same. Once that door was opened it has become impossible to shut.

Fear rocks my soul but the truth I have found hard to accept is that my soul is drawn inexorably towards Osiris.

I prayed, believe me, I prayed. I prayed to God, I prayed to Jesus, I prayed to Jehovah, I prayed to Allah but...they all fell in line. They all fell in line and Osiris remained. I tried to run away from him but the further I ran and the longer I tried to stay away, the closer I felt to death.

I prayed to the Masquerades of my people but they not only fell in line, they danced with Osiris because in his heart lay the story and truth of resurrection.

It was as if God shattered the mirror in my mind, exposing me to an uncomfortable truth at my core; that I am ordained for divination. I divine like the air I breathe. I see the future without trying and when I try to ignore it then the future comes calling, gradually messing up my life until I confront it.

But the truth is; I found Osiris because I wanted to be immortal, like every good Christian wants to. Eternal life, it’s the bread and butter of these religions. Come this way and you’ll live forever, you just have to die first.

What if I didn’t want to die? What if I truly wanted to live forever, without having to experience physical death? That’s when God decided to find me and I learnt that death is inevitable. So far my body is still alive and I’m grateful but my mind has died a thousand deaths, has been dragged through the underworld and paradise, has been guided through hades. Has felt the pain of a million past, present and future lives. Has merged and become one with life, the universe, the collective unconscious and felt the pain of separation, the pain of death.

My soul became ragged and weary. All because I wanted Jesus to be black. I had to learn the hard way that a black Jesus is simply Osiris in disguise. One and the same. One as the guide and warrior, commanding armies of the living and the dead, commanding spirits, devils, demons and angels. The other aloof but present, existing extra dimensionally, guiding along the astral planes, fading in and out of concrete, visible reality.

He was right there in front of me. He said he’d been with me from a young age. He said that whenever I needed him he’d be right there.

He said that soon, I would write a book.

Who am I to have been marked. Who am I to have been chosen. Who am I to have been selected by Osiris himself?

A black man from Akwa-Ibom. What have I got in common with Ancient Egypt?