“God said you are my wife.”

***

I quit my job.

I left all my family and friends in Abuja.

And began my new life with my fiancé, Isaac Adesanmi, at Kogi state.

Brother Isaac and I were given a three-month trial— courtship— to grow our relationship. With God and the church.

I was made to stay in the boys’ quarters at the back of the church compound. Brother Isaac slept in his office inside the church, he had not been able to afford a house yet as he was believing God to “provide” him a house one day. By magic.

He did not work, he did not have any business, he did not make any money from anywhere. All his time and energy were invested in building the house of God in the streets of Kogi state.

On my first night in Kogi, Brother Isaac barged into my room by 3am, with the loud ringing of a bell in his hand.

“Rebby, get up! Get up!” He yelled as if he had seen the worst abomination happening before his eyes, “How can you be sleeping at this time?!”

I sat up on the mat I slept on, my eyes squinting in confusion.

“This is the time you should be praying! The devil is awake and you’re asleep. Don’t you know the evil spirits and forces of darkness are at work as we speak? Get up and cast them out of this church, right now! Hurry!”

I did not have time to hesitate. I quickly followed Brother Isaac to the church altar to pray away these imaginable forces of darkness that have decided to be a full-time night worker with Dangote money.

I was tired from the long trip and bad road we had to endure earlier that day. My body was beginning to shut down, but whenever Brother Isaac noticed any sign of sleep coming my way, he would bath me with anointing oil.

“Pray!” He yelled at me. “Pray! Rebby, pray!”

I wanted to cry.

God, abeg. Was this what I had to endure for the rest of my life? Even my village people were sound asleep as we speak.

After we had finished praying for three hours straight that morning, I was ready to sleep my beauty sleep.

But omo, Brother Isaac had other plans. He demanded that I make breakfast for him in the boys’ quarters kitchen.

“A Proverbs 31 woman gets up at night and provides food for her family and servants. Don’t you know your Bible? She brings glory to her husband. They praise her in the streets. Do you want to embarrass me, the lord and head of your tabernacle?” He preached to me.

Omo.

I bent my knees in apology, “Sorry, let me prepare something for you to eat. What do you want to eat, Brother Isaac—”

“Call me ‘my lord’.”

I looked at him with wide eyes. He looked back at me with a stern expression. I looked at him. He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at me. Uncle was serious. And I had no other choice but to play along.

“My lord, what do you want to eat for breakfast?”

***

There was a price to pay for every call God had on your life. Even Jesus Himself knew it cost His life and that everything requires sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

Brother Isaac took everything from me. No social media. No music. No TV. No novels.

Only Bible Bible Bible.

Pray pray pray.

Everything that gave me a sense of identity was stripped off from me.

Even when I begged him to let me read self-help books that would advance my knowledge, he would condemn me.

“Rebby, all this is for your own good.” Brother Isaac would say, “If not, your mind will be corrupted. You will start to think like these ‘jezebels’ of our generation! All these so-called feminists, don’t you know they are the antichrists?”

Like a fool, I would buy everything he said. After all, he was the lord over my life. My king. The man God ordained for me. This was my destiny and I could not go against God’s command.

A good wife must submit to her husband as to the Lord. Brother Isaac was the head of my life as Christ was the head of the church. He knew life better than me. He knew God better than me. God spoke to him, and anything God told him was right.

I was only to follow his instructions and nothing more.

We were not like the regular engaged couples out there. We did not kiss. We did not hold hands. We did not hug. We were simply brothers and sisters in the Lord, betrothed by our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.

Even when I made an attempt to be affectionate, Isaac would swing my hands away and tell me to flee from all appearances of temptation.

But there would be few moments I would catch him looking at my breasts or his hands would slightly touch my bum bum, but he would say it was by accident. Which it wasn’t.

Most nights, I would cry myself to sleep. This was not the life I imagined for myself. When it came to marriage, I imagined a man that would be all over me. That would let me dress however I wanted. That would support my career. That would buy me flowers and take me out on date nights.

Not prayer prayer prayer only.

The days I hated the most were Sundays. Ah! The days I had to sit for three service, nine hours straight at the front of the church to hear Brother Isaac preach.

He was no Pastor Benjamin, but I watched the way he imitated every bit of Pastor Benjamin’s mannerism. From the devious smile, to the way he swung his hands around while preaching, to the moments of pauses to let his rhythms sink in, to ending every sentence with “somebody shout hallelujah”, to breaking into songs halfway through his sermons, to vibrating like one thunder was firing him, so that he would look like he was on fire for God. It was all too fake. I could see it. It was too hard for me to watch somebody try to be something they were not.

And he, in turn, also made me something I was not. Isaac made sure I wore blazer and suit skirts that reached down to my ankles every Sunday. No high heels, only leather flats. I was only allowed to wear three head coverings; mantillas, fascinator hats or the gigantic wide-brimmed hats that every pastor’s wife wore.

And even with these little efforts of mine, the monitoring spirits, aka the deacons’ wives, would complain about one thing or the other.

“Your blazer collar is too low.”

“That earring is too shiny, remove it.”

“We don’t use red lipstick here.”

“That skirt is too tight.”

“My dear, lose weight. Your bum bum is distracting the men of the church.”

My God. I cannot do this again.

I’m done!

One day, I walked into Brother Isaac’s office to say my mind. We were only one and the half month away from the wedding. It was time to clear the air before I walked down that aisle.

“My lord,” I sat across from him on his office desk, his eyes focused on his Bible in front of him, “I’m tired.”

“You’re not tired, in Jesus name.”

“Isaac!”

He looked up at me in shock. I called him by his first name. For the first time ever. I looked away from him, shielding my eyes from the disappointment in his eyes.

“I am tired of this life, my lord.” I continued, “I want to live my own way. Can’t I worship God and still live a normal life like everybody else? What is the crime there? It’s already hard enough for me to accept that God told you I am your wife. I have accepted God’s call for me to help you advance this church. But I want to go back to work. We barely have enough money to eat three times a day, talkless of getting a house to live in. You can focus on the church, while I bring the money. We can’t rely on God for everything. God gave us hands to work for our money, He is not a magician. My lord, consider my plea. I am very very tired.”

After I was done, there was a short moment of silence. What was Brother Isaac thinking? I looked up at his seat, but it was empty. Before I could look around to find him, I felt a hand grab my neck from behind and began choking me.

“Get behind her, satan! I command you to leave her right now! Father in the mighty name of Jesus, I bind you spirit of abnormality, spirit of confusion, spirit of madness, spirit of dishonour, leave my wife right now!” Isaac choked me from behind.

“My-my lor—” I struggled to speak, my hands were tugging at his hands around my neck as I struggled for my life, for him to let me go before he killed me. But he did not stop. He was convinced that I was possessed by the devil for speaking my mind.

Next thing I knew, I was being lifted up to the air and dropped to the floor Undertaker style. I saw my life flash before my eyes as Brother Isaac removed his belt and began beating the devil out of me. He started spitting and speaking in tongues with each whip he lashed on my body.

I screamed for help, but no one came to my rescue. My mother never beat me. My father never beat me. Not even one of my friends have slapped me.

But here I was, receiving the beating of my life from the very man that was supposed to protect me. All because I spoke my mind.

It was in that moment that I knew if I truly wanted to survive in this marriage, I had only one job.

Shut the fuck up.