Chapter 2 Go away from our village

Bur!ed Alive

(for miracle)

Episode 2️⃣

"Bl00d of Jesus!" My husband exclaimed, his voice echoing through the room, his words a mixture of shock, disbelief, and reverence. He stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the bucket, as if beholding a miracle. Meanwhile, I stood there with my mouth agape, staring into the bucket in utter bewilderment, my mind struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. The water in the bucket had transformed into a deep red liquid, resembling blood, a sight that left me speechless and bewildered.

"Ah, you are Jesus' people?" The man queried, his eyes widening in surprise, his voice laced with a thick local accent. "No wonder it turned into bl00d like liquid" he continued, his words dripping with a mix of fascination and hostility. "It means that you people are not welcome here" he declared, his eyes bulging with an unsettling intensity as he spoke. His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, a stark reminder that we were unwelcome strangers in a place where we had hoped to find refuge. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if the very presence of the "Bl00d of Jesus" had drawn a battle line, separating us from those who did not understand, or appreciate, our faith.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil" My husband declared, his voice firm and resolute, his words a testament to his unwavering faith. He stood tall, his eyes locked on the man, as if daring him to challenge the power of his beliefs.

"Ah, you will fear Jogbo!" The man retorted, his voice laced with a menacing tone, his words a stark warning. "Yes, you must fear this place, because we don't tolerate Jesus and His people here. We have our own god, a powerful deity that we call upon, and He has been answering our prayers. We don't need your foreign god here, and we won't hesitate to defend our beliefs."

The man's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing, as he continued, "See, let me advise you. It is better you both go back to where you came from, before it is too late. This place is not for you. Our god is a jealous one, and He will not hesitate to strike down those who dare to challenge His authority. You are strangers in a strange land, and you would do well to remember that."

As he spoke, he spread his palm, a gesture that seemed both a warning and a threat. His words hung in the air, like a dark cloud, a reminder that we were outsiders, unwelcome in this place. But my husband's faith remained unshaken, a beacon of hope in the face of adversity, a testament to the power of belief in the face of fear.

"I have come to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ, and nothing shall stop me" My husband declared, his voice rising in determination, his words a bold challenge to the opposition he faced. His eyes blazed with a fierce passion, his jaw set in resolve, as if daring anyone to stand in his way. Already, his anger was swelling, his face reddening, his fists clenching at his sides.

I reached for one of his arms, my hand grasping for his sleeve, and then grabbed it firmly. "Let's leave here" I whispered urgently, trying to calm him down, to restrain him from confronting the hostile man further. My voice was low and soothing, a gentle plea to avoid escalating the situation.

"Better!" The man exclaimed, his face twisted in a sneer, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Don't just take him out of here, also take him out of the village" he added, his words a clear warning, a threat to our safety. His tone was menacing, his intent clear: we were not welcome, and our presence would not be tolerated. The air was thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere was charged with hostility, and I knew we had to leave, to escape the danger that lurked in this place.

My husband looked at me, his eyes locking onto mine, and I saw a flicker of understanding, a glimmer of agreement. "Let's leave here" He said, his voice low and firm, and we both turned our backs swiftly, leaving the hostile man and his venomous words behind. We didn't look back, didn't dignify his taunts with a response, just walked away with purposeful strides, our feet carrying us swiftly towards our new home.

The man continued saying whatever he was saying, his voice growing fainter as we distanced ourselves from him, but we ignored him, tuned him out, and walked away. I could feel his eyes on us, could sense his malevolent gaze following us, but we didn't flinch, didn't falter. We kept walking, side by side, our footsteps echoing in unison, our hearts beating with a shared determination.

As we walked, I couldn't help but wonder, "Did I make a mistake following my husband here?" I asked myself, my mind racing with doubts and fears. Had I been foolish to leave our old life behind, to venture into this unknown territory, where hostility and rejection seemed to lurk around every corner? I glanced at my husband, his face set in a resolute expression, and knew that he believed in this mission, believed in spreading the gospel, no matter the cost. And I knew that I believed in him, in his conviction, in his courage. So I pushed aside my doubts, squared my shoulders, and walked on, beside him, into the unknown.

I took Layla's little keg of water from the car and, with a sense of determination, managed to clean the bedroom with it, somehow, despite the meager amount, because the state of the room was simply too dirty to ignore. The dirt and grime seemed to be embedded in every corner, every surface, and I knew that if we didn't tackle it head-on, it would be a breeding ground for germs and bacteria. So, with the precious water, I scrubbed and wiped, trying to make the space habitable.

After that, we brought out our belongings from the van, carrying them into the house, exhausted but relieved to finally be unpacking. But it was so late by the time we finished that the van driver, who had kindly helped us transport our things, had to spend the night in our house, as it was too dark and unsafe to venture out again. We were grateful for his help, but our arrival in the village had already caused a stir, and we soon discovered that we were unwelcome.

We couldn't even get water to cook, a basic necessity, because my husband went to one of the shops around to see if he could get sachet water, but the shop owner, aware of our identity, bluntly refused to sell to him, citing our association with Jesus as the reason. It was a stark reminder that we were outsiders, unwelcome in this place. Thankfully, we had the foresight to bring some packs of bottled water with us, which we used to make a simple meal that night, a small comfort in the face of such hostility.

The driver, exhausted from the long journey, slept soundly on one of the couches in the living room, his snores a gentle hum in the background. We, too, retired to our bedroom, weary from the events of the day, and fell into a fitful sleep around 9:30 pm. But our rest was short-lived, as by 11 pm, a loud bang on our door shattered the silence of the night. At first, no one answered, hoping that the noise would cease, but the banging continued, growing louder and more insistent. Then, suddenly, the driver's voice rang out, his words echoing through the house, "Who is that?" he demanded, his tone firm and authoritative.

The response from outside was curt and commanding, "The King demands to see you all." The person's voice was deep and menacing, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. The King, whoever he was, was not someone to be trifled with, and his summons was not a request, but a command. My heart raced as I wondered what this unexpected visit could mean, and what the King's intentions were. The driver's question, "Who is that?" seemed to hang in the air, a futile attempt to assert control over a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of our control.

As soon as my husband and I heard the commanding voice outside, we sprang into action, our hearts racing with a mix of fear and adrenaline. He quickly picked up his phone from the stool beside the bed, his hand moving swiftly and silently, as if instinctively knowing that time was of the essence. We both jumped out of bed, our movements swift and synchronized, like two people who had rehearsed this moment countless times. We rushed into the living room, our bare feet padding softly on the floor, our eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger.

"Who is that?" My husband asked the driver in whispers, his voice low and urgent, as if trying not to alert the person outside to our conversation. The driver, still seated on the couch, shook his head, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "I don't know o" He whispered back, his voice barely audible, his Nigerian accent making the "o" sound like a soft "oh". The driver's lack of knowledge only added to our confusion and worry, and we exchanged a nervous glance, our minds racing with possibilities. Who was this King, and what did he want with us? The questions swirled in our heads, unanswered and unsettling.

My husband then turned towards the door, his eyes fixed on the entrance as if trying to see through it, his mind racing with thoughts of who could be visiting at such a late hour. "Who is it?" He quizzed at the top of his voice, his tone firm and authoritative, demanding an answer. The person outside repeated the same phrase, their voice unwavering, "The king wants to see you all". The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I wondered what kind of king would demand an audience at 11 pm.

My husband checked his phone screen for the time, the glow of the screen illuminating his face, and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the hour. It was already 11 pm, a time when most people were asleep, and yet, we were being summoned by a mysterious king. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his hand hovering over the lock, before finally deciding to open the door. He went towards the door, his movements slow and deliberate, as if bracing himself for what was to come. He wanted to unlock it, to face whoever was on the other side, and I could sense his tension, his uncertainty, as he prepared to confront the unknown.

"What are you trying to do?" I quizzed, my voice laced with concern, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "Opening the door" He replied, his tone calm and resolute, as if he had already considered the potential risks. "But Pastor, you don't even know who it is," the driver chimed in, his voice tinged with worry, "Don't you think it is unsafe?" He added, his eyes darting towards the door as if expecting an intruder to burst in at any moment.

I shared the driver's apprehension, my heart sinking with every passing moment. Who was this mysterious visitor, and what did they want at such a late hour? The king's summons seemed ominous, and I feared for our safety. But my husband seemed unwavering, his faith in God's protection palpable. "Nothing will happen" He said, his voice firm, his eyes fixed on the door as if daring the unknown to challenge him.

And then, with a steady hand, he opened the door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the room. He flashed his phone torch on the person outside, the sudden brightness illuminating the darkness. The driver and I held our collective breath, our eyes fixed on the figure now revealed in the doorway, our minds bracing for the unexpected.

"Yes, who are you?" He questioned again, his voice firm but laced with a hint of annoyance, as if he couldn't fathom why someone would disturb us at such a late hour. "The king demands to see you" the person replied, their tone unyielding, their words a stark reminder that we were not in control of this situation.

"At this time?" my husband asked, his incredulity evident, "Do you know what time it is?" He added, his eyes glancing at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time, as if hoping that the clock would somehow magically rewind. But the person outside remained unfazed, their response a stark reminder of their singular focus.

"Checking the time is not part of my duty" they said, their voice devoid of emotion, "I'm only here to deliver a message". The words hung in the air, a stark reminder that we were at the mercy of this mysterious king and his minions. The driver and I exchanged a nervous glance, our minds racing with possibilities. What could this king want with us, and why the urgency? The questions swirled in our heads, unanswered and unsettling.

"Ok, tell the king I will be there tomorrow" my husband replied, his voice a mixture of resignation and frustration, as if he knew that arguing further would be futile. But the person outside was insistent, their tone brooking no dissent. "You're all coming with me now. It's an order from the king" He said, his words a stark reminder that we were at the mercy of this mysterious monarch.

My husband returned to the living room, his face set in a determined expression, and urged us to get ready to go to the palace. I became so afraid as I slowly walked into the other bedroom to wake the kids, my heart racing with every step. What did the king want with us, and why the urgency? The questions swirled in my head, unanswered and unsettling. I gently roused the kids from their slumber, trying to reassure them with a calm tone, but my own fear was palpable.

We all left for the palace, including the driver, and were made to stand before the king. The elders were also present, their faces grave and solemn, not one of them even minding the late hour. The king's throne room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft rustling of the elders' robes as they shifted in their seats. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel the weight of the king's gaze upon us, as if he was sizing us up for some unknown purpose.

"I learnt you came into the village today," the King said, his voice low and menacing, his eyes narrowing as he bit into the colanut he was holding, the crunching sound echoing through the throne room. "Were you not told that Jesus' people are not welcomed here?" he continued, his tone dripping with disdain, as if the very mention of Jesus was an affront to his authority.

My husband stood tall, his confidence unwavering, his voice firm and resolute. "I didn't send myself here, God sent me," he declared, his eyes locked on the King, his gaze unwavering. "And until I'm done winning this place for God, I won't back out," he added, his words a clear challenge to the King's authority, his determination evident in every syllable.

As he spoke, he looked into the eyes of the King and the elders, one after the other, his gaze piercing, as if daring them to contradict him. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustling of the elders' robes, as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The King's face darkened, his eyes flashing with anger, but my husband remained steadfast, his faith in God's mission unwavering. The air was thick with tension, as the two wills clashed, one driven by a desire for power, the other by a desire to serve God.

"He's got guts" The king said, his deep voice booming through the throne room, his laughter echoing off the walls as he sneered at my husband's audacity. The elders too chorused with laughter, their voices a cacophony of mockery, their eyes gleaming with amusement at the absurdity of my husband's claim.

"Your God sent you to another man's land, so you can talk to people in the land and make them forget their god and follow yours?" The king said, his laughter growing louder, his words dripping with sarcasm, as if the very idea was preposterous. The elders too started to laugh, their chuckles growing louder, their faces creasing with mirth, as they revelled in the absurdity of my husband's mission.

But my husband remained unflinching, his eyes fixed on the king, his voice steady and calm. "The earth is thy Lord's, and the fullness thereof" he replied, his words a gentle rebuke, a reminder that God's sovereignty knew no bounds, that every land and every people belonged to Him. The laughter slowly died down, the king's face darkening once more, his eyes narrowing as he realized that my husband would not be swayed, that his faith was unshakeable. The room fell silent once more, the tension palpable, as the two wills clashed in a struggle that would only end when one side emerged victorious.

The king turned and looked at my husband all of a sudden, his eyes blazing with fury, his face twisted in a snarl. "Keep quiet!" He raged in anger, his voice thundering through the throne room, making the very walls seem to tremble. "What effrontery! How dare you?" He thundered, his words a violent outburst, as if my husband's mere presence was an affront to his authority.

I immediately grabbed one of my husband's arms, my hand closing around it in a desperate attempt to pull him back, to shield him from the king's wrath. But he withdrew his hand, his eyes never leaving the king's face, his expression resolute, unyielding. I could see fear in my children's eyes as they stood there, visibly shaking, their small bodies trembling with terror. They didn't understand what was happening, only that their father was in danger, and their mother couldn't protect him. The king's anger was a palpable force, a storm that threatened to consume us all, and I knew we had to get out of there before it was too late.

"Guards, bring me a very long cane" the king commanded, his voice dripping with malice, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. The guards scurried to obey, their footsteps echoing through the throne room as they hastened to fetch the requested instrument of punishment.

"Are you too Jesus' people?" the king quizzed, his gaze piercing as he stared at us one after the other, his eyes lingering on each face as if searching for any sign of dissent. We paused, the silence heavy with tension, as we weighed our response.

Then, my first son spoke up, his voice clear and firm. "Yes, I am" he declared, his eyes locked on the king, his face set with determination. My husband turned swiftly to look at him, a mix of surprise and pride flashing across his face.

"I am" my daughter said, her voice softer but no less resolute, her eyes shining with a quiet courage. My husband smiled, his head bowed in a gentle nod of approval, his heart swelling with pride at our children's bravery. The king's face darkened, his grip on the cane tightening, as he realized that we were not intimidated, that our faith was unshakeable.

"Yes, I'm one of Jesus' people" I said, my voice firm and resolute, my heart beating with a sense of conviction. I had expected the king's wrath, but I couldn't deny my faith, not even in the face of danger.

It was the driver's turn next, and I held my breath, wondering how he would respond. He had been worshipping in the church we were transferred from for years now, and I had assumed he was a fellow believer. But he really shocked me, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"I...I'm just a driver" he stammered, his voice trembling, his face pale with fear. I felt a pang of disappointment, realizing that he was denying his faith, abandoning us in our time of need. The king's face lit up with a cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with triumph, as if he had won a victory over our souls. But my husband's expression remained steadfast, his eyes still shining with a quiet courage, his heart unbroken.

"No, I am not" the driver said, his voice shaking, his eyes darting around the room in a desperate bid to escape the king's wrath. "As a matter of fact, we have our own idol that we worship in my place" he continued, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush. "Your Highness, I'm only a driver who helped them bring their things. I would have since gone back, but I decided to stay back till tomorrow because it was late" he said, his tone trembling with fear.

The king's face remained impassive, his eyes cold and unyielding, as he regarded the driver's words. "Very well then, step aside" he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion, his hand waving dismissively. The driver hastily obeyed, his eyes cast down, his shoulders slumped in relief.

The king's gaze then shifted to us, his eyes narrowing as he pronounced our sentence. "Guard, give the men 50 strokes of the cane, and the women 20 strokes each" he said, his voice firm and unyielding, his words a stark reminder of his power and authority. The guards moved forward, their faces expressionless, their hands grasping the canes with a practiced ease, as we stood frozen in terror, our hearts heavy with the knowledge of the pain to come.

"No, no one touches my family" my husband said, his voice firm and resolute, his eyes blazing with a fierce determination. "Give me all the strokes of the cane instead" he continued, his words a bold challenge to the king's authority, his willingness to sacrifice himself for our sake a testament to his unwavering love and devotion.

We all stood there with our mouths agape, our eyes wide with shock and amazement, as soon as we heard his declaration. The king's face remained impassive, but a flicker of surprise crossed his features, as if he had not expected my husband to take such a bold stand.

"Very well then" the king said finally, his voice firm and unyielding, his eyes narrowing as he regarded my husband with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. The guards moved forward, their faces expressionless, their hands grasping the canes with a practiced ease, as my husband stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the king, his heart ready to bear the pain for our sake. The air was thick with tension, our hearts heavy with fear and anxiety, as we waited to see what would happen next.

He was flogged mercilessly, the sound of the cane striking his flesh echoing through the throne room, as we stood there in tears and helpless despair. We pleaded with the king to show mercy, to spare my husband from the brutal punishment, but our words fell on deaf ears. The king's face remained unyielding, his eyes cold and unforgiving, as he watched my husband's body writhe in agony under the relentless strokes.

The guards showed no mercy, their faces expressionless, their arms rising and falling with a mechanical precision, as they inflicted blow after blow. My husband's cries of pain filled the air, his body trembling with each stroke, his face contorted in a mixture of anguish and courage. We were powerless to stop the brutality, our tears and pleas ignored, as the king's wrath was unleashed upon my husband's defenseless body.

Finally, the flogging stopped, my husband's body slumped to the ground, his eyes closed, his chest heaving with labored breaths. The king's voice cut through the silence, his words a stark reminder of our precarious situation. "You are given 3 days to leave this village. Else..." he said, his voice trailing off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air like a sword of Damocles, as we stood there, our hearts heavy with fear and uncertainty.

The following day, despite the intense pain and discomfort that still lingered from the brutal flogging, my husband managed to summon the strength to go out to the church without telling us, his determination and devotion to his faith overriding his physical suffering. He opened the doors, swept the floor, and began preaching to the empty chairs at the top of his voice, his words echoing off the walls as he proclaimed his message to an absent congregation.

His voice was hoarse from the previous day's ordeal, but his passion and conviction remained unwavering, his words pouring out like a river, filling the empty space with a sense of purpose and meaning. He preached of love, of forgiveness, and of redemption, his message a testament to the power of faith in the face of adversity.

As he spoke, his words seemed to take on a life of their own, filling the church with an almost palpable presence, as if the empty chairs were indeed filled with souls hungry for the message he brought. His preaching was a defiant act of courage, a declaration to the king and his minions that our faith would not be silenced, that our beliefs would not be crushed by their brutality. And as he finally emerged from the church, exhausted but triumphant, we knew that our hearts would forever be filled with the power of his example.

To be continued!