“Raise it higher to the Lord,” the pastor said. “And be blessed in Jesus’ name!”
“Amen.”
“Higher, I say. . . . You get from the Lord what you give. We need to finish building this church, Amen?”
“Amen.”
“Don’t curse yourself today. . . . Add more to the Lord. This is your salvation Sunday, your breakthrough Sunday. You, that man, don’t spoil it for the Lord by offering so little.” He pointed somewhere in the back and everybody turned to look in that direction. “If you change your ways, tomorrow the Lord could bless you too, with a Nanfang. Poverty is a curse from Satan. . . . The Lord is ready to break that curse. Do you believe?”
“Yes, we believe.”
Some people substituted their bills for a higher denomination.
“And do not spoil it for Smiley Kpee either. He has been a faithful Christian over the years, OK. Don’t bring bad luck to his Nanfang.”
“God forbid, God forbid!” the church hollered.
“Don’t spoil it for these two children of his!” He reached out and touched Yewa and then me. “May the Lord bless you with infinite goodness. May you always be lucky, Amen?”
“Amen.”
“And you can bless your neighbor too,” he said to the church. “What is your neighbor holding up?” There was a low murmur as people spoke to their neighbors, some teasing others to bring out more money. Big Guy whispered something into Fofo Kpee’s ear, gave him a CFA10,000 bill and took away the N100 bill, and both men smiled. Fofo was so happy, there were tears in his eyes. “Our God is a rich God, not a pauper,” the pastor said.
“Amen.”
“And make sure your neighbor is not tempted to put back in his pocket what has been shown to the Lord. Amen?”
“Amen.”
He signaled to the choir, which intoned “The Lord Will Bless Someone Today.”
The Lord will bless someone today
The Lord will bless someone today
The Lord will bless someone today
The Lord will bless someone today
It could be me
It could be you
It could be someone by your side
The Lord will bless someone today
The Lord will bless someone today
As we sang along, our gift baskets were passed over the sanctuary rails to the assisting pastors, two wives of Pastor Adeyemi. After the wives had finished putting the gifts behind the sanctuary, they came out and joined in the blessing—two tall, elegant figures making their way through the praying crowd, placing their hands on the abdomens of the pregnant, whispering, “Omo ni iyin oluwa, . . . Children are the greatness of God.”
Then, as the pastor came down to bless the Nanfang, he asked us again to lift our money higher. He prayed that God should bless our household forever and that He should protect Fofo from Satan. Then his composure disintegrated as he bent down and grabbed the handlebars of the machine and launched into the “Holy Spirit, Fire!” benediction. His jheri curls flew everywhere, his cross jangled against the gas tank. He shook the Nanfang hard, to banish ill luck, until the faces of Fofo Kpee and Big Guy became clouded with fear. Eager to protect the bike, they reached out and held on to it with all their might while the pastor rained blessings on it. Soon the pastor placed his hands on our heads, and then people dropped their money into a collection basket, watching one another to keep cheats from substituting lower denominations or stuffing it back into their pockets.
THAT AFTERNOON, BACK AT our house, Fofo had rented white plastic chairs and a multicolored tarpaulin canopy for a party. Women, whom Fofo had hired to cook, brought the food in coolas and ladled it out to our guests. Though it wasn’t a big crowd, Fofo had gotten the dirt road in front of our house blocked, to give the impression of a large, overflowing party. In our part of the world, if a party didn’t disrupt traffic, it wasn’t a party.
Fofo Kpee stood up when he got a chance and said in his comedian voice, “My people, my neighbors, honton se lé, family se, dis de day de Lord has made . . .”
“Make we rejoice and be glad!” we all replied, laughing.
He cleared his throat and shouted, “Alleluuu . . .”
“Alleluuuia!” screamed the crowd.
“You see my broda and his wife who live abroad send me dis zoke˙ke˙!” He pointed to the Nanfang, which was standing under the mango tree, alone, as if on exhibition. “You see, I no go die poor man,” he continued. “I can’t be agberoing all my life. I must do someting to get rich. Like carrying una good people on my zoke˙ke˙ and making money. You must patronize me o. You no go just come here to eat my rice for notting o.”
“You go carry us till you tire!” someone said. “Smiley Kpee, na true talk!”
“I mean, look my face.”
He touched his scar and pulled at his lip and people began to laugh.
“Scarecrow!” one woman shouted, her mouth full of rice.
“No worry, when I get money well well, I go do surgery . . . my face no go smile like dis all de time again. N’do˙ na dio˙ face se, military face. Den una no go know again wheder I dey vex o, wheder I dey sad o, wheder I dey lie o. . . . I mean, even now, who tell una say I dey happy wid una?”
More laughter. “Agbero! Nanfangagbero!”
He paused and pointed directly at Big Guy, then wagged his finger. “Make sure you no be like dis, my new friend, who want disgrace me before my Tanksgiving!”
People laughed and Big Guy shook his head in jest, stood up, and said to the people, “Mon peuple, I no dance well for church dis morning?”
“You dance well well,” the crowd said, supporting him.
“Mais, il est un bon homme. Very good man,” Fofo Kpee said. “Na my new friend. . . . Dem just post am to dis area. You go know am better later. . . . For now make you just dey enjoy me, dugbe se to ayawhenume se. Once I become rich, my dogs no go even let una come near my gate o, comme Lazarus.”
“Den make you remain agbero till dy kingdom come!” someone said.
He waited out the laughs, then said, “Kai, you better start looking for anoder monkey man to harvest your coconuts. . . . Anyway, on a serious note: joy full my belly today because my broder and wife done rewarded me, say I do deir children well well.”
“Make God dey bless dem o!” someone said.
Fofo Kpee pointed to us, and all the attention shifted our way.
Yewa and I stopped stuffing ourselves with rice and looked at each other. I felt lost because I knew my parents were in the village, not abroad. It was as if I didn’t hear Fofo well. Did Big Guy bring the bike from my parents in Braffe? No, that couldn’t be true. My parents weren’t that rich even when they enjoyed full health. Again I thought maybe he said they had recovered, and this party was also in their honor. So I stuffed myself with more food. With my bare hands, I ate my whole mound of jollof rice; the hired cooks used Uncle Ben’s rice, which we could consume fast, without fear of pebbles. I saved a piece of fried zebra fish, sliced as thin as a plantain chip, for last. I didn’t give what Fofo had said another thought.