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You see that thing called tithe? I was strongly against it. The idea of taking out ten percent of my hard-earned money and giving it to a man of God who wears designer suits every Sunday while I struggle to reamend my natives every now and then made me question the concept of tithing.
"Your pastor dey use my money fuel him Benz, una dey lie put for baba God head. Una go collect on rapture day, just wait,” I fired at her. That was my last statement and it concluded my discussion with Sister Debby as we parted ways, never to meet again I guess.
The following day was a Sunday, and I attended as it was more of a custom than a lifestyle. The idea of preventing my neighbors from lashing at me made me dedicate myself to going to church.
I was always late, and as a means to draw attention, I would forcefully seat at the front row with I and the pastor looking at ourselves eye to eye.
“You no fit Kuku kill me,” I chuckled, resting full length. If there is one thing I would say I enjoy coming to church for, it was the praises that follow every thanksgiving service. I have never felt more alive than when the sound of the saxophonist hits. But that doesn't also exclude the fact that the sermon is the best sleeping medicine I have ever taken.
This fortunate day, I came to church as usual but sat at the back. It was time for members to pay their tithes and offering. The choir led a heart-rejuvenated praise, and I found myself nodding rhythmically to every stroke of the drummer.
The offering section was done, and it was time to pay our tithe. I frowned as I watched people happily dance towards the altar.
“Mumu just full this church,” I scoffed as I numbered them in tens and twenties, rushing off to the altar.
“Bros, you no dey pay tithe?” a black, slender guy with a cut across his lips who sat beside me confronted me.
I scowled at him hatefully with my eyes and decided not to reply.
“You fit help me drop this envelope for tithe box, abeg, leg dey pain me,” he looked at me, hoping for a positive response. I looked at him for a while, his right leg was bandaged, i heaved, collected the envelope, and faked a dance towards the altar. After all, if everyone has chosen to be stupid, let me help them look even more stupid.
I returned to my seat and received thanks from this total stranger. The service ended exactly at 11:50 am, and I was the first to greet the atmosphere outside the church compound.
As I briskly walked towards home, I heard someone calling me from behind. I stopped to look, lo and behold, it was the guy who sat beside me during the service. He hopped on one foot towards me and caught up with me.
“What is it this time?” I asked, feeling irritated.
“Bros, no vex, I just wan tell you say you fit wan crazy when you reach house, but just know say nah God you give the money to, and he go bless you soon,” he hopped away, leaving me confused.
I shook my head in pity, concluding that the guy might be mentally ill, and walked away. I got home that day, only to discover that my entire salary in a white envelope, which I had collected for the month, was missing.
My mind did a flashback to what the guy told me, and it became clearer to me. I almost ran mad.
It's been five years since the incident happened, and I have visited 42 countries on business trips, got married, bore children, twins twice, and live in a mansion worth millions of naira.
It all started after I paid that tithe. Indeed, nah only mumu dey pay tithe, and I am so glad I was foolish enough to have done that.
THE END.
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