Tale of a Black Blouse on a Black Friday.
Guys, I have always wanted to tell this story but just couldn’t find the perfect title or explanation for it. I have however decided to tell it once and for all and believe me this is a true story. Despite growing up the orthodox way, my mum caught up with the Pentecostal wave of worship. This led us to weekly visits to a beautiful Pentecostal church. The pastor was not only handsome but a very funny man. His wife was equally beautiful and they were family to us. The only thing that I looked forward to during the weekly visits were the funny stories the pastor told during his sermon. Every other thing; the long car ride from Magodo to Iju every Tuesday, the traffic, staring out the window, hearing my mum yell at the driver for not looking out for other cars, hours of cursing our enemies, with our eyes shut and head going left and right like a pendulum and the long sunny and traffic jam ride back to the house was simply pure torture to me. All I wanted back then was to stay back at home...