Ms. Tia peeps open one eye, looking like she is wanting to laugh, then close it back.
We stay like that on our knees, until the prophet man finish his bouncing and he says it is now time for the baby-making baff.
CHAPTER 45
Fact: Some of the richest pastors in the world live in Nigeria, with net worths reaching up to $150 million.
The prophet is bouncing in front of us, taking us through a path of red sand.
Green plants, full of thorns, with branches shaped like a hand with broken fingers, are sitting in clay flowerpots on each side of the path. Where the path ends, one woman, wearing the same dress as the prophet, meets us with a smile that looks like it is upside down. She reminds me of a housefly, this woman, with her lean body and arms which is full of hairs where her dark skin is showing, wide eyeballs that stretch a little to the side of her head, and the long, thin purple cloth around her body like slim wings. She is wearing the same cap as the prophet too, but her own looks like it is swelling. I peep a red wig under the cap, looking like something a car climbed over and crushed plenty times.
She kneels in front of the man. “Alafia.”
The man nods his head, puts his hand on her cap. “Peace to you too, Mother-in-Jerusalem.”
He turns to us. “This is Mother-in-Jerusalem Tinu,” he says. “She is the head of our female birth-makers. She is a powerful woman in the baby-making miracle ministry. You can call her Mother Tinu, she won’t mind. She will take our sister here with her to the river. Men are not allowed, so I will wait behind.”
Ms. Tia makes a noise like something pinched her. “Right now? Can we not, like, do this later? I just need time to think. To gather my thoughts.”
“Have you gone around her seven times with the bell?” Mother Tinu asks the prophet. “Because once that has happened, the bath must follow. No going back.” She smiles. “It will be quick.”
“Can Adunni still come with me?” Ms. Tia asks.
“Foolishness,” the doctor mama says. “Utter foolishness.”
“Adunni, you can come with us,” the Mother Tinu says. “You must keep your eyes closed throughout the ceremony. This is not a film cinema.”
“Yes, ma,” I say.
“Go,” the prophet say. “After the bath, meet me in the church to collect the special cream you will use to rub your body.”
“Cream too?” Ms. Tia says. “Well, how about a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and a limo ride back home? You said this was just a bath.”
“We can discuss this later,” the doctor mama says, talking with her teeth grinding together. “For now, please, just comply.”
“Follow me,” Mother Tinu says.
We follow her behind, turn left into another path. The red sand is wet under my feet, cold, with rocks pushing into my shoe.
We walk until we see a hole formed with brown rocks with a round opening for people to enter. There are voices in the air, plenty women singing afar off, a moaning song of no words, a song of sorrows.
Ms. Tia is holding my hand tight, her nails pinching my skin, nearly drawing blood.
“What the hell?” she whispers into my ears.
“This is not the hell,” I whisper back. “This is holy ground.” I like Ms. Tia, but sometimes, she can like to ask questions that don’t make sense.
“Those women are in the spirit, preparing for you,” the Mother Tinu says. “Beyond this cave lies the sacred river where your bath will take place. Did you bring clothes to change into?”
“I already told the man I had clothes in the car,” Ms. Tia says.
“I believe you have paid?” Mother Tinu slides her eyes from Ms. Tia to the doctor mama. “Because we have a strict policy here. No pay, no bath.”
“Pay?” Ms. Tia says. “We have to pay for this?”
“I have handled it,” the doctor mama says with a stiff voice.
“In that case, let us go,” Mother Tinu says. “When we finish the bath, Adunni, you will run to the car and bring the clothes.
“This way,” she says to Ms. Tia. “You need to bend your head to come in. It is full of rocks inside; we don’t want you to bang your head. You have come to seek solution, not headaches.” She laughs by herself.
We bend our necks, walking like old people into the cave place. It is a small space, so we line up ourselves: Mother Tinu in front, me behind her, Ms. Tia behind me, and the doctor mama last. It is dark too, the ceiling low, with rocks deep into the roof of it. I bang my head on some rocks, bend myself lower, almost crawling, until we come out on the other side. Now we are facing a riverbed with tree branches hanging low as if worshipping the muddy floor in front of the river. The river is dark green, the water curling like a tongue around the gray rocks on the edge, licking the golden-brown leaves between the rocks. The place takes me back, back, to where I was watching the sky, the gray covering the orange as the sun hide itself and gave way to rain, to a time when Khadija was warring with God for her soul. It is dark here too, as if the rains are coming, only this time it is the leaves that have become a blanket over the sky.
There are four women kneeling in front of the river. They tie a white cloth around their chest, white scarf on their head, a string of cowry beads around their neck. They sway here and there on their knees as if the wind is rocking them, as if the dipping tree branches are whispering a soft, sad song into their ears.
“Ooo,” they keep saying, “ooo.”
“I don’t like this,” Ms. Tia whispers, gripping my hand even more now. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“I don’t like it too,” I say.
“Can we delay this for a bit?” she is still whispering into my ear, still pinching my flesh.
“Silence!” Mother Tinu shouts from our front, and Ms. Tia jumps.
“No whispering around the baby-makers,” Mother Tinu says. “Wait there. Don’t move one step further. I will get the holy cloth and holy brooms.”
As Mother Tinu is walking away, Ms. Tia says, “Brooms? What for?”
I never heard of anybody ever using brooms in Ikati to wash theirself. I know of sponge, and black soap. But not broom, and not in a church. The talk of broom is making me feel discomfort. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we will sweep the floor first?”
“Adunni, you heard the woman,” the doctor mama says. “Shut your mouth.”
Mother Tinu is now walking back to us. She is holding a folded white cloth and what look like a pack of long brooms. She reach us, and I see that she is holding four brooms. Each of the brooms is made up of long, very thin, and very many sticks tied together with a red thread around the top of it. We use this kind of broom for sweeping the floor in Ikati. What are they using it for here?