Free Where Women are Kings by Christie Watson Page A

Success Ministries attracted people in their masses, falling over and around each other; even though the church was as big as an aircraft hangar, there simply was not enough floor space. The women who did not have room to jump down on to the floor would complain loudly. They were so dramatic, the women of my childhood church. And Bishop reminded me of them, those women, of my Uncle Pastor, of my family.
    It must be strange to you, Elijah, that we were so impressed by such a wealthy man of God, but we were. In Nigeria, there were pastors who had their own television channels, a fleet of Mercedes, private jets, bodyguards, and were millionaires – some actually billionaires. They were more popular than movie stars, or pop stars, more popular than kings andpresidents. They wore the finest clothes – imported, fine Italian silk suits, or designers such as Dolce and Gabbana, Gucci, Moschino – and their shoes were one hundred per cent crocodile skin. They were smart and shining, those men, groomed so far that the Rolexes on their wrists didn’t even appear to shine in comparison. And I don’t mean my Uncle Pastor, although he was famous and had a congregation of millions, but some of the others had their own recording studios. They were so famous that people, women usually, fainted and screamed and queued through the night to get glimpses of them speeding past in their new-series BMWs. These men are the reason that BMW brings out the new series in Lagos before any other place. They know wealth like I could never understand.
    Elijah, it is common knowledge how pastors make their wealth, how they take ten per cent of their congregation’s earnings, how the congregation has to give this ten per cent, these alms, to maintain the upkeep of the church. It is tricky to explain this to you when you’ve only known England, and the churches filled with six people at best on a Sunday, and terrible singing. Elijah, the Nigerian church is the pastor, and who would want to belong to a church that did not have enough faith in God to keep their pastor well? Every Nigerian knows that this money will come back tenfold. I have seen it with my own eyes, time and time again. And the reality, Elijah, is that when you are so poor you have to step over the dead bodies on your way to market as you cannot take on the funeral costs of a stranger, when you are that poor, Elijah, the dream of two Ferraris is just as reachable as the dream of good roads to drive them on, or food for all your neighbours, adequate healthcare. You get what you put into this world, and prayer is no different.
    I explain all this to you, Elijah, so that you understand a little bit. Being English now, it will be hard for you, but I pray that one day you will find yourself in Nigeria and at church and see the pastors preaching, and the millions listening and literally throwing money at the pastor’s feet – money they don’t have, they cannot afford. But if you follow those people home you will understand something more; for how can they afford not to?
    We began to settle, enjoying living in our own private world, talking to each other until late in the night, whispering across a pillow. Akpan removed any of my worries. When I first saw a red car and noticed the men inside it looking up at our balcony, Akpan convinced me I was imagining it. He pulled me towards him and kissed my worries gone, a kiss for each worry.
    ‘There’s nobody there.’ He looked out of the window and down into the street below, where I’d seen the red car and noticed something black pointing upwards. A camera? Why would anyone photograph our flat?
    ‘Honestly, there’s nobody there.’ Akpan stroked the back of my neck with his fingertips. ‘My love, you worry so much. Even if there was a car following us, I have all the correct documents. They are after that childminder. In the UK they have to be registered so the government can take most of the money. Please try not to