THE PROPHECY
When I got to the altar the Pastor gave me five white marble stones and boisterously said, “My brother, can you please count for me the stones that I have given to you.” Strange. “1, 2, 3” hesitantly I counted. “Stop!” he screamed. “What does the number three mean to you?” What does the number three mean to me? I became blank. I couldn’t think of anything. But, instead of asking for clarity, I decided to give the Pastor and the congregants a numerology lesson. “According to the Pythagoreans,” I said, “it was the first true number because it is the first number that forms a triangle- a geometrical figure.” His eyes flashed “It is also regarded as the number of good fortune as well as the number for harmony, wisdom and understanding,” I continued. “It is the number of time, that is, Past, Present and Future, Birth Life and Death and Beginning, Middle and End.” I’m… he tried to say something, but I didn’t allow him to steal my moment. The lesson wasn’t finished yet. “In Christianity, the number three represents the triune God, or the Holy Trinity of the Father, Son and The Holy Spirit.” I stopped.
Everybody clapped. My ego was pumped. I looked at Shamie and all I saw was a smiling and proud face. “Impressive! Absolutely remarkable! The Pastor said with a huge grin on his face. “But, ah… I meant in your life. What does the number three mean to you? If you don’t know, just say you don’t know. It’s not a crime.” I was silent. I bowed my head, and looked at the tip of my Pierre Cardin shoes thoughts rushing through my head. Finally I raised my head. I looked at the Pastor and gave him a smile. “Aha, you got it… Tell us,” he commanded. “We are three in our family,” I answered tentatively. I wasn’t sure if that was the answer he was looking for “Good, very good… Count for me again starting from one!”
“1.2, 3.” Honestly I felt like a kid in kindergarten. “Stop!” He screamed. “What does the number three mean to you?” What the hack is wrong with this guy I thought to myself. Can’t he just get straight to the point and stop beating about the bush. “I am the last born, the third born.” The audience went wild. “We are not done yet. Relax. Relax!” he said that jokingly. I looked at Shamie, and I could see on her face that she wasn’t smiling anymore. It’s like her gut was telling her that something really bad was about to go down. I was troubled. “Count for me again starting from one.” The voice blazed from the speakers. “1, 2, 3” I counted again like a small boy. “Stop!” Tell us what the number three mean to you my brother?” Now he was ecstatic. Jumping back and forth like a soccer player doing warm up on the touch line waiting to get into the field to play. “I was born in March which is the third month of the year…” “Is that all my broda,” he said holding his right ear. “I say, is that all Nah.” The congregation roared with laughter. “I have always been told that I was born at 3 minutes past 3 in the morning, on the 14th of March.” Everybody stood! Some lifted chairs in the air. Some were jumping, others were dancing, whistling and ululating. The drummer and keyboard player were ecstatic, pounding on the instruments like maniacs.
“Now my broda, hear me well.” He said. “My God! My God! My God. I said listen carefullooo,” Looking straight into my eyes, he dropped the bomb! “You have a pastoral calling upon your life. And I see you traveling around the world working with young people.” I started sweating. “I can even see the woman that you are going to marry. A woman of virtue, light in complexion, so beautiful and focused. My broda, that woman will help you to reach your God ordained destiny,” he continued. My smile quickly turned into a frown. And he interpreted it as unbelief. He decided to say more. Little did he know that he was adding more salt to the wound. “I can see her in a faraway land working on herself to become a better woman, whilst you are here studying and working on yourself to become a better man…” The whole crowd was elated with the prophecy. Everybody was happy for me except myself and obviously Shamiso. It was an embarrassing moment for her. Her colleagues in the praise and worship team knew about our relationship as well as some of her friends in the congregation. It was actually a faith shaking moment because her Pastor had blessed our relationship and confirmed that we were a match made in heaven. So many questions popped up. Was it a fake prophecy? Did her Pastor bless a relationship that was not meant to be? Who was a charlatan between her Pastor and this guest Pastor from Nigeria who called himself Pastor Gabriel Okoye, the heavenly messenger?
Soon after that service, things changed between us. She believed so much in that prophecy and kept on repeating it over and over again. “Ndimi ka mucharoora ma yellow bone,” she said. And from that moment, she started holding back. She became distant with each passing day.
Scarcity became her new trend. For two good weeks, she wasn’t calling me, texting me or returning my calls or texts. I was hurt. Even though she wasn’t replying my texts I would text her every day telling her that the prophecy meant nothing compared to what we had. It was all in vain. I resorted to complaining and whining and when she finally replied, she accused me of nagging. I tried begging her, and she accused of being needy. Guess what? I became unattractive. Truly, I didn’t know what to do to bring her back to me. I wish I could change the hand of time. I regretted agreeing to go to that Sunday Service. I loathed everything that transpired that day. Chishamiso was the love of my life and the only woman who had unlocked a special part of me that gave me the strength to face each day courageously and expectant of blessings, love and smiles. I loved the man I was when I was with her. Losing her was just too much for me to handle.
The third week after the prophecy, she broke the news that she no longer saw any future with me and she was already in love with another man. The world ended. She asked me to stop texting her or following her around. She needed space to work things with her new boyfriend without me chasing her like a thirsty demented dog. I cried myself to sleep and refused to be comforted for days. This was the beginning of my heartbreak stories.