See, when you have hustled all your life to be a star Actress and the only star you have gotten is when some stupid Actress beats the shit out of you and the only acting you do is the one in your dysfunctional life, then you begin to rethink your life.
I am currently on Ori Oke anu ati Iyanu outside Lagos and it is because I am tired of the aforementioned problem.
Biko, is it only me? Are my Ancestors the only ones busy on my case in Heaven?
Why does it seem like they sent them to me.
Anyway, here I am praying with a very high voice and I am not going to vacate this extremely cold mountain until God hears my cry.
“Heys Aunty! Aunty oni Brazilian…” I open one eye and see the Prophet standing right in front of me.
“E jo e gbadura ni Yoruba”
He is asking me to pray in Yoruba? What if I do not understand Yoruba? Why does he think I am Yoruba? Because I am on a Mountain in the middle of nowhere in Ogbomoso?
“Sah?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“I say pray… Yoruba”
I frown. This is why I don’t like this Ori Oke situation but where else to hide from my Fiance and his Uncle if it is not in the middle of a cold Mountain in Ogbomoso. Plus, my career has to take off.
“Yoruba, er… I don’t speak well” I lie. I don’t know how to pray in Yoruba, heck I don’t know how to pray in any language.
“Your Ancestors don’t know English… your demon that follow you know your native language”
“But my native language is not Yoruba” I say. Fair enough, I may speak Yoruba but my native language isn’t Yoruba.
The prophet shrugs and walks away.
When he leaves, I hope he’s never seen any Yoruba movie I starred in. he’s a Prophet in the middle of Ogbomoso anyway, what are the chances that he’d have seen any.
When the prayers finish some minutes after, I go down the Mountain, find a neat space and sleep off, my head propped up against a tree.
I must have slept for thirty minutes before I suddenly sense someone around me.
When I look up, I see a fat woman in front of me. I don’t know if it is because my vision is slightly blurry, but she looks like N200 agege bread.
“So this is your face”
I am really confused, I try to stand and I am suddenly pulled down by my hair. The sharp pain I feel dazes me and it slowly occurs to me that my long weave is tied to the tree.
Only then do I realize that I am not alone with Agege bread, she did bring company and it consists of two girls looking like N100 agege bread. They must be her daughters because the resemblance is striking.
Someone might have as well stuck this woman in a photocopy machine and produced these girls.
“Who are you people?”
She flashes the picture of my sugar daddy in my face.
“Who is this man to you?”
Oh, shit. It is a who is your Daddy situation all over again. Except this one is dangerous.
“I don’t know him”
She scrolls to the next photo and shows me a screengrab of my Instagram page, “Isn’t that his kneecap?”
“Who says?” I ask
“Me. Because I am his wife!”
“Carry her to that part of the mountain where nobody will hear her”
I try to shout but they stuff something in my mouth.
As they carry me to a secluded and extremely isolated part of the Mountain, I begin to wish I had prayed in Yoruba earlier.
Maybe, just maybe God would have saved me.