Tales of Besi

My friend Besi

Besi is bold and dark. She is the sort of woman you describe as beautifully quirky. She has a firm voice and speaks like she is in command. She is my best buddy. We talk sometimes, not so often. When we talk we catch up on feelings, emotions, stories and experiences. Besi has got me like I have got her. She knows I love writing and does not mind that I write about mostly the things that we talk about. Hi! I am Loue. Nice to meet you.

Besi’s call came in a few minutes past three on that Sunday afternoon. The weather was so hot that I had turned on the air conditioner in my room. I had just seen the mail. It was another message telling me they were not willing to work with my portfolio. The phone buzzed on the table causing me to grunt in discomfort. I look to see the caller, and I see it’s Besi. I find myself smiling and receiving the call with such cheer.

Besi’s voice was sweet to hear. Her talk is usually filled with excitement and wit. Even when she is upset about a thing, it filters in. She asks about my family and ‘Kosi, the seemingly one’. She had named him that after I had spoken about him in that order in our last conversation. She referred to him as such for the rest of the time. We exchange the regular banter, and we find ourselves in what she calls ‘the chasmic sector’.

I asked about the weather and she told me it was hot over there as well. She complained about the lack of electricity which had lasted for about four days. She said the generator was only turned on in the evenings lasting into the late hours of the night. In the afternoons, they sweated like a cold bottle of coke. She teased me, calling me butta geh. While she spoke, the air conditioner made a whirring sound, jolting me. While I got up to investigate the cause, the sound increased sharply before it finally whirred to a stop. I told Besi she was the cause of my misfortune. It was a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Taj was unavailable. He had taken the weekend leave. Momma and Daddy were taking the afternoon nap; not like they could help my current situation. I felt the heat buildup almost immediately. The call ended shortly with the assurance of an immediate continuation. I used the brief break to procure a fan from the library. Besi’s first few words afterwards buttressed her initial butta geh talk. I am used to it. It is regular banter. She said I enjoyed the pleasure of not relying on the government for the afternoon comfort. I scoffed and told her that life could happen to anyone at any time. She said the current situation of things made it worse, that she had added to her prayer points; “May Nigeria never happen to me”. We went back and forth about the country, talking about the local news and stories from the socials. She told me about her day at Church.

Besi attends an old generation Pentecostal Church. She has often complained about the lack of teachings which gave deep insights in to the word, but are rather regressive and suppressive. The thing is Besi has her mind set on leaving the Church, but her family has strong ties to it. She is afraid of the effect her change would have on her mother most especially, who is a faithful attendant. So when Besi brought up her Church just after we had talked about the country, I already had a sense of what she was going to say.

Besi’s parents are more like financiers for their local Church. Whenever the Church had a project, her parents would carry a major portion of the burden. She was taught on the foundation of giving and in the many years I have known her she is a joyful giver. However, on this Sunday Besi did not sound enthusiastic about giving. Her voice went up a pitch and her words came out faster and a little more passionate, in a way that alerts me to our presence in the Chasmic Sector. She asked me to guess the number of times offerings were made at their Sunday services. I chuckled and replied with ‘four or five’. She laughed so loudly and said she wished it was. Offerings were made about nine times on a good day. I could not believe her. I asked if they made offerings according to the old testament or if the offerings were for future sins. Besi laughed raspily in a way that made me aware that she was serious.

During the lockdown, Besi and I spoke more frequently. On the days where there was not much to do, we filled them with talks of the news, the pains of staying indoors and the plans we had for the future. Besi loves to talk about change and she works hard at implementing it. She is the person I run to when I have a difficulty. She does not have a solution to every problem, but she would always motivate me to seek it. One thing she always complained about during that period was the lackadaisical nature of her Church to the situation of its members. The lockdown was a strenuous period to majority of the members. Some could not afford meals for days as their work afforded them meagre incomes prior to the lockdown. With the implementation of the lockdown, majority could not work. Besi coordinated with a few of her friends to provide some of the low income members of the Church in her area with weekly food portions. They ran this operation for about two months before their funds ran low. Upon resumption of Church services however, the offering requests rolled in again. None of the offerings were targeted at the welfare of the congregation. Rather, they were directed at the new car the Pastor needed for transporting his family for the Lord’s work, maintenance of the Church and the Pastor’s household. A new Pastor was added to the fold. He came with his wife and seven children. Additional mouths for the Church to feed.

Besi said that since the lockdown was lifted, the number of Church attendants had dwindled significantly. She said even those who attended would not give to the Church. Means were constantly devised to keep getting from the members. On some Sundays, the sermon was used as a tool. Besi’s favorite was the ‘eat the rich’ sermon which was always recycled. You see, Besi’s father had significantly reduced the amount of his money that went into the Church’s purse. Instead, he adopted Besi’s lockdown initiative; he helped members of the Church who needed help directly. That is my friend, Besi the influencer. She works closely with her father in this scheme. Since Besi’s father’s share had reduced, the ‘eat the rich’ sermon came more frequently. The Bible verses became ‘it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God’. Stories of the rich man and Lazarus came more often. Teachings and sermons targeted at the expensive clothes and shoes worn came frequently. At some point during the praise and worship sessions, Besi and her siblings had to watch their dance steps because one of the Church officers had told her in Yoruba that ijo la ri, a o ri owo, meaning that she only dances but does not contribute money.

Besi’s voice went up a notch while she spoke. She always gave me the revolutionary vibes. She spoke with so much energy and passion that all I could do was listen. I dare not interrupt Besi in the chasmic sector. Besi went on how one of the Pastors had said that he got a word from God condemning complaints against the lack of provisions made by the Church. She said he emphasized that all those who complained were children of the devil. I laughed loudly, calling Besi omo esu. She told me of one of her friends who worked a few blocks from the Church being harassed by a senior church official. Her friend had been at work since the early hours of the morning, trying to meet a deadline when this officer walked into her shop telling her that she valued earthly materials to those of the Kingdom of God. It was time for morning service, you see. He went on about how the Church needed her more than her work. Besi’s friend told him that the Church would ask her for money and that if she did not give, would castigate her. She told him to wait to hustle her on Sunday and allow her her own hustle. The matter ended with the said friend apologizing to the officer after she was reported to the Youth Pastor.

We had spoken for about an hour when electricity was restored in Besi’s house for the first time in four days. Besi squealed with excitement, rushing to plug her laptop and power bank. I laughed at the way she sounded and she replied me with more butta geh jabs. It was my time to play the devil’s advocate. I had to tread lightly here as Besi is not a fan. I reminded her that if she was not getting anything out of the Church, then it was time to go. She tried to remind me of her mother and I told her it did not matter. I told her to apply the diplomacy she taught me to the issue. She needed to evaluate her work with God and see if the Church fit in. I asked her if she had another denomination in mind and she said she had not taught much of it. ‘You see, I believe that is why you have not left, you are not ready to’, I responded. Besi tried to reason me out of the matter, but I gently pressed her. She eventually agreed with me and started suggesting other Churches. She was afraid that the others would not be any different and so I told her to do her research before she committed herself to anyone. I told her not to forget to pray for guidance. I had to remind her consistently that ultimately her relationship with God was what mattered and that anything else should not matter.

At this point, my phone beeped. I saw it was Kosi and told Besi I had to go. Besi chuckled asking me when she was going to get the ‘full Kosi gist’. I told her she was when she stopped teasing me with butta geh. She groaned and told me not to bully her.