chapter 2

The first foreigner from Europe to visit Umuoku was a missionary from England. His name was Peter Stonefield. He was one of the few men filled with revivalism who had decided to go on a solo mission in spreading the gospel of Christ to villages that had not yet been blessed with the message of Christ.

Peter gazed at the shrine of Umuoku. The home where the devil conveyed his message to his followers. He formed a quick saliva and spat on the ground. In his mind, he wished he could lit a fire and get rid of the heretic symbol in front of him. As he eyed the shrine in front of him, he kept telling himself to be patient in order to avoid getting himself involved in a mistake that he would later regret.

A year ago, he had made a firm decision to leave his comfort, sworn an oath of celibacy and venture into the darkness of Africa to spread the goodwill message of christ. The message of love and peace and hope for a better life after earth. His zeal had led him to convert men and women of different backgrounds into the light of the truth, the light of Christ's love. Every day of his life since he repented from his transgressions, he had made it a duty to say the Nicene creed five times in the morning. He would raise his hands in the air while committing his soul to the lord in accordance with a book which he called the Bible then wipe his back with a thick cord in an act of penance before reciting the Nicene creed.

Even at forty-three years old, his body was lean and toned, a wonderful physique further amplified by his fitted uniform bearing the mark of christ. The cross. At the moment, Peter was trying to resent himself from a possible mistake. 

The horrific event that nearly ended his life in Umuagwo about three months ago would forever lurk in the recesses of his mind - a single unfortunate time when he felt that God had forsaken him.

Umuagwo sun was bursting in freshness as he took a machete and struck the sacred python. A snake that was well worshipped and honored for its magnificence. Everyone that saw the disaster stopped dead, observing the desecration in front of them.

In the evening, he was tied to a tree and left to die because the people of Umuagwo believed that the great python would come out of the forest to take revenge on him. Nothing happened. It took divine intervention for him to escape from the claws of the angered people of Umuagwo and he swore never to interfere with village laws.

As Peter stepped inside the shrine, his gaze shifted immediately to the amulets, defeathered chickens and the stench smell coming out from a black pot at the centre of the room. It was like no shrine he had seen. Ashamed that he had betrayed his vows, he stepped outside of the shrine to wait for the chief priest of Umuoku.

The arcane complexity of Peter's beliefs marvelled him sometimes - a confirmation that God worked in a mysterious way. And yet now, after stepping inside the shrine and viewing the dishonour made to God, he still could not bring himself to understand why God had left the people of Africa in the dark for so long. He reminded himself that Jesus had instructed the first christians to love their neighbours as much as they loved themselves, a statement that showed how important love was.

Peter had finally begun to believe the words of his archbishop when he told him that God was with him wherever he went to, that God would guide his path and ensure that he was safe. The coming of Ada into his life was the greatest miracle he never believed the lord would grant him the opportunity to see. 

Ada was a slave that he had met in England. She was badly treated by her master and nearly beaten to death before he could save her. Torn apart, he took her lifeless body to the temple and prayed till he could no longer talk to God. He woke up the following morning to behold the smile of a black young woman. He took her hands from that day and swore never to doubt miracles even for one bit.

Now, despite his reflections over the past few days. Peter still felt unrelieved knowing fully well that he could not launch a crusade without the help of the chief priest because it was against the laws of the land for a foreigner to whisper in a gathering without seeking permission from the very messenger of the devil. 

Ada's friendly voice reverberated in his head as he remembered when she was teaching him Igbo while laughing at his English accent. Although he had tried hard to ensure that he pronounced every word she said to him in the same exact manner that she did, he could not help but stutter at every sentence he made because of the amount of vowels involved in every sentence.

Peter's eyes were drawn from one tree to the next as he waited for the chief priest to come. Each tree had markings bearing different messages that he could not understand. He knew that markings in trees where popular because he had seen some in a village not too far away from Umuoku and when he had asked about the meaning of the markings from a passer-by, he was shocked when the short man told him never to mention about the markings to anyone not even a child. Apparently, the short man was right, it did not take too long when another foreigner saw the markings and asked about it to a different man. The next morning, the foreigner was labelled a ghost and buried alive in the outskirts of the village.

Peter peered down the narrow markings that were growing faint. He felt his muscles tighten as he felt a drop of blood on his uniform. He looked up, only to notice a dead hen on the tree. Its defeathered skin irritated him and he shifted away from the tree. Grabbing a small piece of cloth from his left pocket, he cleaned the stain on his shoulders until it almost looked faded. He cursed in anger as he regretted the decision he had just made. Mixing the devil with Christ was one thing that he hated the most and the smell of the blood from his uniform made him to be aware that he had just fused the devil with Christ. In an act of repentance, he pulled his shirt from his body and repeated the Nicene creed once. He searched his back pocket and brought out a bottle of anointing oil. Reciting the Lord's prayer, he rinsed his uniform with the anointing oil and wore it back feeling relieved that God had forgiven him.

For a moment, he let his eyes relax by shutting it until all he could see was darkness. After a while, he rubbed his eyes with a cupped hand and reopened it. He wondered what was keeping the chief priest so long that he had forgotten about their meeting. He knew that the chief priest was not in his shrine because he had gone against his will and checked a forbidden place where the enemy of Christ dwelled. The images of the defeathered chickens, amulets and black pot flooded his mind as he tried to push them away.

Peter's thoughts swirled as he emerged from the image of the black pot in his mind. The black pot was strange and alarming. Whether or not, the black pot contained a human eye or a part of an animal, he could not explain the excitement that was growing within him to explore the contents of the black pot. He felt that the black pot was a central paradigm that beared the stronghold of the belief system of Umuoku. He remembered when Ada had told him about black pots that were placed in the centre of shrines. She had explained how the chief priests of some villages stored their powers and even their life in it. She told him how some people believed that a chief priest life depends on the existence of the black pot.

A faint click of desperation in his throbbing chest and he was alert. He went back to the shrine, affirming himself that he was doing a holy cause. A cause that would give him a great stand when he starts the crusade. Spanning the width of the entire room, he noticed a multitude of clay pots at the right, circling themselves in an unusual way as if displaying a sign. As he drew closer, he saw a statue that stood in the darkness, close to the black pot. The statue was carved out from dried clay. It was carved in such a way that it had an abnormally long head and large breasts resembling that of a breastfeeding mother.

Uncertain what else to do, he reached out to his pocket and brought out his anointing oil. He looked up at the defeathered chickens and nudged them. Although he felt alive within him, knowing he was doing the right thing, his flesh felt taut and hard, already dessicated by the wind and sun.

He observed the chickens as he took a step closer. Definitely dead. He reached down, grasped the chickens on their legs and threw them outside. He sanctified his hands with the anointing oil and prayed for forgiveness for associating himself with unholy things in a shrine.

The chirps of a half-dozen birds filled the air as they circled back and forth. Peter felt something was wrong somewhere but he could not understand what was wrong. The birds flew in a circle, singing silently while looking at the defeathered chickens. Then they perched on the dead chickens and started feeding on it. They fed on the chickens for some seconds before flying away with the little pieces they could gather in their mouths.

Peter closed his eyes a moment, as if to gather himself, and then he opened them again, a feeling of joy arose. He went outside and knelt down as he thanked the Lord for showing him a visible indication that he was with him. He thanked the Lord for justifying his actions and proving him right. As he thanked God and prayed, he felt like apostle Paul and Silas in the Bible when they were praying in the prison yard before angels appeared and broke their chains. 

Fully assured that his actions has been approved by God himself, he felt pleased knowing fully well that he was going to prove his loyalty once again. Contented with the absence of the chief priest, he grabbed his goatskin bag and brought out his black Bible and a symbol of the crucifix fixed in a silver necklace. He wore the necklace, ensuring that the crucifix was in front of his chest, guarding his heart to do God's will. He raised his hands, touched his forehead, his stomach, his left chest then his right chest, forming the symbol of the cross in his tired body. He now faced the shrine that was in front of him, the beginning of a successful crusade.

He held firmly to his Bible, assuring himself again that he was doing the right thing for God. 

A couple of days ago, he had promised the elders of Umuoku that his stay in their village was just for a while and he had only come with one of their daughter from a different village to see the fertile lands and streams that the land possessed. The daughter from a different village that he was referring to was Ada and she had strongly urged him not to get involved in anything that would disrupt their stay. She had told him that patience was what they needed if they wanted to ensure that God's work is done properly in Igbo land. She had also warned him of the dangers of blindly destroying anything related to the shrine before he came to visit the chief priest.

Hushed murmurs of righteousness whispered in his ears as he took a step forward towards the shrine, ignoring the words of Ada. The only thing that made sense to him was destruction. He had to go inside the shrine, see what is inside the black pot and destroy the shrine. With the information that the black pot possessed, he would be able to justify himself from any accusations that would be laid on him. He felt relieved that he was about to turn the anger he felt for the shrine from the first time he saw it into a holy one.

Illuminated by a glorious call, he marched inside the shrine. A tidal wave of harmonious angelic voices sang in his ears as he sanctified the shrine with his anointing oil. He poured every nook and cranny with the holy liquid he possessed. Battered with self-righteousness, he threw the empty bottle of anointing oil away and lunged himself towards the black pot. Eerily, he stopped.

In that instant, a noisy crack exploded from his back and he jolted forward and fell down on the ground, close to the pot. In his dizziness, he drew a hand towards the pot, to open it but he was brushed away by a force he had never felt in his life. His eyes rolled slightly backwards but his hands were still willing to do the will of God. He teetered for an instant, his back a pool of blood and then like a wounded deer, he started crawling on his stomach, his blood-spattered back drowned his will as every push he made slowly came to an end.

Above him was a man holding a sharp machete. Before Peter could comprehend what was going on, the chief priest of Umuoku stared at him and raised a machete. A sharp drive towards his neck, the crucifix disembeded from his necklace and fell on the ground with the wounded face of Jesus Christ staring at his dead body.