Our Lady Of Perpetual Help Catholic Church

The new rains of the spring bore down mercilessly against the bonnet of the black Jeep as we passed through the crooked roads of Abuja. Eugene sat in the back seat, his arms crossed so tight you would think his white top would snap. His facial expression was almost cadaver like, lacking liveliness and complete emotion. The rash on his skin added to his corpse like appearance, calloused bumps covering the entirety of his face. As we drive by , slowly but surely, I spot the old church Eugene and I grew up in the distance - Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church. It was now covered in dense grassland, looking even more rotten then it used to be. I take a quick look into my rear mirror to see Eugene's head turned looking out the window. The corners of his eyes crinkled and a

I was at the church, almost completely alone. The church alone was tiny and cheap, with plastic stained windows instead of glass. Instead of pews, metal benches ran across the room and a shiny tiled floor and the smell of old cigarette smoke encased the building. The wooden doors that framed the church were completely broken, offering no security and requiring a large push as I entered the church. I quickly look around to make sure I am alone, ducking my head into every corner before finding my place on the pew, my steps echoing loudly as I walked down the aisle.

As I sit, the quietness of the place deafens me, the dead silence almost begging me to speak out loud. Without warning I begin to speak in Igbo - Igbo that I had heard Eugene use once - Igbo that I was taught was wrong. As I began to speak, the light shined through and the plastic reflections of the windows began to form stubby rectangles forms on the ground, almost as if God himself recognised my presence.
' Na-Aha-Na, Na-Nwa, Na-Muo-Nso. Amen - '
I was interrupted when Father Benedict, appearing enraged, smashed through the church doors and stood