ON DEATH ROLL

*ON DEATH'S ROLL*

*Episode 2*

A lot of people came to celebrate with me on my 10th birthday. Testimonies of what God has used me to do were shared by many whose lives have been impacted.

Prayers were made for me and my family, gifts of cash and kinds were presented and everyone enjoyed themselves.

At the end of the celebration, everyone left, leaving me and my parents with some few brethren from the church who helped us take care of the house, after which, they left.

While having our evening devotion at around 9:30pm, some men on masks broke into our house. They told us to lay down on the ground.

"Pastor Joseph Onome!" One of them who seemed to be their leader called out to my father. My dad wanted to raise his head, but was slapped by one of them.

"Lay low!" They shouted at him.

"We have heard so much about you and your wonderful ministerial exploits in the town, and you know there's supposed to be many contributions, tithes, offerings, voluntary offerings and so on!" The man said, sitting on my dad's favourite chair.

"Please, what do you want?" My dad asked him.

"Good question! I remember the Bible said, give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. So, we want our share of everything. I am not saying give us everything o, just give us our cut. Wait, I heard Senator Adejobi was also in one of your convention last week. That man must have sown into your ministry!" The man said, and his boys laughed.

My mom was shivering in fear, being three months pregnant.

"Please, the money is not mine. They belong to God!" My dad said.

"Keep quiet! If you talk that rubbish again, I will blow your head off! Will God come down and eat the money?" The man shouted at my dad, hitting him with his gun.

"Leave my dad alone in Jesus name!" I said to him, standing up, but he threw me away with one hand, and I landed on the ground, and passed out.

I woke up at the hospital with bandage on my head.

"Praise God, small pastor has woken up!" I heard someone saying in the hospital ward.

Some members rushed to my bedside, trying to console me.

"Where is my dad?" I asked holding my head, due to the headache I was having.

"It is well, Peter!" They said to me.

"Where is my mommy?" I asked them, trying to get down from the bed.

One of the women lost control of herself and started crying.

"Mama, what happened? Why are you crying?" I asked her.

She refused to answer me. I saw when some other women took her outside.

I stayed back, and kept quiet, trying to understand what was happening, and why these women have refused to answer me concerning my parents.

One of the children who had accompany her mother to the hospital to see me, came to meet me.

"Esther, what is happening? Have you seen my dad and mom?" I asked her.

"I heard my mommy saying your dad and mom were both shot dead, and that they found you lying on the floor in your house. How are you doing? Hope your head injury has been healed?" She asked me.

"Jesus, No! No!" I shouted at the top of my voice.

The girl's mother and other women rushed to know why I was shouting.

"I want to see my mommy and daddy! Please, take me to them! Please..." I kept on shouting and wanted to run out of the hospital, but the women held me back, crying too.

It was so painful an experience. I heard the doctors tried to rescue the baby in my mom's womb, but she died three weeks after she was removed from the womb.

My entire world came crumbling before my very eyes. All attempt to console me didn't work.

Depression at that early age nearly killed me, as there was virtually nothing I didn't try to end my life, but I wondered why they couldn't do the job of sending me meet my parents.

My father's church volunteered to take full responsibility for my training and upbringing, but after five years, I ran away from the church Parish house to find a life of my own.

I ended up on the streets of Lagos which transformed me into a street boy. Thus, my journey through the darkest side of life began.

To be continued...