Your pastor’s spouse is not your pastor

I was playing with peers behind the compound when my mum called me to go deliver some gifts to her Pastor. I remember it was a bucket of custard with tins of evaporated milk and a crate of eggs.

The parsonage was a walking distance, so I didn't get cab money. But something happened few metres away from my destination: a sudden royal rumble started playing out in my belly. Poo was about to come. My God!

The warning was crystal clear that shit was going to be watery. But as na Pastor house I dey go, it was easy for me to think I was covered. I got in, delivered mum's message, and quickly whispered to pastor that I would like to use their toilet.

“Daddy" was sitting on the couch when I dropped their present on the centre table. The wife was saying her own "thank you and greet your mummy for us" from the kitchen. It was from there that she heard me talk to her husband about using their loo.

"Mba o! Go to your house and shit na," she blurted out and immediately walked into the sitting room. Her husband turned and asked her to let me go in and shit, she refused o. She looked at me with a smile on her face and asked, "Ben, is it that bad that you can't hold it until you reach your house?"

At this point, it dawned on me that I was in for the longest 20mins of my life as I’m definitely going to walk home carrying a load of burden in my anus. And it happened exactly so. On my way, the pressure was so much that I graciously let out some portions in my boxers.

Fam, the pain you feel when trying to hold a shit is second only to that of a pregnant woman in labour.😆

For years, whenever the thought of that scenario comes, I usually imagined that I was courageous enough to snatch my mummy's gifts from that centre table before leaving their house.

Other times, I would wish I had picked at least three eggs from the crate and smashed on their floor before running out through the door, just to vent my anger. Or at least, banged the door so hard they’d call me for a special deliverance session the following week.

But I have since forgiven that woman because I really do not have a choice.

As I grew, I started creating several excuses for her. I got to understand that people usually keep private stuff in their toilets and bathrooms, which is cool. And it’s apparently for this reason that modern houses are built to have extra restrooms accessible to visitors, to avoid invasion of privacy.

But unless you live in a modern house, kindly don’t convert your single restroom into a hub of pants and bras, for sake of public safety.

Amen?

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