My Host Turns My Life Into A Night Vigil

Nakuru was my new destination as the atmosphere at my country was high-pressure. Things were going wrong at work, and the only thing that was happening was everyone saying, “Nakuru is where the money is.” But they did not add, “The money might end up on the couch of someone dreaming, too.”

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I was homeless, so I called my mate from kindergarten, Regina. We were like family in every way. We made up those fun games and had plenty of laughter and fun. I was there for her during her first love's disillusionment with the boy in our class. She was super excited to get my call. “Oh Joyce! Just come. I’m living alone in a chamber and hall. You can stay with me until you find something,” she offered.

I got a huge sigh of relief. I took out a few essentials, said a big hug to my mom, and hopped on the bus to Nakuru. Upon my arrival, Regina had the same warmth for me as she had for a long-lost suitcase, but no one told me that I was entering a spiritual-romantic battle of chaos.

And Joshua was then Regina’s love interest. He is the minister of a small congregation counting around nine people, two of whom are toddlers and a woman who comes only during the testimony period to narrate incomprehensible tales that are mostly devoid of coherence. Joshua is a financially, spiritually, and logically struggling preacher.

The very first night we crossed paths, my initial impression of him was that he was a kind person. He had a huge smile on his face, his way of talking was like heavenly voices being heard, and he had the biggest Bible than my pillow. But, as a matter of fact, he was that night himself a completely different person. Regina whispered to me, “Joshua is going to sleep over tonight.” I didn’t think much of it. After all, when two or three are gathered in the name of the Lord, they are at peace. But that was not the case this time. Peace was not to be found anywhere that night.

At around eleven PM, their “worldly fellowship” began. They were so noisy it was as if I were watching an angelic adult movie. Every sound was amplified in my head. I was attempting to sleep on the couch in the hallway, but the flimsy wall separating us rendered it fruitless. I could hear it all EVERYTHING. Even the sound score of their events. Just when I was about to surrender to sleep at the break of dawn, they began to pray. It was equally loud and with the same intensity as earlier. Joshua was speaking in tongues while Regina was yelling “Holy Ghost fire!” at the top of her voice.

I was sitting upright on the couch looking into the dark and thinking, “God, is this the land you promised, full of milk and honey?”

It was the same every time Joshua came:

Night: sinful music.  
Dawn: tongues prayers.  
Morning: more sinful music.

And yet, every Sunday he would go to the pulpit and declare, “Run away from all sexual sins!” I wanted to scream, “Pastor, your voice is coming through the wall!”

I should have felt relaxed when Joshua did not come for a few days, but I did not. Right beside me in bed, Regina was to be found dealing with the least quietest of her demons her toys. They would keep on the whole night long. She would hold back her groans but still they would come out, and she would shake when she reached the highest point of her delight. Nights were difficult for me. I would sometimes go to work and sleep there.

Regina, however, was completely oblivious to everything and in love. Joshua could ask her to stand under the rain and she would come up with, “Should I get an umbrella or go without?” She treated that man as if he were Moses. At first, she did not much pressure me. But one day, she came to me with her hands on her hips, as if she were demanding rent. “Joyce, since you live with me, you have to support Joshua’s ministry. You can’t just be here enjoying and not helping my boyfriend’s church grow.”

Enjoying? As in, sleeping on a couch and listening to free midnight noise? That’s enjoyment? But I didn’t want to stir up trouble, so I agreed. I told myself, “I’ll just go once and then escape next week.” That Sunday, Joshua preached for an hour. The topic? “Holiness in the House of God.”

It was difficult for me to concentrate on what he was saying as my thoughts were constantly going back to the last night the sin, the yelling, the intense prayers, and the continuation of it all in the morning. The hypocrisy was more disturbing for me than the sermon itself. Joshua held me tight after the church as if I were added to the list of his spiritual accomplishments. “My sister Joyce, I am so happy you are here. God will use you.”

How? As a witness on Judgment Day? I made a statement to myself when I left church that day, “Never again.”

Regina’s attitude became different when she saw that I was not going to church anymore. She would make these dramatic sighs whenever I was around, roll her eyes, say something behind a forced smile, and pretend to be very occupied to be unable to talk. The toys started making more noise at night, as if saying, “You will not have a quiet night until you agree to come to church on Sunday.”

I got the message that she was loyal to Joshua and not to me. Even if Joshua said that the sky was orange, Regina would still agree, “Yes baby, I saw it too.”

Then Joshua started his campaign. Each time he came over, he would inquire, “Joyce, why haven’t I seen you in church?” or “Joyce, are you backsliding?” or “Joyce, don’t let the devil use your discomfort to separate you from God.”

Regina made me feel like a burden to her, which was the most terrible thing of all, as if the mere fact that she had given me a place to stay was enough to win her loyalty from me. While she was doing it all, I was the one to suffer. She wanted my presence at the church where the pastor was conducting nightly crusades right in her bedroom. What kind of crude conversion was that?

Anyway, I could still not afford to rent even a small place for myself. The rent in Accra is exorbitantly high. It was a daily torture to see advertisements like “Chamber & Hall, 900 Shillings a month” and then think, “Do I look like someone whose father is Dangote?” So eventually, I found myself in a dilemma of either being a hypocrite or being homeless. In a way, I was using a friend who wanted love to be expressed by worshippreference and a pastor who at night practices sin and at dawn prays as if erasing evidence of wrongdoing.

Every day, I roll out of the bed feeling worn out, with my spirit in a confusion, and really emotionally dry. On certain occasions, I even resort to having a silent cry, on the couch, so that nobody can detect it. I frequently ponder on the reasons for God to allow me to go through life situations that are nothing less than patience and faith trials. Most of the nights, I am in bed listening to the laughter, conversations, and movements on the bed, ruminating, “Is this a perpetual storyline for me?”

Not judging anybody, I simply ask the question, if a pastor cannot control himself, what is his pastoring exactly? In case Regina was really concerned, her actions would reflect that by her considering the impact of the whole situation on me. But no. It is the Joshua way or no way. And I find myself, a visitor in another person's house, bearing the weights of my own choosing, which I never asked for.

I'm exhausted, but what options do I have? I've got myself a new earpiece lately. When he (Joshua) is around, I use them and hear "Osor ne me fie." If he is not there and the toys are about to disturb my peace, I put them in and listen to "This world is not my home." Before long, I will have my own place and all this will be history. Nakuru will teach a lesson even the most powerful among us.

—Joyce

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