Mother’s Intervention

By Thursday, Ezi was running on pure paracetamol and anger.

She had barely slept since the hotel gist. Obi was coming home late every night claiming “intensive prayers.” Their bed felt colder than the AC. Even the pregnancy test she bought and hid in her drawer was mocking her — still negative.

Mama Nneka didn’t waste time.

“Ezinne, come to the house this evening. Family meeting. No excuse.”

When Ezi arrived at her mother’s place in Surulere, the sitting room already smelled of strong incense and herbs. Two women she didn’t know were there — one old, one middle-aged, both dressed in white with red beads.

Mama Nneka didn’t even let her sit properly.

“This is Mama Ngozi. She is a strong prayer woman. She has helped many marriages. And this is her assistant.”

Ezi’s eyes widened. “Mama, I thought we were doing church prayers. What is this?”

“Shut up!” her mother snapped. “When your husband is about to be snatched by Jezebel, you won’t be forming holy-holy. Sit down.”

They made her drink bitter herbal concoction “to cleanse her womb and remove every spiritual blockage.” The taste was like death. While she was drinking, Mama Nneka brought out Ezi’s wedding photo and started binding “every strange woman” with loud prayers.

That was when Chisom, her younger sister who was visiting from school, entered the room.

Chisom looked uncomfortable. She kept glancing at their mother, then at Ezi.

After the “prayers,” when Mama Nneka went to the kitchen, Chisom pulled Ezi aside.

“Ezi, there’s something you need to know.”

“What?”

Chisom bit her lip. “Obi has been sending me money. For the past three months. He said it was for prayers for you… and for me to support the prophetess. He even sent ₦50,000 last week so I can join special prayer group with Sister Divine.”

Ezi felt like someone poured cold water on her head.

“He told you to pray with her?”

Chisom nodded. “He said you are too proud to listen, so we should help fight for the family from behind. I didn’t want to tell you… but after what happened on Sunday, I’m scared.”

Ezi’s hands were shaking. Her own sister. Her own husband using her own blood to fight against her.

Before she could process it, her phone rang. It was one of the church ushers.

“Sister Ezi, please come to the church now. Your husband is here with Prophetess Divine for special deliverance. They said it is very serious.”

Ezi didn’t even change her clothes. She drove like a mad woman, heart pounding louder than the engine.

When she reached the church compound, it was quiet except for one small hall at the back. The “Deliverance Room.”

She pushed the door open without knocking.

The sight that greeted her made her freeze.

Obi was on his knees in the middle of the room, shirt unbuttoned. Sister Divine stood very close behind him — too close — one hand on his bare shoulder, the other on his head. She was whispering prayers intensely, her body almost pressing against his back. The room smelled of heavy perfume and anointing oil. Candles were lit around them.

They didn’t even notice her at first.

Ezi’s voice came out hoarse. “Obinna.”

Both of them turned sharply.

Sister Divine’s face remained calm, almost pitying. Obi looked startled, then quickly arranged his face into concern.

“Ezi… it’s not what you think. We are doing deep deliverance.”

Ezi stared at her husband — on his knees, half-dressed, with another woman’s hands all over him — and felt something inside her finally snap.

To be continued…