The Night Vigil

Ezi didn’t want to go. But Mama Nneka didn’t give her room to breathe.

“Tonight is special vigil. All-night prayer. You must be there with your husband. No excuse,” her mother had barked over the phone. “If you leave him alone with that woman, consider your marriage gone.”

So here she was, 9:37 p.m., inside the church auditorium that had been turned into a battlefield. Red and white banners everywhere. The smell of incense and sweat mixed together. Hundreds of people on their knees, some rolling on the floor, others shouting in tongues like their lives depended on it.

Obi was right beside her at first. Then Sister Divine mounted the stage again, mic in hand, white garment flowing like she was floating.

“Tonight!” she shouted, voice echoing. “We are breaking every chain! Every strange woman! Every spirit of delay and barrenness!”

The church exploded. Ezi felt eyes on her. Some people were even pointing subtly.

She tried to focus. She prayed. She shouted “Die! Die! Die!” like the others when they were binding demons. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw that transfer alert. ₦200,000. For what exactly?

Midnight came. The atmosphere grew thicker. Sister Divine started calling out people for personal prophecy.

Then it happened.

The prophetess paused, closed her eyes, and pointed straight at Ezi.

“You! Sister in the white lace. Come forward!”

Ezi’s legs felt heavy, but she stood. The walk to the front felt like a kilometre. Whispers followed her like breeze.

Sister Divine placed a hand on her shoulder. The touch was light but felt heavy.

“My sister, the Lord is saying you have pride. Too much pride. You are blocking your husband’s destiny with your Western mentality and career. God is saying you must submit totally. Stop fighting spiritually. Stop questioning what He is doing.”

The church murmured in agreement. “Yesss! Submit!”

Ezi felt her face burn. Pride? She was the one cooking, washing, working, and still praying every day for a child. She was the one enduring family pressure while smiling in church.

But she kept quiet.

Sister Divine continued, voice rising. “There is bitterness in your heart. Bitterness against what God is doing. If you don’t kill this spirit tonight, your husband will be taken to another level without you!”

The prophetess poured anointing oil on Ezi’s head until it dripped down her face. Then she pushed her head down forcefully.

“Pray! Pray! Cry to God!”

Ezi knelt there, oil mixing with the tears she could no longer hold. Around her, people were shouting, “Die! Die!” on her behalf. But she could hear some aunties murmuring: “Na she o. The one wey dem prophesy about.”

When she finally stood up, her legs were shaking. She looked for Obi in the crowd. He was on his knees at the front row, eyes closed, hands raised high. He didn’t even look at her.

The vigil continued till 4 a.m. Exhaustion mixed with spiritual high. People were falling under the “anointing.” Some were screaming as if demons were leaving them.

At the end, when it was time to go home, Ezi walked up to Obi. Her wrapper was now heavy with oil and dust. She just wanted her bed. She wanted her husband.

“Obi, let’s go home.”

He looked at her, eyes tired but strangely determined. “I’m not going home yet. Sister Divine said some of us need special back-to-back prayers. The morning session.”

Ezi blinked. “Now? You will stay here till morning?”

“She said it is necessary for my breakthrough. You can go. I will come later.”

“Obi… please.”

He touched her shoulder lightly — the same shoulder Sister Divine had touched. “Ezi, stop fighting this. Just go home and rest. Pray too.”

He turned and walked toward the side room where Sister Divine and some “special” people were gathering. Ezi stood there watching as the prophetess smiled warmly at him and ushered him inside.

One of the church aunties passed by and whispered, almost kindly, “My daughter, sometimes you have to let God do His work. Stop holding him too tight.”

Ezi drove home alone in the early morning Lagos traffic. The streets were just waking up — danfo buses honking, okada riders dodging potholes, pure water sellers already shouting.

When she entered their quiet flat, the silence hit her like a slap. She went to the bathroom, looked at her reflection — oil still shining on her face, eyes red and swollen.

She whispered to the mirror:

“Is it really me? Am I the strange woman?”

Then another thought came, colder and sharper:

“Or is the strange woman the one still inside the church with my husband right now?”

Her phone buzzed. A new message in the church group — someone had posted a photo from the vigil.

It showed Obi kneeling. Sister Divine standing behind him, both hands on his head, eyes closed in intense prayer.

The caption: Kingdom marriage restoration in progress. God is at work! 🙏🔥

Ezi stared at the picture for a long time.

To be continued…