Murder she Wed

Today, I heard a woman say, “there gets to a point in life, you start to seek God- because something is missing”, it must have been her age and experiences, but her words rang true and stuck with me.

It made all the sense that after only 50 days of marriage, I fled my marital home and sought refuge in the prayer gardens at Achimota forest. The madness in his eyes the last time I saw him will forever be etched in my memory - I can never go back.

He always used to hit me, so it didn’t come as a shock to me when the morning after our wedding night, he slapped me four times for not waking up before him. What shocked me was when six weeks later, he held a knife to my throat because the fried plantain was soft. You see, he likes it hard- almost like plantain chips.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he said, and with the way he looked at me, I just knew- it was only a matter of time. I first left to my mother’s place, but she didn’t understand me when I told her my husband was trying to kill me. She Said, “every marriage has issues, you need to develop tough skin. Go back to your husband’s house-”

He had not noticed I had intended to runaway, because I hadn’t packed any of my belongings. He thought I had gone on a regular visit to my mom’s place, and taken longer than necessary. For that, he beat me till both of my eyes were swollen shut. The moment my eyes started healing, I came to this retreat centre.

The prayer group on my left is killing witches in family backgrounds. The one on my right are praying for Ghana’s leaders. And the one straight ahead are interceding for marriages. It was this prayer leader who talked about a time in a person’s life, where they start seeking God. Today, I am seeking God, or I might die. My husband may kill me.

“Herh, Araba”

Why can I hear my husband’s voice in my head?

“Araba, what are you doing here?”

I turn around to see his furious face glaring down at me. How did he find me? My heart is beating uncontrollably in my chest and I can feel my hands trembling.

“I… I - I came to pray,” I managed to say with a timid and shaky voice that I barely recognise.

“Pray?!” He looked more angry than I’ve ever seen him. He started looking around as though to find something to hit me with. In one movement, I am up and running in the opposite direction without looking back.

I never expected the ushers to wield such strength. Their thin arms were unusually built.  They caught me mid-stride and pinned me down. They were three. One held my right hand, the other held my left, and the third was wrapping a cloth around my waist. I tried to fight my way out of their grip.

“The demon is manifesting!” Someone shouts, and the women holding me double down in their strength.

By that time, he had caught up with me. The crowd of prayer warriors have now surrounded me, some were clapping, others had their face contorted in serious pain. Others were oscillating to the beat of those clapping. Their prayers, a mumble jumble of the language of the Holy Spirit; yet a consistent rhythm of grunts and yelps.

I was so confused. How did he find me? Why is he here?

Why are these women holding me and preventing me from running?

The ushers steered me in his direction- my husband.

“Today, you will be delivered,” He shouted over their voices. Almost in a theatrical manner. And landed his hands on my head - with an unusual amount of force.

At the impact, my eyes shut in pain and I land on my knees.

“Give me oil!” He shouts

“Pastor, deliver her!” One woman called

“Yes pastor!” Another shouted

Their voices got louder and louder.

The horror of the moment dawned on me. This is his prayer group - they think I’m possessed… and he is delivering me.

I started looking for a way out. My mind was racing. I saw from the corner of my eyes,

Someone brought a huge bottle of oil. As she opened the bottle and poured a considerable amount into his hands,

It happened faster than I had expected.

I grabbed the neck of the bottle, smashed the edge on the floor, and thrust the broken glass into his throat.

His right hand was stretched towards me. Almost as though he believed he could deliver me.

As the praying women screamed and scattered, he fell to his knees at my feet, his left hand feeling the bottle that was still stuck in this jugular. Blood was gushing out.

His eyes - almost as mad as when he threatened me a few days ago. They were wide and wild.

I stood, panting. Watching. Waiting. Wondering how this man could be a pastor and cause me so much pain.

As his body went limb, I threw off the cloth the ushers tied on me. With one last look at the mess, I took to my heels in search of the freedom I had lost for the past 50 days.

Even as I ran, I could still hear the sound of people praying in the distance behind me.