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Diary of a Dead Church Girl

If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. I was a church girl but I went rogue before my death. I need someone to blame for my death.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. I was a church girl but I went rogue before my death. I need someone to blame for my death.


Diary of a Dead Church Girl

My name is Amaka but I’m not here to disappoint. Well, I speak for myself when I say I don’t wanna disappoint you but as for my story, I don’t know what it’d do. I’m a dead girl, and this is my story.

If I was a boy, my name would probably be Churchill because I was raised by Church people, practically in the church. I was always in the church every other day. It was either praise and worship Wednesday or children fellowship or choir practice or Sunday school prep. I always had something to do in the church.

My father was, still is a pastor and my mum was like his lieutenant. They did the ministry work together. I was in the loop too. I helped in my own little way. I was a church worker: served in the choir, led the children church and later the youth section. I taught Sunday school and wrote songs for the choir. Prayer and fasting was my thing. I was close to Jesus than red bet slip is to greedy bet9ja players.

After secondary school, I didn’t see myself going for those ‘worldly’ courses. So I vied for Religious Studies. I gained admission into the department of Religion and cultural studies in UNN, a school that’s supposedly restoring the dignity of man.

Our classes were more atheistic than I had imagined. We had lecturers of divergent perspectives- divergent like the legs of a flirty girl.

I wanted to drop out at the end of the first semester but Dad said the experience was good for me, that I couldn’t claim to be educated if I didn’t have a broad knowledge of theism and atheism. I should explore both worlds so that I’ll appreciate Christ the more and that temptations were the true tests of faith.

I told him the classes weren’t so much of Christ but of history, analysis, critique and literature review of religions and their books. He said I should learn and bring my religious upbringing to bear.

The RCS 124 lecturer, Mr Anochili was atheist and he taught the tradition of Jesus like it was the tradition of Obasanjo or Tinubu. He thought Jesus was a great man and he taught it the class on his opinion.

RCS 208 unbundled me. Dr Kayode, Yoroba man taught RCS 208, he was a staunch traditionalist, according to him, “leaders invented religions in other to control them and give them hope.” He’d rather go the fetish way of his forefathers than follow a cultural and colonists imposition in Christianity or a violently propagated Islam.

He was a sleek orator and effortlessly implants his ideas in our mesmerized heads. Though, I was one of the stubborn theists, by 300L I had become a liberal Christian. I started dressing to blend. Only the BSF kept me in touch with my creator.

I met Chinwe in the BSF, he was a final year student of psychology. He came to the fellowship once in a while. He was funny, witty and brilliant. We got talking and I fell in love with him. I had my first sex with him and it was beautiful. Chinwe was gentle and caring. I always looked forward to being in bed with him.

Chinwe graduated and things ended between us. I met Lugi, that’s everyone called him. I still don’t know his real name till date. I was pregnant before I knew he was a cult guy. He was dropped by a rival gang, so I had my first abortion.

I met Nonso in my final year. I didn’t love him but he had money and was all over me. I had three abortions for him.

One or two lecturers had to get down with me before I could pass some courses. I eventually graduated but I couldn’t go home. Father had disowned me because I went home in another colour. I was black and shine before I left, I returned as a fake half cast. He got furious, I talked back. He was shocked, he threatened to disown me, I packed my bags. Mother blamed him for ignoring my complaints when I started school, he said I’m dead to him but he’ll help my soul with prayers. I didn’t look back, I thought I was free at last.

I was posted to Niger State for NYSC, I had one beautiful sex in camp with a strong soldier. He was good and all, I reached orgasm. He cummed in me but I didn’t care.

The first week into my NYSC primary assignment, I realized I was pregnant. The soldier can surely shoot more than rifles. He had shot a cum into a foetus. Sad thing was, I didn’t know his rank or name. I had another abortion. This time it was a catastrophe, my womb was weak so it crashed. I got HIV too.

I was admitted for three weeks. I got up again and decided to give life a try. I returned to my PPA, a beverage company in the heart of Minna. The chairman’s son, Usman just returned from Yankee where he had been for years. He saw and found love in me. His father was happy, at last Junior takes interest in a woman.

They eagerly arranged for a trad, I told them I was an orphan never met my parents. Told Usman I was bad for him, he said I should shut up that he doesn’t care.

I’m going ahead. I’ll marry him. I can’t even imagine what he or his father will do when they find out I can’t give their family a baby, the only thing I’m capable of giving them is HIV.

I don’t even know what Jesus will do with me. I’m beyond redemption, he can’t forgive me. I’m dead and you can judge me all you want. I only need someone to blame for my death.

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