The story of Burn Again written by the Arts Editor, OSA AMADI. It’s hot. It’s wet. It’s sexy, and will make you look for more every Sunday. Enjoy every bit of it…only in your ever refreshing and enter- taining Sunday Vanguard
Prologue
Emeka had played only one bar in the second stanza of the song when sister Folake’s voice rose higher than every other voice in the worship fellowship. She was singing another song. She was crying too.
Emeka thought she might be crazy or something. Then the whole fellowship joined her. He felt slightly annoyed, partly because he had been taken away from one of his favourite songs, and partly because it was Sister Folake. He had lately come to dislike her overzealousness.
People were beginning to stare at him, so he found the chords and began to accompany the new song. Sister Folake became wild. Rapidly, the tempo of the song rose. At the climax, Sister Folake began to roll herself on the ground. Few minutes later, she marched out to the pulpit and snatched the microphone from the coordinator’s hand.
“It has been written! That the children of darkness shall not fellowship with the children of light!” she cried into the microphone. “The Holy Spirit says that a brother and a sister have committed fornication in our midst. If you know you are the one, come out here!” she commanded.
Emeka’s fingers began to get paralyzed on the keys of the piano keyboard. He glanced towards the direction where he had seen Titi standing. She was still there but no longer singing. She looked so pale. Their eyes met and he saw that she too was frightened.
By now Emeka’s fingers were shaking so badly that he became afraid he might betray himself. He said a short prayer for courage and discovered to his amazement that he became a little bit calm.
Many people have stopped singing. Emeka removed his hands from the keys, relieved.
Sister Folake actually began to wail. “Ooooh! Come out now o, or God will come and bring you out shamefully!”
The President of the fellowship, Bro. Rotimi walked down and took the microphone from her. Emeka wondered what he was going to say. Bro. Rotimi was one of the few persons Emeka had come to love and respect in the fellowship.
“Please, if you know that this revelation concerns you, come out here. We will only pray for you and ask Jesus to forgive you,” the President said and handed the microphone back to Sister Folake.
“If you don’t want to come out I will mention your name o, the two of you! One is putting on a shirt with trousers to match,” she screamed, stamping her feet on the ground.
Emeka looked down at the ash-coloured trousers and shirt he wore, and then looked into the congregation. Two other sisters and a brother had on clothes that matched. There was no need to give himself away so soon. For the first time in the fellowship, Emeka began to believe that God was actually working in the midst of His people.
CHAPTER ONE
It was night in the Amphitheatre, and the dance band had just finished a round of performance. Emeka walked away towards the flower garden behind the Amphitheatre. He did not want to go back to the dressing room where those prostitutes who called themselves girls were waiting for the musicians to come and pick them up.
He was getting tired of their type. He knew they were not faithful to him, just as he was not faithful to them. Emeka was 30, and the tallest man on campus. Nearly 7 feet tall, he was handsome and athletically built. He was the bass guitarist of the great MUSAN band of the University.
He sat down on one of the cement cast seats and looked towards the horizon at the drooping landscape glistening with little dots of electric lights. The sight was beautiful. Emeka remembered the inscriptions on so many stickers he had seen around the campus: OAU, Africa’s Most Beautiful Campus. He looked round him once more and agreed with the stickers. The Obafemi Awolowo University was beautiful indeed.
He heard some ruffling sounds behind him and turned. Someone had crept up to him. He peered at the figure and saw it was Gbenga, the rhythm guitarist.
“Man, how come you are hiding out here tonight?” Gbenga asked, sitting down beside him. A lot of people are looking for you in the dressing room…I mean some girls.” He blushed, having mentioned girls. Gbenga was born again.
Emeka sighed boringly. “Let them look for me for all they want. I am tired of their types. They are all prostitutes. My life needs something decent these days.”
“Like a sister in the Lord?”
“Maybe. Any girl who can stick to a man.”
“Emeka,” Gbenga said excitedly, “I have told you before that it’s very hard to find a girl who would be faithful to you outside the Lord. There are very beautiful girls in the Fellowship – fresh, firm, and un-spoilt – looking for Godly men with whom to settle down. You have to be born again, Emeka. In John chapter 3, verse…”
Emeka was already on his feet. Gbenga drew him down. “Please, Emeka, I did not come here to preach to you. I have something important I want to ask of you.”
“To become a religious freak like you?” he stung his friend.
“No. Hell, Emeka, you could be cruel with your tongue sometimes, you know?” Gbenga said looking offensively at Emeka. He felt hurt at being referred to as a religious freak.
When Emeka saw he had hurt him he roared into a big laughter, hugging him. They had been friends since their freshmen days, even before they joined the school band. There had been times when Ggbenga enjoyed listening to some raw stories Emeka told him about his escapades with some girls. “You are too rough, Emeka,” Gbenga always told him concerning such stories.
“Emeka, my Fellowship has a celebration at the Oduduwa Hall on Saturday from 7.00 pm. Could you come and play the bass guitar for us?”
“Sorry, I have an engagement on Saturday. And besides, I don’t like to fuck around with those religious frea…I mean people,” Emeka diverted, laughing.
“Where do you have the engagement?”
“At the Moremi Hall common room, on the occasion of a birthday party given by a senior girl in Medicine.”
“We will pay you, Emeka,” Gbenga pleaded. “You know we have a bassist in the Fellowship, but I like to play with you.”
Emeka thought over that for a moment. He knew what his friend was talking about. What he had just said was a compliment to him. He decided to help him, not because of the money.
“Okay, Saturday then, Gbenga,” Emeka said. “I don’t want the money. I will find another bassist for the girl.”
Gbenga brightened up. “May God bless you Bro. Emeka,” he said. He liked to use the title for Emeka, though Emeka was not born again.
“May God bless you Bro. Gbenga,” Emeka replied jeeringly and walked away. Gbenga followed him back to the Amphitheatre. The band had an all-night gig in the Amphi.
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