Monthly Archives: March 2016

He is Risen

When God sent Jesus down to earth to rescue us, we almost sabotaged his goals due to the influence of the enemy of our souls. He silently prayed while we screamed at the top of our lungs, ‘Crucify Him!’ He silently prayed while we shouted, ‘Free Barnabas’. But He ripped the curtain that separated us from our Maker.

‘It is finished’ He said. We are free from the curse of the law and are draped in grace.



Rhythm of the Wild Drum

Everyone preened their eyes and some cleaned their ears.
Oche-eze opened his raffia bag and produced two calabashes, one with murky liquid and the other with white powder. He cupped powder in his hand then opened his palm to blow the powder in four cardinal points. He lapped some of the murky liquid and squirted it in four cardinal points. He dug the cowries out of his bag and tossed them lightly and did more incantations. Continue reading Rhythm of the Wild Drum


At the age of 33, Jesus is condemned to death. At the time crucifixion was the worst kind of death, designated for the worst kind of offenders. Jesus was nailed to the cross, each nail as long as eight inches, while wearing a wreath of thorns which were a minimum of an inch dip into His scalp, His forehead.
Imagine having to carry a large cross on a ripped skin, in a dry, hot and dusty weather, on a cobbled street, tugging the cross which stuck on his sticky skin to further peel it away.
All the while, the same people He healed, their brothers, sisters, parents, children, grandparents and grandchildren spat on Him, shove Him and even threw stones at Him.
When I was much younger, the punishment for misbehaving was to raise my hands up and sometimes also stand on one leg. So imagine that your hands had to be raised but with nails in your wrist, the nails piercing your epidermis, your dermis, rupturing blood vessels, tendon and bone. Have you ever experienced the pain that occurs when you hit your toe against a hard surface? Then imagine a nail piercing through your feet, one foot after the other. Your hands are still raised. They are now numb and your feet cannot carry your weight any longer but blood is still flowing therefore the pain is excruciating as your body urges you to run but there is nothing you can do. So you use you body, mainly your back to support your hand and try to shy away from your feet, buckling your knees in the process, sending the support back to the core of your body, i.e. your back.
Headache is but a drop of water in the ocean compared to the pain of having pointy freshly whirled thorns piercing your skin, the desire to scratch the itch is unbearable, your body starts to shiver from the frustration of staying put but the body is also afraid of shutting down even as blood oozes from the seared skin – that the pinkish red of the dermis just beneath the skin – now rusty and dry and sticky and itching with the kind of itch that you cannot scratch.
You loose so much blood your body needs a refill so you’re thirsty, but this thirst water cannot satisfy, its the kind of thirst that urges doctors to give transfusion. The blood carrying oxygen is zapped. The heart is out of supply, the lungs cannot supply demand, breathing is rationed. Survival, the body is desperate for anything else… water.
Three whole hours of torture, for a vibrant young, tall, handsome man in his prime. Why? Because He believed we stood a chance.
I will not tell you how to live your life. I will not preach to you because I don’t know how to. I will however tell you, this is not the ice age where you would claim to have your head buried in the sand. His words have been echoed, the terms’ still thrumming. So today, choose, whom you’ll serve.

Rhythm of the Wild Drum

Before recorded history there was a land called Evóvuotu. It was so-called because there were two kinds of people living there: Okoruchi (the gifted) and Ehuehu (the ungifted). They had one King, the King of All Living Folks. There was also the King of all dead folks, but no one knew who he was nor was anyone interested in finding out. A select few knew he was in Rimeòku, his lair, and the doorway was guarded by a special sect of the wood nymphs of the Agbalanya Forest and only the White Priestess was granted a free pass to this forest. Continue reading Rhythm of the Wild Drum