Angie woke up to the familiar wails of her youngest child demanding breakfast. The small two-bedroom apartment she called home was already alive with the noise of her three children scurrying around, arguing over who had used whose brush. Her husband, Boromi, lay sprawled on the couch, snoring loudly, his shirt half-buttoned from the night before. He had promised, once again, to get a job, but Angie knew better than to believe him.
She sighed, pushing back the fatigue that had become her companion. The rent was due in a few weeks, school fees were looming, and the money she had painstakingly saved had gone to restocking her small shop. She had to get up and get moving. If she didn’t, who would?
Angie had found solace in the church a few months ago, not necessarily for the sermons but for the opportunity it presented. The pastor had announced that members could set up shops in front of the church for free. No rent, no hidden charges—just a chance to make an honest living. She had jumped at it, setting up a small stand where she sold cold drinks, snacks, and biscuits. Business was moving, not great, but enough to keep her children fed and the lights on.
Angie’s Saturday Showdown
On this particular Saturday morning, she hurried through her routine, frying puff-puffs while keeping an eye on the baby, who had a habit of sneaking things into his mouth. By 9 a.m., she was ready for evangelism, not because she particularly enjoyed it, but because her place in the church—and consequently, her shop space—depended on it. If she was going to be part of the church, she had to show commitment.
With her Bible in hand and her scarf tied neatly over her hair, Angie met up with the evangelism group at the church entrance. The leader, Sister Ruth, briefed them before they moved in different directions. Angie found herself walking towards a busy street corner, where she spotted Eju.
Her heart jumped.
Eju owed her money. Five thousand naira. Money she had lent the woman out of goodwill when she came crying about her child’s hospital bill. That was months ago, and despite several calls and reminders, Eju had refused to pay. Just two days ago, Angie had called again, and the woman had laughed and told her, “I don’t have your money! What will you do?” before hanging up.
And there she was, standing in the open, in broad daylight, laughing with another woman, carrying a shopping bag.
Angie saw red.
Dropping her Bible on the ground, she marched towards Eju. “You think I’m a fool, abi?”
Eju turned, her smile fading. “What’s your problem, Angie?”
“My money, that’s my problem! You owe me, and I see you carrying a shopping bag?”
Eju scoffed. “So because I owe you, I shouldn’t buy anything for myself?”
The other woman tried to step in. “Angie, calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! This woman is a thief! A liar! You stood in my shop, swore on your child that you’d pay me back, and now you have money for shopping but not for me?”
Eju’s face twisted in irritation. “See this woman oh! If I say I don’t have money, I don’t have! You want to beat me? Try it!”
Angie didn’t need a second invitation. She lunged, grabbing Eju by the scarf, yanking her forward. The shopping bag tumbled to the ground. A bottle of milk rolled out, along with a pack of biscuits.
“Thief! Shameless woman!” Angie screamed, shaking her.
People gathered quickly. Some tried to separate them, but Angie wasn’t done. She shoved Eju, making the woman stumble backward. “Give me my money, you wretched woman!”
Eju, recovering, came back swinging, and soon, they were locked in a full-blown fight—slaps flying, hands pulling at clothes. The evangelism group arrived in time to see their fellow sister of Christ wrestling in the street.
“Jesus Christ! Angie!” Sister Ruth cried. “Stop this madness!”
It took three men to separate them. Angie’s scarf had fallen off, her blouse was twisted, and she was breathing hard, fists clenched. Eju was equally disheveled, but still defiant. “You will never see that money!” she spat.
Angie, trembling with rage, picked up her Bible from the ground, its pages bent and covered in dust. The reality of what had just happened settled on her as the church members looked on in horror.
Sister Ruth shook her head in disappointment. “You call yourself a child of God, yet look at you.”
Angie opened her mouth, then shut it. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind the judging stares, the whispers, and the ruined Saturday evangelism.
Tomorrow was Sunday. She would go to church, as usual, and pretend nothing had happened. But deep down, she knew her position in the church was no longer secure.
And worse, she still didn’t have her money. 😒
Read The unspoken Burden
