Sister Unity

It all started with the Durus. Not the Durus who lived on Jolaosho St. in Obanikoro, but the other ones who drove around in their red Peugeot 504.

The inhabitants of Obanikoro, an area in central Lagos between Ikorodu and Palmgrove, knew the other Durus well, as Mr. Paul Duru often talked about the amazing things his Peugeot 504 was able to accomplish.

He spoke about the red car at the local ikwobi spot while drinking Gulder with his friends, he spoke about it at Blessed Hands workshop, where he worked on cars, and he spoke about it at church, before and after Sunday school.

At least, this is how Sister Tabitha had explained it to me.

Choir practice usually started around 5 p.m. on Saturdays at Blessed Assurance Gospel Church. The singers, drummers, and pianist would gather there, preparing for the service that was soon to come. It was during one of these gatherings that Sister Unity walked in, a small black Samsonite box with rolling wheels in hand.

Brother Dan, the choir master, was the first to notice her. He stopped the dramatic swing of his hands, as if he'd just encountered a mami water. And who could blame him? It was said that Sister Unity was indeed comely—her legs long and smooth, her lips always painted a bright pink, and her charming smile that revealed a crooked canine.

“Good evening to all, please, oh, don’t mind me! You can go on, I am happy to watch,” Sister Unity said, waving her hand dismissively as she used a white handkerchief to dust one of the white plastic chairs at the very back of the room. After a moment, she settled into the chair and sat down.

Everyone exchanged confused glances, unsure what to make of her sudden entrance. One of the choristers nudged Brother Dan, signaling for him to go and talk to her, to find out what she wanted. But Brother Dan hesitated. “She said not to mind her," he reminded them all.

So, despite the oddness of it, practice continued as usual. As the choir sang on, harmonizing through the familiar melody of Aka Jehovah, Sister Unity suddenly stood up and made her way to the exit without saying a word. This was how the church was introduced to Sister Unity, as the next day and subsequent Sundays, she never missed a service.

It was said that after about two Sundays, Sister Unity signed up to join the Evangelism team. She made it clear to Brother Dan and the Senior Pastors that this was something she had done in her previous church in Abeokuta before deciding to move to the big city, where she hoped to continue her calling from the Lord.

Sister Unity went on to explain that her approach to evangelism was, however, very unique. She specialized in cleansing the homes of church members, particularly new homes where people had just moved in. The process involved living with the family for a week, praying, and fasting to purge any evil that might be lurking within the four walls of the home. This was how I remember the story going with Sister Tabitha, though I might be missing a detail or two.

The Durus were to be the scapegoat for this new and unique evangelism spearheaded by Sister Unity. Patricia Duru’s desperate pleas to her husband, Paul, for a new condo—a place befitting their Peugeot 504—had finally been answered. And now, it only made sense for the new home to be sanctified with prayer. The senior pastors could hardly believe they hadn't thought of this idea sooner which automatically made Sister Unity a star in their eyes.

After the first attempt proved successful with no complaints, several other members of Blessed Assurance Gospel Church became eager for Sister Unity’s services. It was even said that her original stipulation—only cleansing new homes—had to be reconsidered, as questions arose as to why older and current homes didn’t deserve the same sanctified prayers.

Sister Unity, however, never once complained. She simply promised to continue her work through Christ, who strengthens her.

Some members of the church, however, found Sister Unity quite odd. Her account of her past life was never consistent; she hardly knew the Bible and the way of the church, and often talked about how she knew people in high places, for whom she claimed to pray, including for their many homes.

One faithful Sunday, just before Sunday school, Sister Agatha, an usher, overheard some church members gossiping. They were talking about how they’d seen someone who looked like Sister Unity leaning on and smiling over a grey Be My Wife (BMW) on Allen Avenue. Without hesitation, Sister Agatha scolded them for spreading false rumors. However, she made sure to let Brother Dan know about this information, as he also oversaw the Evangelism team and worked closely with her.

Not long after, the Durus and their red Peugeot 504 paid a visit to one of the pastors. They arrived with a complaint that ever since moving into their new condo, it had been nothing but bad news, and their suspicions about Sister Unity might be true. They told the pastor that, despite having Sister Unity in their home for quite some time, they had never once had a prayer session with her, nor had they ever heard her praying. Patricia even confessed that one night, she had seen Sister Unity leaving the house around midnight, hurrying out the door. However, at the time, she hadn’t thought much of it—after all, people had their own business to attend to.

The senior pastor, clearly concerned, asked why they hadn’t shared this information sooner. The Durus explained that Sister Unity had specifically instructed them not to discuss the process with anyone, as each home cleansing was unique and tailored to the family’s needs. They also revealed that Sister Unity had collected a sum of twenty thousand naira from them and other families, claiming it was for an evangelism tithe. This news struck the pastors with surprise, as no such money had been delivered to the church, nor had she been authorized to collect it.

As Sister Tabitha recounted the story, I had paused to inquire about Brother Dan, having never met him in my five months at Blessed Assurance Gospel Church. She explained that both Brother Dan and Sister Unity had abruptly stopped attending church and participating in any church activities shortly after the visit from the Durus.

The situation was serious enough that the senior pastors sent some church members in search of Brother Dan, while another group was sent to Abeokuta to see about Sister Unity.

The news from Abeokuta, however, was nothing short of disastrous. It was reported that some locals were familiar with the description of the so-called Sister Unity, whom they knew as Blessing, and, with mocking laughter, questioned what kind of scam she had managed to pull in the big city. The locals revealed that she had fled after being caught stealing money from people under the guise of the well-known Ajo (saving system) that many women participated in. Suddenly, everything about her unique form of evangelism made sense—she had no place to stay and no means of supporting herself.

It was concluded that Sister Unity had once again run away after sensing that her cover might have been blown, but the disappearance of Brother Dan remained a mystery. After several weeks, the search for them was called off, and the church resumed its activities, trying to put the past behind them. That is, until one night, when a church member, while watching the news, saw pictures of Brother Dan and Sister Unity on his LG TV, with the caption: “WANTED – Thelma Walters & Daniel Adelekan, Suspected of Fraud, Last Seen in Gwanripa, Abuja.”

Sister Tabitha ended the story there, leaving me to draw my own conclusion. Now, as I sit in this bus on my way to service, I can’t help but wonder if Brother Dan was like Sister Unity all along, or if maybe he was just another victim in Sister Unity's scheme. The truth of it all, I suppose, doesn't matter now.

As the members of Blessed Assurance Church rise to sing “Amazing Grace,” I glance over my shoulder, turning my neck left and right, wondering who else might be here, pretending to be someone they’re not.

Sage Roses ❁