Short Story

JERO’S METAMORPHOSIS By Olumofin Subomi

 

[ Brother Jero enters he is clad in suit, a lovely boew tie, his shoe shines to a gloss. A Rolex encloses his left hand. He constantly wipes his face with a white handkerchief as he speaks]

JERO:  Truly this is my metamorphosis, my spiritual apotheosis. I brother Jero, prophet of the seven

Seals, anointed of the father, son and spirit. Armed with the sole prophetic mandate of the

Lord’s mission. Oooh…you thought I was that uncultured wretch with billowing garment and

Long, dirty uncut hair. Some sea-side vagrant spouting uncouth gibberish, but no…not me Jero.

Not for me, some shapeless, wretched garment blown here and there by untutored winds…

Not for me some long, dirty, unwashed hair, stinking of spittle and sweat like a monkey’s

Overgrown face. Not in this age of suits and rolexes and what have you. The world has moved

Beyond those outdated antics…new acts for new seasons. Now is the age of Guccis, rolexes,

Italian shoes, belts, ties… Even we prophets must wear new brands. And it catches them you

See…it catches them. Wealthy madams seeking solace in the Lord’s house to keep the minister

From chasing girls his daughter’s age. And we play our role well for them all, hold special vigils

In madam’s bedroom, render special prayers on Oga’s inflated contract proposals. Even the

Young sisters too…. Oooh, and lest I forgot, this week is Valentine. A blessed week for the

Congregation, especially the young sisters. The spirit tells me to bless them specially. And we

Have it all arranged, we shall hold a Valentine program to bless their virgin thighs in anointed

Cunnilingus. We must follow the spirit, mustn’t we?.

About the author

Bada Yusuf Amoo