How Everyone in My Secondary School Gave Their Lives To Christ, 7 Colombs Style

I went to Faith Academy, it’s a very very christian secondary school and we had a lot of spiritual activities. In fact our general assembly was church + national anthem + announcements. On Sundays, services were at Faith Tabernacle and in the evenings we’d have another in school. We just called those evening services “spiro.”

During one spiro in Js2, if I remember correctly, our chaplain invited some students from the Covenant University chaplaincy. Spiro was usually an hour and a half, then we would go for dinner. That evening’s spiro went a a little longer than usual.

I remember sleeping throughout most of the sermon. Periodically, my sleep would be interrupted by someone crying or sobbing around me. I’d wake up and and look around for school prefects that wanted to catch people like me. I’d then assume a new sleeping position for maximum comfort. Normally, I never slept during school functions, but that day I did.

I remember properly waking up towards the end of the sermon. I could immediately tell that the preacher was describing hell. A few moments later, after all the sleep had cleared from my brain, I could tell he was talking about 7 people from Colombia who had a vision of hell. It now made sense why people were crying. It must have been a very emotional sermon.

Shortly after I’d processed the sermon, the CU Student/preacher asked everyone to stand up. I think we sang a few worship songs, I am not quite sure. He then asked everyone who wanted to give their lives to Christ to kneel down.

Faith Academy at the time was about 1,700 students. In a few minutes after the altar call was made, there weren’t up to a 100 people left standing. I’d never felt so tall in my entire life.

Don’t get it twisted, I’d done my fair share of repeatedly giving my life to Christ in my Js 1, ever since then I’ve been focused on building my faith no matter how much I stumbled and I have…alot.

I looked to the SS2 and SS3 sections of the hall and saw all my seniors kneeling down. Even the ones that used to lead prayers in school on a normal day. I was more confused than anything but I tried to focus on my own personal life right before I’d look towards SS1 side again.

After we left that service, even people that usually ran to the dinning hall, to get the serving spoons, so they could oppress everyone on their table, walked civilly. Well to be honest, some walked briskly, what can I say, the flesh is weak.

The atmosphere was so pious, peaceful and polite for the next two weeks. No one was getting angry, no one was being rude and if you even tried to complain, everyone would remind you of your newly found salvation by politely yelling  “7 Colombs!” at you. The title of the sermon was after all the 7 Colombian Youths. I hated it.

I hated it not because everyone was now saved, but because it was eerie. Seniors were now nicer-ish. They would ask for your milk, as against taking it by force. If you said no, they’d also 7 colombs you by reminding you that you’re born again and meant to love and share. Nobody made noise in class and everyone suddenly became serious with their academics, including FRIDAY NIGHTS!

Our teachers loved it. Some even tried to 7 colomb us. They had the best students in the world…for like two weeks. By the second week the 7 colombs power was beginning to fade and mahnnn did it fade.

Lets just say we went from this

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to this

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And the Sunday after that, we went to the dinning hall like this

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And the seniors were back to asking for milk like

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It’s The Change That Caused It & Other Stories

The last time we bought rice was before the recession but we’re going to need to buy in the next weeks. The last time I checked bag costs N24,000, I don’t have the heart to check the current prices and neither does my mum and as I am writing this are considering buying from Benin Republic, we hear it is cheaper on the Cotonu side.

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I take a stroll out of the office to go and get a doughnut, I walk up to the seller, I tell him I’ll take two, I whip out a N100 bill and extend it to him, he looks at me and very gently nods his head in a way that most probably won’t even notice. He says he’s sorry but a doughnut is now N100, but he’ll give me two for N150. My heart sinks. I’m speechless and stare at him for a second before mumbling a request for one. I collect it and walk back wondering whether hunger isn’t better than a N100 doughnut with no jam. I poke my hand in the hole in sadness.

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I decide I need to change my phone case, it has run its race. I stop at a merchant where I get my reliably fake wires and cheap tech accessories. It’s at the entrance of a small mini-market on the way to my house. Narrowly enclosed by walls on each side, it’s like a passage way of sorts but unlike proper Lagos markets no one is grabbing you into their stalls. He shows me different cases and I settle on one. He says N1,000 and I immediately respond with N500 and the haggling begins. Eventually we settle at N800 and he begins to package it. He starts a conversation about how he would have given me at a cheaper price but that restocking is the problem as the economy would ensure he makes a loss. He looks at me, and tells me that before I never priced (haggled) him. He says “It’s the change that caused it”. I walk away

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Doesn’t he know that “The Change” doesn’t control the oil prices? That we were going to end up here whether we had a change or more of the same luck.

But does it matter? The prices of everything including sensible leadership has gone through the roof and our money has bored holes in our pockets and fallen to the ground. Who cares about bloody oil prices when rents due and salary hasn’t been paid since…A man does not even remember, a man has been broke for too long.

I hope everyone of us makes it out of this mess in one piece. I hope we learn our lessons, I hope we move forward. God help us all.