For Doyin*(25), peace of mind trumps closeness to her family. She talks about how her family’s overzealous religious beliefs made her superstitious and drove a permanent wedge in their relationship.
As told to Betty:
When I was six or seven years old, two cousins — a boy and a girl — from my father’s side of the family came to live with us. They were a bit older than me and my three siblings, and I thought they were cool.
My family was comfortable, so we could accommodate the additions. Don’t get me wrong—we weren’t wealthy, but we certainly weren’t poor. My father had a great job at a bottling plant, and my mum had a thriving store. We lived happily together with my cousins for a year. Then, everything changed.
My mother, a very spiritual woman, occasionally hosted clergymen for meals at our house. It was routine for a pastor or evangelist to drop by our house for lunch or dinner, so when this “Prophet” came through on a Sunday for lunch, I thought nothing of it.
After the meal, we all gathered in the living room for a short prayer before the Prophet left. This was also normal; the men of God who visited said a prayer before they left. The Prophet started to pray for each of us individually, placing his hands on our heads.
The prayer session was uneventful until he placed his hands on my cousin’s head to pray for her. She fell to the ground and started screaming that he was burning her ears. Her brother burst into tears and started writhing on the ground as well.
My cousins said they were witches sent to kill my mother and stagnate my father. They said my father was cursed and bad things would start to happen to our family by the end of the year. The living room descended into chaos and prayers.
For one awful week, no one left the house. We all fasted and did a week-long deliverance service for my cousins. It was very surreal.
On the last day, my parents gave my cousins some money and sent them back to my dad’s hometown. The Prophet prayed for our family one last time and left. That was the last time I ever saw him.
This happened 20 years ago, but my family hasn’t really moved on. Three months after the event, my father lost his job. In the same year, my mother’s store burned down. For many years, we believed we were cursed.
I felt the toll, too; I started doing poorly in school, withdrew from friends and became very superstitious. I believed everyone had some evil spiritual agenda against me and my family.
One day at school, which was getting harder to afford, a kind teacher called me aside to talk about my plummeting grades. I’d gone from being a really good student to a struggling student, and she didn’t understand why I was flunking.
I tried to explain to her that I was cursed and there was no way for me to do well at school anymore. I’ll never forget her; she didn’t laugh at me or call me a liar. She prayed with me and told me that only I can give a curse power. She encouraged me to study with her during break times and free periods.
I was very encouraged when my grades rose back up. I still believed in the power of the curse, but I didn’t feel powerless. I could work my way out, right?
My parents didn’t think so. Things kept getting worse — For starters, we sold our house and returned to renting. My dad moved from pastor to pastor, church to church, in search of a miracle, spending a good chunk of his savings to pay for holy water.
If I needed a textbook at school but some evangelist had told my dad to bring the same amount for them to read psalms over some water, I knew that we were paying for the water. The curse had become a whole new and expensive family member in my house, and I started feeling resentful in my teens.
Fast-forward to 2018. I was in 200L, studying for a law degree, and my relationship with my family really began to deteriorate.
Once, I went home, and as usual, a pastor was around to pray for some reason. We ate and during the following prayer session, he prayed for each member of the family. He stopped when he got to me and said that the Lord had revealed to him that I was a witch, the final stronghold of the curse in my family.
I have a gold chain that my parents bought for me when I was a baby. It was one of the few things we didn’t sell when times were bad. He pointed to this chain and said it was the talisman I was using. According to him, I had to take it off before they could do a deliverance service to save us from the curse.
I insisted I wasn’t a witch and refused to take the chain off. When I refused, the pastor tried to yank it off my neck, which escalated into a fight.
My parents believed me and gently ushered the pastor out, but I was angry that they didn’t throw him out as soon as he accused me. I told them this, and they argued that they had to honour the servants of God.
My parent’s blind belief in pastors whittled my own faith. I became concerned about the amount of influence that pastors and self-proclaimed prophets have on older Christians. Still, I couldn’t talk about it in my community or to my family because they felt these people were above censure.
As a result, I stopped going to church and turned to YouTube for sermons. The only way to sanely practice my faith is to do it by myself for now, and my parents hate it. The witch allegations have not gone away completely since then; my less pious approach to Christianity makes my family think I might become a witch in some way or another.
After finishing school, I moved out of the house and got a great job. I try to send money home to help out, but things are still tough, especially with the economic downturn. My mum tests me by offering me holy water to drink when I visit home, and I drink it every time because I have nothing to hide. More importantly, I don’t think it works.
My dad and I are not on speaking terms anymore. When I moved out after school, I started sending my dad job applications so we could increase our family’s income but he’d take the applications to pastors to pray on it, and they would ask him for money to pray for his success. More often than not, he didn’t have the money to pay the pastors, and he’d end up not applying for the job.
It’s crazy to me because my father is so talented; he doesn’t need a pastor to co-sign everything he does. I believe that you can fight against a curse with personal faith and hard work, not by waiting on a human for a miracle.
My relationship with my family now is distant and transactional. I send money home when they need it—which is a lot, but I don’t mind. I miss the relationship I used to have with them, but I prefer the peace of mind that comes with hard work. I also like not looking over my shoulder for witches and witch allegations all the time. Most of all, I really love not feeling cursed.
Next Read: A Fake Genotype Result Cost Me The Love Of My Life
*Name has been changed for the sake of anonymity.
