A Nigerian Tale of Holy Ghost Fraudulence, Public Disgrace, and an Unforgivable Mic Trap
You know that moment when your destiny miscalculates, your guardian angel resigns, and your village people start live-streaming your downfall? That was me, Chijioke the Unfortunate, on what should have been a regular Sunday service.
Spoiler alert: It was regular… until I opened my mouth.
HOW I BECAME THE CHURCH’S NUMBER ONE SUSPECT
Let’s get one thing straight: I was not a bad person. I was just a small-time Holy Ghost scammer.
See, in my church, speaking in tongues was like spiritual clout. The prayer warriors? Tongues. The choir mistress? Tongues. Even Brother James, who used to be a Yahoo Boy but found Christ, had started kabashing like an actual angelic being.
Meanwhile, me? Ordinary “Amen” was hard. But I couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure was too much. So I made a decision that would ruin my life.
I decided to fake it.
THE MOMENT MY LIFE ENDED
It started well. The Spirit was “moving.” People were shaking. Mama Nkechi was dancing. The band was playing Jehovah has the final say.
Then the pastor shouted: “Open your mouth and pray in the Spirit!”
I took a deep breath and went for it.
“Radaba-shataka-rikaboska-tarananana…tuturu…”
A small giggle almost escaped my mouth because, omo, I was really freestyling. But nobody suspected anything! People around me were nodding. One auntie even shouted, “YES LORD!” I started feeling myself.
That was my second mistake.
The first? Doing this nonsense in a church with a pastor that does not play.
Because out of nowhere, Pastor turned. Squinted. And pointed at me.
“Young man, come forward.”
Omo. My soul departed my body.
I opened my eyes and pointed at my chest, as if to say, Me? Surely not me?
He nodded. “Yes, you. The Lord is using you today.”
MY FINAL ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE
I stood up slowly, hoping that by the time I reached the altar, rapture would take place and save me. But the Lord had other plans.
When I got there, Pastor smiled. “Hallelujah! Church, did you hear the powerful tongues this young man was speaking?”
The church roared, “HALLELUJAH!!!”
Then he dropped the atomic bomb.
“Now, my son, INTERPRET.”
EGBAMI.
Interpret ke? Who send me message?!
I forced a smile and started sweating like NEPA transformer. Even my armpits were praying.
I glanced at the ushers. Nobody was coming to save me.
I coughed. Cleared my throat. Tried to fall under the anointing. But Pastor didn’t even blink.
At this point, church aunties were nodding in anticipation. The choir was playing soft strings. Brother James was recording.
I had exactly two options:
- Confess and face disgrace.
- Double down and wing it.
Unfortunately, the spirit of foolishness picked option two.
THE FINAL FALL FROM GRACE
I took the mic. Exhaled. And began my interpretation:
“The Lord says… uh… my children, continue in… um… righteousness and… uh… prosperity…”
The silence in the church was DEAFENING. Even the keyboardist paused. The choir stopped strumming. Mama Nkechi gave me a side-eye that could end destinies.
Then the real disaster happened.
Pastor smiled. “A powerful message indeed. In fact, let’s call Brother Elijah to confirm if this is accurate.”
BROTHER ELIJAH. THE CHURCH’S CHIEF INTERPRETER.
At that moment, even my village people put their hands on their heads like ‘We don catch am.’
Brother Elijah walked up slowly, held the mic, and said the five words that destroyed my existence.
“This is not from God.”
AH. IT IS FINISHED.
Church gasped. Somebody’s baby started crying. Mama Nkechi clutched her chest like her ancestors had returned.
Pastor turned to me. “My son, the Spirit of God does not lie.”
The usher behind me muttered, “Omo, you don buy market.”
THE AFTERMATH: WHEN SHAME BECOMES YOUR NEW IDENTITY
I tried to mumble something, but my lips stopped working.
Before I knew it, I was kneeling before the entire church as they started a special deliverance session for me.
Pastor laid hands. “Spirit of deception, OUT!”
They flogged me with prayers.
By the time I got home, screenshots of the service were already in the family WhatsApp group:
➡️ “Chijioke, what is this nonsense?!”
➡️ “Is this why I sent you to university?”
➡️ “Mummy GO must hear this.”
Then, Twitter got involved.
By the next morning, I was trending as #PentecostalScammer.
Jumia posted: “Oga Chijioke, tongues may fail you, but our discounts won’t.”
Airtel Nigeria tweeted: “No be you go scam the Holy Spirit.”
I wanted to disappear. Relocate. Start life afresh. Maybe in Cotonou.
THE FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN
Me? Excommunicated for six months.
Brother James? Still laughing at me till today.
Pastor? Told my mother to put me in a discipleship program.
Moral of the story? If you can’t speak in tongues, just keep quiet. Or else? Your destiny fit hear am.
And please, if you see me hustling shawarma in Canada, face your front.
Hey Luv, Wait. Feel More Crackko Vibe:
If you love cringe-worthy fails, you’ll find more in our Ultimate Cringe section.
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