When I returned home for the summer holidays, I became a voracious reader of the Bible. I was really curious and wanted to learn more. My father would never have approved of me going to Church but I was desperate to know more. This was in the days before Nigeria had access to the internet so hearing the gospel preached was not as simple as tuning in to YouTube.

I kept reading the bible but had so many questions. One Sunday, I knew my parents were going out for the day, so I decided to sneak out to attend a Church service. Having lived a sheltered, upper middle class life, I had never taken a bus or any form of public transport before in my life. I was always driven everywhere in an airconditioned car by my father’s driver.

The details are hazy now, but I think I took a bus across town for the first time, but ended up hailing a yellow taxi when I could not figure out the route. I left home in time to attend the church service but got hopelessly lost and arrived as the service was ending. I was so upset with myself! I didn’t know who to speak to so I headed to the media desk where books, bibles and recordings of the day’s sermon were sold. I asked for the recording of the day’s service but was told it wasn’t ready and I would have to wait. I told the man behind the desk that I could not wait as I had snuck out to Church, and had a taxi waiting outside to take me home before my parents returned from their event.

The young man was very empathetic and he gave me a bootlegged copy of one of Carman’s albums, “Comin on Strong”. Carman’s voice would be the only Christian voice I heard that summer. Up until then, I thought Christian music was just hymns so this modern, relatable, even danceable expression was quite a revelation to me. I loved it and I learned pretty much every song off by heart. I loved the way Carman dramatised the scriptures through song. As a lover of literature, theater and music, this creative approach to songwriting had me hooked. The God of Jesus Christ didn’t seem aloof and far removed from my world. He was actively interested in what I was interested in and He spoke to me in ways that I understood. I felt so close to Him, and so loved by Him.

One night, I had a vivid dream. It was a dark gloomy, moonlit night and it looked as if a catastrophe had happened on earth. Like an apocalypse. I saw people dressed in white, floating towards the sky. I felt like I was witnessing the rapture. But I wasn’t one of the chosen. All I could do was watch as others were taken and I was left behind.

I woke up devastated and terrified. In the preceding days, I had been wrestling with this verse of scripture:

“But whosoever shall deny me before men,
him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven”
Matthew 10:33, KJV

I felt I could no longer keep my faith a secret between God and I. I had to let my parents know that I had decided to follow Jesus.

I went into my parent’s room. My dad was sat on the edge of his bed. I went up to him and told him I had decided I wanted to be a Christian. He was generous in his response. He said he had no objection – I was elated! – then he said, as long as I became a Methodist like my mum, and not a loony “born again” Christian.

When he realised that I meant I had chosen to be “born again”, he became furious.

“Who brainwashed you?” he roared. He feared that I would adopt the ultra conservative version of Christianity, exemplified by the Deeper Life Church at the time, where women were forbidden from wearing makeup and jewellery and always had to have their hair covered.

He raged at my mum for allowing this to happen, and sent me off to his sister’s house – a devout muslim – to get a talking to. He made it clear that he and I could not live under the same roof if I chose this path.

My dear aunt was as surprised as dad. She knew of the time I had become an increasingly devout muslim, reading the Qur’an and praying five times a day and was surprised at my decision to follow Christ. I don’t remember all that was said, but I do remember her pulling out a box of audio cassette tapes, containing recitations of the Quran. I remember her asking if Christians had anything like this, and that in her view, Christians were backward, poor, and unsophisticated compared to muslims and why in the world would I want to be a Christian?

I don’t recall how long I was away from home, but when I got back, I was emotionally drained. I knelt down before my dad as a sign of respect and told him I was sorry for the upset I had caused. I was careful not to apologise for choosing to become a Christian. I was mindful of the scriptures and did not want to deny Christ. So I found a way of words with which I could express remorse for the upset caused but not for the choice I made. I had no doubt in my mind, despite the outrage that I would continue to follow Christ.

Dad was satisfied with my response and he reiterated that he has no objection to me becoming a Christian as long as it was in the Methodist tradition.

My walk with Christ went “underground” as it were. I kept on reading my bible and listening to Carman, but did so when no one could see or hear me. I kept my bible and Carman’s cassette tape under my mattress, hidden from view.