WARNING!
This
article contains stories that most ‘church people’ don’t want to
address. So, if you are one of those living in denial and covering up crap
going on in the church, this is where you should stop reading. Thanks for
stopping by.
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Now,
for the rest of us, please sit down and switch on your open mind. I want to
talk about something I have kept bottled up inside for longer than necessary. I
have also decided to use real names, as my defense for any accusation of slander
is justification. I tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.
However, feel free to throw your doubt around but know that I am past the
shaming game (where victims of abuse are shot down by blame) I am no longer a
victim but a survivor who is sharing her experience to help others caught in
same web of abuse, guilt and shame. We only get to live once right? So here, it
goes…
I
recently came to know this event too was abuse (recently here means about 6
months ago). It has literally been eating me up having to drive by another
billboard advertising preachers, or hearing his name, or even trying to ask
about the validity of the entire salvation story and whether or not there is a
God that truly watches over his people. That being said, I’m just going to say
it as it is. This is a recap of my affair with Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo of COZA
(Common Wealth Of Zion Assembly) Abuja chapter. This affair I have come to know
as a form of abuse as you would see the different elements of abuse very
present.
I
met Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo many years ago. I was getting bored of the church I
was attending and someone suggested COZA. At the time, I had never heard about
it. My friend said, go there, I’m sure you would enjoy the word. But he also
gave me a strong warning. He said he would advice that I remain a member only
and not join the workforce. I agreed. The first time I attended COZA, I felt it
was my church and decided I was going to plant my ass there. About eleven
months had gone by and I was still attending the services quietly and
faithfully. I really did like the church. One day a worker in the church
approached me that the senior pastor wanted to see me.
Me?
I thought. Why would the senior pastor want to see me? Not the second man but
the head nigga in charge? Ok na! I started to think my sin was oozing so bad
the pastor could tell I needed Jesus. (Poor old me.) I saw him at the end of
the second service (they had two services at the time) and he said to me that
he would like me to work with him. I knew I had no intentions of becoming a
pastor so I had to ask in what capacity. He said he’d like for me to join a
department, preferably the Pastoral Care Unit (PCU).
A
few weeks later, against my friend’s advice not to join the workforce, I was a
PCU member. All of a sudden, I had some status in church. I was ‘somebody.’
Dress had to be on point, hair, shoes and what not… As workers, we were
literally trying to outshine each other or so it seemed. Anyways, I felt like I
was a privileged member of an elite circle. Hehehe. (It did feel good though,
for the most part.)
About
a year after joining the workforce, I was on my way to London for a Masters
degree program that would last two years. As was the rule for workers
travelling, I wrote to say I would be away for 2 years and Pastor Biodun
Fotoyinbo asked that I keep in touch by sending him my number and email when I
had settled in London so he “makes sure I continue in the faith” because
according to him, people loose their faith when they leave home and he wanted
to make sure I didn’t. So, on that note, as soon as I got a phone line in
London, I was sure to call ‘my pastor’ to say I arrived safe, had settled in
and also gave my phone number.
We
had spoken a few times especially when COZA started to stream online. I always
watched and would give feedback on quality of production and share a little bit
on the challenges I faced settling in a new land. One evening, Pastor Biodun
Fatoyinbo called me that he was coming to London and needed me to help him make
some hotel bookings as the person who was meant to do it couldn’t get it done
(this was rather strange as I had never been involved in his travel itinerary)
Later that day, he said it had been sorted and my help would not be required
but that he would like me to arrange a cab to pick him up from Heathrow. I was
happy to help my pastor from Nigeria and even saw it as a privilege. (I would
later come to learn that all of this was a calculated attempt to hatch a plan
that I suspect was set in motion when I was asked to join the workforce.)
The
cab guy was there to get him the next day and when he arrived, he called to ask
why I didn’t accompany the cab to pick him up (again, this was strange but I
stopped my mind from overanalyzing the situation as I knew I had no business
with his visit to London) About two hours later, he called me and said he would
like to see me. When I arrived his hotel, I called from the reception but he
asked that I come upstairs. I got to the room and tried to stop my mind from
thinking why I was going to his room. As he opened the door and invited me in,
I had to speak to my heart to stop its palpitations. My better judgment asked
me not to go into the room but the kind of reverence I had for Pasotr Biodun
Fatoyinbo bordered on fear and I steeped into that room.
“Care
for a drink?” Asked Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo.
“No
sir,” I said.
“You
don’t have to be shy Ese, even if it’s alcohol, feel free and order what you
want.” I wasn’t sure I heard my pastor asking me to order alcohol. I imagined
it was a test and ignored the voice inside that was saying, “I’d have henny and
coke please.” He proceeded to ask how I had been coping in London and if I was
a committed member of any church. He also said he thought there was something
special about me and wanted to know that I had not strayed from my faith. I
really thought he had heard I was doing something I shouldn’t while in London
but tried my best to focus on the conversation instead of my straying thoughts.
He kept telling me to relax and feel comfortable with talking to him. After a
few minutes, he asked that we go to the roof of the hotel as his room was a
pent suite and had a connecting door to the roof.
While
there, he sat on a reclining chair and asked me to come sit on his laps. This
was a bit awkward for me and I froze for a moment as I asked why. He said he
had told me to feel free with him and loosen up. I found myself strolling to
sit on his laps. At that moment, I felt like a little girl who was experiencing
something her mind couldn’t fathom. He asked me to kiss him and all I could
think about was seeing him preach on the pulpit back in COZA Abuja, Nigeria,
which was my home church. He again said ‘feel free Ese.’ And asked again, that
I kiss him.
A
few hours later, let’s just say, we were rolling under the sheets. It felt as
though my mind had paused. I am not saying I was jazzed, (although it’s
possible I was in some trance-like state and didn’t know it but I just was so
afraid that I couldn’t say or think otherwise.) That was the beginning of this
affair. A sexual affair that went on for a little over a week, DAILY!
I
can hear somebody’s mind thinking, ‘well, you weren’t raped.” And I remember a
pastor I opened up to when I couldn’t take all the mind games asking if I
seduced him. No, I didn’t seduce him and no, I wasn’t raped but I felt trapped
in this affair. Come to think of it, how could I have seduced him when I wanted
nothing from him? I mean, I was too busy minding my business in London trying
to get through with my masters program and I was overly comfortable. And even
if I wanted to seduce anyone, it wouldn’t be a married man, not to mention a
married pastor.
To be continued
Reference: Eze Walter
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