“I will go to Jerusalem, even if I have to die there!” These words came out of Paul's mouth with so much firmness, enough to end what looked like an argument between the five disciples in the room. Agabus was the most appalled. In his decades as a prophet he had never experienced such ‘madness'. He had just told Paul what would befall him if he went to Jerusalem – imprisonment and probable death. Yet, Paul didn't cower. Luke was puzzled. He exhaled deeply, then said, “Brethren, let us rejoice. For in all things, the will of God will surely manifest”. The other disciples nodded in agreement. Then as they took turns to kiss Paul, the evangelist, Philip, walked in. Trophimus jumped from Paul's side to hug Philip. “Welcome sir, even though it's your own house” he joked. “Thank you Trophimus. Are my daughters around?” “Yes they are. I'll go call them now. Maybe later you can tell me the story of how you disappeared from the face of the Ethiopian eunuch. I've been aching to hear it from you” Philip laughed and said, “I didn't disappear, the Spirit carried me. But details later Trophimus. Just call my daughters, I am starving!” The whole room burst into laughter. By the next week, Paul was en route to Jerusalem. Aviva could not believe her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the experience she was having that day. She had walked with Paul to the Jerusalem temple, teasing him about how he's yet to marry. He was her favourite brother and she enjoyed his company a lot. But today was different, she watched him get brutalized by an infuriated Jewish mob. She watched him bleed until Roman soldiers interfered. She watched him as he tried to defend himself but was silenced by the multitude as they cried, threw dust around and prayed for his death. She wept bitterly on the shoulders of Oren, her son. “Uncle! Uncle Paul!” Oren was screaming as he sighted Paul behind bars in the castle. He was sweating profusely, with teary eyes and a pale face. “How did you get in?” Paul asked, locking his fingers into his nephew's. “I snuck in through the back. I know it's wrong but I had to. Uncle, I'm so scared. This might be the last time I'll see you” Paul laughed, with a voice scorched from all his shouting in the temple earlier. Then continued “My time has not come Oren. There's still a church to be built in Rome. But tell me, why did you say this?” Oren went on to narrate to Paul how he overheard the plot between the Chief Priest and about forty other men. “They are planning to ask Lysias, the Roman commander, to bring you for a Jewish questioning tomorrow and kill you in the process.” Paul sighed. This was the nineteenth time he was being informed of a planned assassination. Most times, the Lord told him directly. “Thank you very much Oren. Now I want you to tell this plot only to Lysias. I will have a centurion take you to him. Be very discerning.” “But Uncle, will you really be fine?” “I honestly do not know. Since my experience at Damascus, I have lost control of my life. But I know Jesus will preserve me from these men who persecute me for the gospel's sake. Only pray for me with your mom. Now go! “ Finally, the day drew to an end and Paul retired to sleep. As he laid down, from the corner of his eyes, he saw a centurion walking briskly towards him with an unsheathed sword. “Why is he coming with a sword? Was he paid to kill me?” Paul thought, and stood up quickly. The centurion advanced faster until he reached Paul. Then he held Paul by the neck and whispered into his ears, “The Jews will kill you tomorrow if you stay here. I have orders to take you to Caesarea. But we must leave now. We get to Antipatris tonight, then Caesarea tomorrow. Girdle up! we move now.” Paul heaved a sigh and muttered thanksgiving to God. Then they set for an escape out of Jerusalem. The next four years of Paul's life were spent mostly in Rome where he established a church from his apartment. One day, as he taught Christian persecution, a Roman convert raised his hands and asked, “How are you still a preacher after all your persecution experience?” He smiled and replied, “Blessed are you, when men revile and persecute you. Rejoice, for great is your reward in heaven”. Then he added, “Those were Jesus' words. They kept me going!”.

The man and the woman, a union ordained for bliss Bliss ethereal yet tangible, like the honeyed taste of a kiss But this bliss is sent to hell, when the man says he is a beast Of course not with his mouth, but when his pride becomes his fist. Iya Bisi said "For my children I will stay". "I need to be around to get the daily bread in place". Really, she had hidden fears about what people would say If she fled for her safety, away from Baba Bisi the Great Should we wait until her eyes are swollen and black? Before we see that our vision is blurry and dark Mandela's hands in the air spoke of a freedom age Why do the hands of our brothers speak of bondage? Zainab swore she would go to the university But Hassan came with naira for his bride Thus scissors went into her private princess parts Another child has become wife. Bolanle's oranges were neither ripe nor exposed And her thighs were warmed by a baggy pair of clothes She was three days in as the latest teenager on the street Then three rounds of rape sent her hanging on a rope. The pandemic strolled into our world Then quarantine drove us into our homes But Ogechi's home was a prison, and she was a detainee She lived in a ring with a stronger opponent and no referee In fact if their common name was Floyd, He would be Mayweather and she would be George. She was one woman with one thousand responsibilities. Everyday came with reasons to stretch her abilities. But even elastic strings have their limits Maybe hers would be the day her heartbeat is quiet. This message to our society must go viral. We must wake up to cherish our women. We are blessed to have these living, breathing temples Who are we to desecrate deity?!

“Chioma tested positive to Covid-19.” The words fell out of Ada's mouth as if they carried an immense weight that left her mouth agape. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, probably processing how possible it was for someone who would easily pass as the most enviable young woman in Nigeria to have been infected with this enemy of a virus. As I watched my elder sister wallow in her thoughts, I remembered Chioma, and how she had kept her Instagram followers abreast with her recent international shopping spree. She was engaged to Davido, the popular Nigerian vocalist. Chioma was an icon to many Nigerian girls, who thought her to be lucky to have captured the attention of Davido. A deep sigh from my sister interrupted my thoughts. Then in a slow, defeated voice she said “if the super-rich can get infected, what happens to the rest of us?” I smiled, partly because I was amused by her fears, and because I thought she looked really cute with all her peevish fretting. Then she looked up at me, perhaps warmed by my smile, and said, in a tone that reminded me of Nelson Mandela, “We need to fight Covid with all our strength!” In the days that followed, Ada morphed quickly into an Anti Covid special agent, reading up loads of information about the virus. Then overnight, she became a reporter, breaking to the family every news update on Covid-19. She was the manager at a spa in Lekki, and with her boss outside the country, she easily stopped going to work. One night, she plunged into her savings and asked me to follow her to the food market. We spent a hundred thousand naira buying food items, groceries and sanitizers at inflated prices. Over dinner that night, she expressly mentioned to us –our mom , the eldest brother, youngest sister and me– that as a family, we should all stay indoors till the Covid saga was over. Sadly, nobody seemed to take her seriously, and that quickly escalated into an exchange of angry words between her and Victor, our eldest brother. The next day, the President declared a compulsory nationwide total lockdown. That evening, Ada sang songs of thanksgiving to God. Two weeks into the lockdown, my mom couldn't take it anymore. She had gained weight. The wrinkles on her forehead had somehow reduced drastically. The sexagenarian wore skin that shone brighter and a smile that hid the struggles of a previously sleep deprived hard worker. She was happy with the well-deserved rest, but her social life was suffering. She couldn't wait to resume her trading business and have fun filled moments with the other traders in the complex where her store was. My siblings and I were always on our phones, and she would stare at us, disappointed that her children would allow their phones to take this amount of time away from them, and slightly envious that she didn't find such solace in her own device. Whether Victor lived in our world was questionable, because he acted like he didn't. Nothing in his lifestyle reflected a recognition of the global pandemic. He would always leave the house every morning only to come back at night to meet Ada torn between fury and trepidation. He seemed to have believed the booming rumour, that Covid-19 was a either a sham, or it was not present in the country. The climax of the family experience happened in one night, a day in whose morning the number of recorded cases saw its first outrageous boom. Victor came back from a three day stay over with rashes all over his body. He had a serious fever and breathing was difficult for him. He was coughing and sneezing badly too. Ada almost went mad. “I warned you! I did,” She said with tears in her eyes. I still wonder if those tears were shed out of compassion for Victor, or fear that she was finally exposed to her nightmare. In the end, her survival instincts took over and she warned everyone to ensure Victor's isolation. She suggested he should be locked up in the guest room. But my mom wouldn't hear of it. She rushed to examine him, and my sister pulled her back. “Mummy! Covid is a matter of life and death! Don't touch him" she begged. At this point, my brother could not take it anymore. He lashed out at Ada. “Are you crazy?" He yelled. "How dare you? You're a paranoid idiot. These rashes are reactions to a bathing soap I used. Don't ever connect me to Covid again, ever!”. And with that, he stormed over to the room I share with him. My mom still came around to apply a medicinal lotion to his body. Then we agreed that we would alert the NCDC authorities by the third day. But by the next day, his rashes had reduced, his fever left and with that he lost the strings that attached him to Covid-19. But to be on the safe side, he reduced the frequency of his outings afterward. The best part was, for the first time in more than ten years, my entire nuclear family came together and created memories that would last a lifetime.