The Church and the Chain

By @bobo

So, there's this neighbor of mine who has been faithfully going for mission work every Saturday since the beginning of the month. Yesterday, I finally had the chance to ask him what this “church mission” was really about. He told me, quite earnestly, that they were building a house for their General Overseer. Fair enough—I nodded. Seemed noble enough. But then I asked the real question: How much are you guys being paid for a day’s work? That was when he looked at me like I had just committed holy heresy. With wide eyes and a voice full of sanctified disappointment, he said, “The reward for doing God’s work is in heaven.”

He added that they didn’t get paid. They were simply cooked for and given water. Ah. A full day's labor exchanged for jollof rice and sachet water. Divine economy, I suppose. Curiosity, that persistent little devil, nudged me further. I asked, “So… are the General Overseer’s children also helping out? I mean, if the house is going to be theirs one day, shouldn’t they be the most invested?” My neighbor grew visibly uncomfortable. Then, with the tone of someone defending royalty, he said, “You can't expect the G.O.’s children—ajebos—to labour like us.”

That response hit me harder than expected. I watched him walk away, my heart sinking—not because he was angry, but because somewhere in his mind, he had quietly accepted that he was the servant, and they were the heirs. He’d made peace with a spiritual hierarchy that looked suspiciously like a plantation system. I nodded slowly as he vanished from sight, knowing deep down that my neighbor was gone. Spiritually gone. Irredeemable. And here I am, still struggling with the logic of a world where I work hard in this life, only to receive my reward after I’m dead. Make it make sense.