The Ancient One - PART TWO

My name is Zurishaddai Omoboriowo. Weird name I know, but the meaning should tell you a lot about the circumstances surrounding my birth, as African names are wont to do. Zurishaddai was a Hebrew term that translates to "the Lord is my stronghold" and Omoboriowo literally meant "child overcomes money" or "child is better than money". Don't stress me, I didn't choose it too. I was a student of the University of Ibadan studying communication and language arts in the faculty of arts and I was in 300 level when my life changed forever.

From the moment I achieved self consciousness as a human being, I always knew there was something different about me. This is not some sci-fi nonsense like Spiderman or something more destined like Eragon. I knew I was different. I perceived the world around me differently, my point of view most times different from others. Maybe it was because I died when when I was in primary school and the traumatic event that led me to look upon my own body lying on the floor from an external point of view. Maybe it was because I was exposed to some corrupting influence of the spirit world that rewired my brain or something, I DON'T KNOW!

Being the first born in a family of five, well four now since my dad died, I had learned from a very young age to take responsibility seriously, not that I did because let's face it, who takes responsibility seriously? If you said yes, well all the best fun e ooo

Actually, my encounter with the creepy eyed old Yoruba woman in the market was not my first experience with the supernatural. It was just the most defining experience that proved to me that I was not mad. I consider myself as a gifted person. Gifted as in plenty gifts in one, not just one gift. Duh. When I was little and I scraped my knees when playing rough, it took exactly 8 seconds for the pain to catch up with me after the moment of injury. As early as the age of seven, I was already aware of that fact and I was always prepared for it. Then one time when I got injured, I willed my wound to close.
Now don't get hysterical here, it didn't close. But right before my very eyes the blood stopped flowing and the wound clotted over. Well I didn't know what Clot was till I got home and told my mum about the event. She told me that it was because I had a rich amount of vitamin K in my blood, something my father possessed too according to her, which sped up blood clotting. I knew it was something else because I had felt something move, something shift. This was what I later came to understand as my ability to shift reality, not heal.

Others happened over the years, the ability to convince people to do what I wanted, the gift of premonition and much more. I am ashamed to confess that the only reason why I bagged the "best student in biology" prize in my secondary school was because I dreamt/had a vision of the exam and test questions a night before the exam. There are times when I'd just be sitting and suddenly I'd know what would happen next or I'd have a feeling of Deja Vu, like I've lived this exact moment before. That's why I'm documenting this because I am still experiencing that feeling of Deja'vu right now. I take this feeling as a nudge from the Universe that I am on the right path.

So essentially I got so good at convincing people, a sweet tongue, that my Chemistry teacher tried to convince me to move to marketing, saying that I could very well have the world eating from my fingertips.

The most prominent of these encounters with the supernatural was the week my father died. I had just received my admission letter into Cms grammar school Lagos and I was quite possibly on a high rush. My father was the Senior pastor in the church we attended, poor, but they said he was a servant of God. I think he was not human. I know this not because he was self sacrificing, tirelessly working for the Kingdom of God, but because he spoke with angels.

I'm not crazy! 😡

So because we couldn't afford a car we used to trek from church after service come rain, sun or moon. Three days before his death, I had began to notice "a presence" moving with us. I was close to my father, not a father-son closeness but a disciple-teacher closeness. Now that I think about it, he was more interested in teaching me than parenting me. He taught me a lot of weird stuffs. How to recognise death in the sky and some other secrets I cannot reveal on this public forum. It was this particular teaching that made me know the moment he died even though I was not anywhere close to him.

I digress.

So those three nights when we trekked back from church and I felt "the presence" I looked around and spotted a white glowing object in the sky keeping pace with us. I'm not stupid, I knew it was not the moon. It was less corporeal and more ominous. The first night it happened I looked around to be sure I was not the only one seeing it. No one else noticed the large, white glowing shadow keeping pace with us all the way home. The second day the same thing happened, and I was burning with a desire to tell someone, to ask someone what it was. I was walking with my Dad, my hand in his and it appeared he did not see it too. On the third day, I couldn't take it anymore, I jerked my hand free of my Dad's grasp and pointed at the object in the sky, the words tumbling put of my mouth.

"Daddy see, see that white thing, it's following us". My dad calmly took the finger I was pointing at the object and spanked it with two of his own fingers, whispering sternly "Stop pointing at it", before grasping my hand in his and walking briskly home.

I was silent the rest of the way home. It was real! My Dad had seen it. He knew it was there. I was excited. When we got home he promptly went to sleep, derailing any chance I had to to query him further about it. The next day was Sunday and he was up and out of the house before I woke up. I gritted my teeth. He couldn't avoid me forever. We got to church and I could already see him on the altar leading praise and worship. I frowned and followed my brothers to the Children's section outside the church where my mother already had bread and butter waiting for me. With my teeth chomping on the tough bread and warm butter, I glanced at the sky and jerked, terror filling my limbs. My Father's lesson washed through me and I knew everything immediately. As he died, the first streak ran across the sky and my heart was broken. It was hours after that moment that the flood of tears came.

Reports had it that my Father had died on the altar while singing praise and worship. His last words to the congregation were;

"And I wish you could see what I see at this moment. I wish you could see the angels at his feet dancing and rejoicing in his presence"

STAY TUNED FOR PART 3