My name is Idara, I am 30 years old and my friends and family think I’m badly in need of an intervention. Because another valentine is here and I’m still unmarried and happily so. My friends say I should hang out more; my mother says I should attend every church activity.
It’s not that I don’t want to fall in love and have a man I can call mine. Like nearly every girl out there, I’ve dreamed of meeting my Prince Charming in a romantic way. Like, tripping in the middle of the street and falling into the strong, muscled arms of a perfect gentleman. I was young and silly and reading a lot of Mills and Boon. So I kept falling down whenever I was in the vicinity of any good-looking man I came across. That was until I sprained my ankle one day. That brought an end to my tripping days.
Then I thought it wouldn’t be bad if I met him in the most mundane of circumstances, like falling for that popular tongue-blasting, bible-quoting brother in the prayer wing at church. But all the handsome brothers in church either seemed to be engaged or in a relationship. Sometimes, to several sisters at once.
So when my friend Belema showed up at my house that afternoon and asked me accompany her to yet another of those night prayer meetings, I wasn’t inclined to go with her.
“Idara, trust me, you’ll like this one,” she urged, trying to convince me to abandon the movie and beauty sleep I was looking forward to. “This particular pastor can see things very well. Once he looks at you, he will tell you everything about your life. I’m sure he’ll see a husband for you.”
I baulked at yet another marriage crusade. But after ten minutes of going back and forth, I agreed to go with her.
When we arrived at the church the din was almost imaginable. All the musical instruments warred with one another for relevance and everyone was belting out the choruses at the top of their voices. I found a corner and sat down, quietly observing everything.
“You look like you don’t want to be here,” a voice said beside me.
I turned my head to see the owner; a young, good-looking fellow, probably in his early thirties. He was smiling and for a second, I was distracted by the dimple in his left cheek and the gap in his teeth.
“You’re correct,” I replied.
“Me too. My aunt dragged me here. She says the prophet will prophesy a wife into my life.”
Here the story begins….