Buried Alive (for miracle)

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eadership, assigning him to a remote village to spread the gospel. We were both excited and nervous about this new chapter in our lives. We ha

reaming of the lives we would touch and the souls we would save. But, unknown to us, that remote village held a dark and sinister secret. It was a place where danger lur

elves, or maybe even changed the course of events. But, as it was, we were blissfully unaware of the danger that lay ahead, and we walked in

ged into the living room. His usual energetic stride was replaced with a slow, heavy gait, as if the weight of the world was be

ere was only silence. No cheerful greeting, no warm smile, no eager embrace. He just sat there, slumped and still, his weariness radiating from every pore.

sensing that something was terribly wrong. The usual warmth and vitality that radiated from him was gone, replaced by a chilling melancholy that sent shivers

g a few tasks before he came in, as we usually shared dinner together and I hadn't eaten yet. The kids were fast asleep, exhausted from thei

ng room, my heart beating slightly faster. As I entered the room, I saw him sitting on the couch, his head bowed, his eyes cast downward

, to ask him what was wrong, but something held me back. Maybe it was the vulnerability etched on his face, or the sense of despair that surrounded him like

resignation and surrender. The tone was so low, it was as if he was sharing a secret with the universe, a secret that only the heaven

in the air like a prayer, a plea to a higher power, a surrender to the unknown. It was as if he was relinquishing

motion, a mix of sorrow, fear, and faith, all swirling together in a vortex of uncertainty. And yet, in the midst of this tur

the silence. I had been watching him from afar, sensing something was amiss, and my curiosity got the better of me. I

xture of surprise and vulnerability. I gazed into his eyes, searching for answers, and saw the depth of his pain and stru

and compassion, wanting to comfort him, to take away his pain, and to be a listening ear in his moment of need. The silence that followed w

if he had been holding his breath for a long time, waiting for the right moment to exhale, to release the tension that had been building up inside h

nds and journeys. The envelope seemed to hold a significance, a importance that was palpable, as if it contained a message that could change the course o

ay he seemed to be willing to entrust it to me. It was as if he was passing on a burden, a responsibility, a secret that he could no longer carry alone. An

nvelope with a slow and deliberate motion. His eyes locked onto mine, his gaze piercing, as if to convey the importan

eyond mere physical contact. It was as if we were sharing a secret, a bond that only we understood. His eyes held a deep

e course of my life forever. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I took it from him, the weight of the unknown pressing

ed hand. Our fingers touched briefly, a fleeting moment of contact, yet it felt like a spark of electricity had passed betwee

I was trying to will the secrets within to reveal themselves, to magically open the flap and spill out the contents without me having to lift a finger.

hidden within? What mysteries would it reveal? And why had he entrusted it to me, of all people? The envelope seemed to hold its breath, waiting for me to

brown exterior. My gaze was fixed on the creased edges, the faint scuff marks, and the tiny tears that spoke of a long and a

Was it a letter from a long-lost loved one? A mysterious message from an unknown sender? A crypti

reeping over me. What secrets lay hidden within? What revelations would it bring? And why had he given it

answers in his eyes. But his expression was inscrutable, a mask of calm that gave away nothing. And so, I returned my

ver the secrets that lay within. The tone was neutral, yet somehow, it seemed to convey a sense of urgency, a sense of impor

, leaving behind a mask of calm, a mask that seemed to say, "I've done my part, now it's up to you." And with

racing with questions. What secrets lay hidden within? What revelations would it bring? And why had he give

earing echoing through the silence like a drumbeat. And then, with a sense of trepidation, I reached inside and pulled ou

h a mix of curiosity and trepidation. And what I saw with my eyes surprised me, shocked me, left me breathless. The words

er situation we find ourselves in, no matter how difficult, no matter how challenging. And so, I took a deep breath, and began to read th

velation, was not a curse, but a blessing in disguise. It was an opportunity for growth, for learning, for becoming a better version of m

leaving our present location, a bustling hub of activity, and relocating to a village that was a whopping 5 hours drive away, was daunting

weeks of his stay there. The eerie part was that he had never breathed a word about his reasons for leaving, nor had he shared any details about his experience in Jogbo. The silence w

ble. I couldn't help but wonder if we were walking into a similar nightmare, one that would leave us scarred and shaken. The uncerta

hung in the air like a challenge, a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to make sense of the enigma that stood bef

surface. And yet, I pressed on, driven by a need to understand, to penetrate the armor that shielded his true feelings. "Is that why yo

th, a spark of insight that would help me comprehend the transformation that had taken place. Had the transfer to Jogbo been the catalyst for this ch

eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me feel like he was searching for the truth. His gaze was pierc

me to reveal the secrets of my heart, to share the thoughts that had been swirling in my mind like a maelstrom. And so, I took a deep breath

rden that you won't share with anyone. And I'm wondering, is it because of the transfer to Jogbo? Is that why you're shutting us out, shut

sense of awe at the mysterious ways of the divine. The words hung in the air like a gentle breeze, a

of acceptance, a nod of surrender, a nod that said, "Yes, I may not understand, but I trust in the plan." The gesture was simpl

wer guiding us, directing us, leading us to places we would never have chosen on our own. And so, we stood there, suspended in the uncertainty of the f

re's any good school there for the kids," he continued, his brow furrowed, his mind racing with the implications of uprooting our family. "Won't yo

limmer of hope. His words were a desperate attempt to find a solution, a compromise that would allow us to stay behind, to avoid the hards

for our family, the love for our children, the love that drove him to want to protect us from harm. And I knew that I had to be strong, I had to be brave

rom your love and support. We'll have to go there together, as a family, and face whatever challenges come our way." I said

f holding onto hope itself, and looked into his eyes, searching for the resolve that I knew was there. "God will see us through," I sa

ain, his eyes never leaving mine, his face a picture of determination. "The only problem now is where we are going to stay when we get there," I added

ace for us to call home, a place where we can rest our heads and feel safe." He paused, his brow furrowed in thought, as if trying to remember every

ce breaking into a smile, a smile that spoke of hope and new beginnings. "So, we'll have a place to stay, a place to call our own, even if we don't know exactly where

nity. We packed our belongings into a van, carefully loading each item with a sense of nostalgia and uncertainty. O

lung to us, refusing to let go, their small hearts heavy with the weight of change. But we knew we had to go, compelled by a higher calling to fo

thought, our minds whirling with questions and doubts. But we pressed on, fueled by our faith and determination, knowing

l beneath. As we entered the village, a sense of unease settled over us, like a shroud cast by the ominous landscape. And then, we saw it - a black statue looming before us, its impos

semblance of normalcy, but finding none. Instead, I swiftly covered my head with my scarf, as if shielding myself from the malevolent energy emanating from the statue. The silence in the car was palpable, punctua

h held onto each other in a very tight hug, as if seeking comfort and protection in each other's embrace. Their eyes were wide with fear, their faces pale with anxiety, as they gazed at the

hem what little comfort and reassurance I had, and pray that we would emerge from this nightmare unscathed. So I reached out, placing a gentle hand on their shoulders, trying to offer some semblance of calm in the midst of this c

d urgent, the words tumbling out in a fervent whisper. I recognized the language of the Spirit, a language that only the most devout and faithful could understand. I was about to tell him to

oud and insistent, a sharp rap-rap-rap that seemed to demand our attention. I didn't dare look up, didn't dare move, as if any sudden movement would provoke some malevolent force into action. The kids were still clinging t

s eyes still fixed on the statue, his face a mask of determination. "If there's nothing wrong, then let's leave here now," the stranger said, his tone firm but polite, as if urging us to de

fear, as my husband's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white with tension. I knew we had to leave, knew we had to get away from this place, but my

ing the soft dripping of the statue's "blood" and the heavy breathing of our children. As we began to drive away from the ominous statue, we decided to ask the first person we sa

be sharing this information. We nodded eagerly, our eyes locked on his, and he hesitated again before pointing down a narrow road that wound into the heart of the village. "It's down that way," he said, his voice b

Jesus'

My husband and I

away from us fast enough. My husband tried calling him back, his voice firm but polite, "Excuse me, sir! Please, come back! We need directions!" But the stranger ignored us, his ears seemingly closed t

f trying to ward off some evil spirit? The kids looked up at us, their eyes wide with worry, and I could feel the tension in the air, like a palpable force that threatened to suffocate us. My husband's face was set i

ination to find the parish house only growing stronger with each passing minute. We stopped to ask more people, showing them the address and directions we had been given, but each one shook their he

She couldn't have been more than ten years old, with a bright smile and curious eyes that sparkled in the fading light of day. As soon as we greeted her and asked her where we could find the parish house, she asked, "Are you the new priest and his family?" Her voice was high-pitched and full of e

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t in a determined expression, his jaw clenched in a resolute manner, as if he was willing the answer to be yes. And then, with a gentle nod, he replied "Yes", his voice firm and confident. The little girl's eyes lit up with a bright smile, and she nodded enthusiastically, as if she had

picked it up with ease, his muscles flexing beneath his sleeves, and placed it carefully in the back of the car. The little girl didn't seem to notice, too focused on leading us to our destination. She hopped into the car, her small frame bouncing up and down on the seat as she settled in. "Okay, let's go!" she chirped, her voice full of enthusiasm. And with th

ng 9 years old was a significant achievement. I chuckled and nodded, impressed by her confidence. "Well, Nneoma, it's nice to meet you," I said, trying to pronounce her name correctly. "You're very helpful, showing us the way to the parish house." Nneoma beamed with pride, clearly pleased with herself, and con

that's right," my husband replied, his voice gentle and warm. "We're here to share the love of God with your community and learn from them as well." Layla nodded enthusiastically, her braids bobbing up and down. "Father Michael told us you were coming. He said you would help us build a new church and teach us more about God's word."

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se of yearning. "They worship the spirits of the land and the ancestors, but I have always felt a void in my heart, a sense that there must be something more," she explained, her words pouring out like a river. "I've tried to share the word of God with them, but they laugh and say I'm foolish to believe in a God I've never seen," she said, her

on, which seemed to far surpass that of many adults we had met. Her words were like a breath of fresh air, a ray of hope in a place where darkness and ignorance seemed to reign supreme. We were amazed that despite being surrounded by idol worshippers, she had managed to hold on to her faith, and was even eager to share it with others. Her

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ought back a few months ago when my Aunty lost her husband. That

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is words pouring out like a river. "To hear such wisdom and understanding from someone so young, living in a village where many don't share your beliefs, is truly a wonder," he added, his voice full of awe. "You are a shining light in this place, Layla, and we are honored to be a part of your journey," he said, his smile stil

, It was quite ok but was lo

ve at least allowed me to come here first to clean

f a dirty environment right? Abeg sit somewher

. We prayed, seeking strength and guidance, and started cleaning up, but just as we were making progress, a middle-aged woman marched into the house, her wrapper tied tightly around her waist, her face set in a fierce scowl. She marched straight to Layla, her eyes blazing with anger, grabbed her right ear, and started beating and dragging her out of the house, all the while speaking in a language that

d suspicion. We greeted them warmly, trying to break the ice, and explained our situation, telling them that we needed water to mop the house and make it habitable. But to our surprise, one of the young men spoke to us in pidgin English, his voice firm and unyielding, telling us that there was no water to be had. "No water here," he said, his words like

hat looked like fresh blood, its deep red color and thick consistency making it almost indistinguishable from the real thing. We were taken aback, our minds racing with questions and fears. What kind of people would give us blood instead of water? Was this some kind of twisted joke or a sinister warning?

Jogbo" The

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