The Chronicles Of Chrioni: Interviewing God

I was in Asaba, Delta state this past weekend. I elected to go by road. It was fun. 

We stopped at Lokoja, Kogi state for light refreshments.
My girlfriend recently commissioned a water park there, Enez Waterworld.
The place is a wonder.
Pure genius.
A very pregnant cash cow there.

Somewhere within the fish market, I stopped to ogle at some beads. I chose there to flirt back at the cutest four – year old Fulani child in her mother’s arms. 

The child started it. 

In the end, I think I won the hearts of mother and child. 

Harmless fun. 

There was an envelope placed under the wiper of my truck by the time we got back to the convoy of vehicles. Between the windscreen and the wiper.
We were traveling with military escorts armed to the teeth. They were supposed to stand guard at all times. Yet none of them saw the delivery guy. Even though two of them were stationed by the vehicle the entire time.

The envelope was addressed to me.

The Tactical Response military attaché returned the envelope seven minutes later and declared it anthrax free… et al.

Lovely cursive… Faint smell of myrrh.
Yes, myrrh.
I just know the fragrance, I am gifted like that.
I rarely allow contributions to my blog. But this I had to allow. Let me know your thoughts…

{“To the entirety of creation,
As penned by my own hand, in my capacity as chief scribe, I Chrioni, messenger of ‘The Holy of Holies’, doth write…

‘The Most High’ simply summoned me, Chrioni, to take notes. I was not privy to the “how” or the “why” of the interview.

‘El Shaddai’ was clearly interested in this lady. He seemed to have toned down His glory a bit. He seemed to be trying to get her comfortable by appearing more human.

She looked desperate, hungry …, ordinary actually.
But then we messengers are yet to fully comprehend what ‘Jehovah Tsidkenu’ sees in humanity.

I took my place adjacent to them both. She sat directly opposite ‘Jehovah Rapha.’

Ask Me…” His usually thunderous voice gently prompted.

“Where did you come from Lord?” She quipped. Her voice was steady and clear, devoid of fear or intimidation.

‘Jehovah Rohi’ smiled and simply replied, I AM!

He went on to add, “Your real quest is not to know where I am from. You wonder how I do all I do. You wonder why I allow what I permit. You, (more than most) , are truly interested in My Mind. You want to know what makes Me ‘God’.”

The human nodded enthusiastically.

“…My ‘powers’ are not anchored to my whereabouts. My ability is not power at all.
Power is how you rationalize my essence. My essence is my imagination.
All of creation is simply how I imagined it to be…
This ability is latent in all of humanity.
There is nothing impossible to you…
Hold a thought progressively until you see it. Then speak what you have seen…”

The ‘Strong and Breasted One’ spoke with the human for a long time.

I am not permitted to divulge all they spoke of.
For reasons best known to ‘The Author and The Finisher of Our Faith’ , on this day, He granted an interview to a mortal. A woman of uncommon beauty and faith.

After the interview, He bade me to seek another human.
You, Dan Ochu-Baiye.
He said you would do the needful with this text.

Though it was she that interviewed Him, He forbade her to talk about the time spent with Him ever after.

May The Lamb and all the twelve elders bear me witness…
May The Comforter and every messenger able to, bear me witness…

I have completed my task. I have done as instructed.

By my own hand,




I could sense her.

Her eyes on my back. All over my body. I couldn’t see her, but I knew someone was very interested in me.

I’m forty. Married. And in the UK vacationing.
And yes, I was wearing my wedding band.

She was beside me before I could turn. I turned just as she reached out to tap my shoulder.

We both froze… I don’t know what made her pause, but mine was because of a few reasons:-

Yes she was as beautiful as they come.
Yes she was curvaceous and yummy.
Yes she was high or tipsy or both…
But most striking was her youth. She was all of sixteen. And looked eighteen. As a retired connoisseur, I could perceive the right hormones oozing off her sultry form.

At that moment, I started to hear my bruv’s voice of caution,

“Dude, out here, the sort of women you like, are jailbait! They age differently here.”

And here she was. Smiling seductively at me and intent on whispering everything in my ear… Did her cleavage have to be so… there?! Sigh!!

“I’m too old for you.” I ventured directly.

She sidled closer with a broader smile.

“I’m bad news. The sort your mummy warned you about.”

She practically gasped in arousal, warm unclad body parts glued to me.

It dawned on me at that point that anything I said next would unleash the sexual tsunami brewing within the young teen.
Whatever she had been smoking, snorting, eating, anally-absorbing, shooting-up or drinking was good stuff. She was in a good place.

“I’m not high.” She quipped,

And from her voice It occurred to me then that she wasn’t. This was a proper problem now!

“I think you’re a right legend. And I want you.”


I immediately sat up straight and extended my hand,
“Bond… James Bond… The negro version.”

She squealed in good humour and the brunette bombshell was suddenly in my arms. I swear I didn’t hug her back.
As I (grudgingly) extracted my married self from her surprisingly ‘octopusian grips’ she began peppering available portions of my face with kisses.

“Wahala dey o!” I lamented as my people are wont to.

Long story short, I didn’t want witnesses. So I suggested we take a walk.
She blew kisses at a bevy of equally hot and giggly friends, who all either snarled, batted eyelids, or waved at me on our way out of the pub.

Long story shorter still, there’s nothing quite like the crisp chill on a cold winter night to quell ardour.
And nothing quite like fresh air to clear the senses and leave you room to make proper decisions.

I returned her back to The Artillery Arms thirty minutes later. In good health, no longer in lust, though I suspect, now in love.

We had exchanged BB pins and email addresses. Yeah, I’m hybrid old school like that.

May not seem like much, but I was impressed by me.
I can be nice; I am not necessarily nice.