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Mrs Evangelist 2

If you are just seeing this title for the first time, you should catch up on the first part, Mrs Evangelist.

PS: It is a true story, my story.

After the police incident, she became difficult to ignore. The inhabitants of the compound called a meeting to discuss how to handle her. It was at this point I realized my “neighbor-distance-syndrome” had shielded me from a lot of happenings.

Let me break it down, from the very beginning. This beautiful woman was married to a wealthy man, once. She had two wonderful children for him, who were in their 20s and 30s respectively. Her daughter had rented a house in the compound, in the quest for independence from her family drama. She divorced her husband and came to stay with her daughter. When she first moved in, she shared tracts, sang and prayed on top of her voice. She evangelized to the inhabitants, once in a while dropping judgement statements.

Neighbors found out from her daughter that she was a Pastor, so they tolerated her snickering, insults muttered under her breath. Even more, they tolerated the books she bought targeted to address the vices she found in them. She went ahead to write a book on marriage and became a marriage counselor. At this point, she had earned the name: “Mrs Evangelist” among neighbors. In the midst of all these, mother and daughter fought often, until the daughter moved out. That was the last time rent and any bill from that flat was paid. She was served a quick notice but every time she was served, the quick notice ended up in the bin.

At times, NEPA people (ehn correct me by saying PHCN or whatever they now call themselves, you sha understand) would be themselves and mix up wires, sometimes pumping machine would stop working, all these things will happen and she would do nothing to help. By nothing I mean, we all came together to pay money and fix and she would do nothing. She stopped coming out. I started noticing bins in front of her house, spoiled food left over by people. A lot was going on. We discussed that we will all just let her be.

She made it a thing to fight with anyone who knocked on her door.  Her fights always ended with a stern warning “Never knock on my door again”. This is often followed by series of insults.

It did not end here o!

Mrs Evangelist woke up recently irritated by the noise of kids playing in the compound. She lit newspaper and flung it at the kids. Adults around screamed in horror but this did not stop her. In fact, it agitated her even more. She boiled hot water and splashed it through her window. Then, she turned it up a notch, urinated and defecated in a bucket and poured it at the kids. It made a mess, splashed on the walls and covered the corridor of one of the flats. The compound was a mess.

The Landlord was called, he came with police men and she told them that he had raped her, this had broken her mentally and now he is trying to eject her from the house. The police were dumbfounded, the evidence of the mess and the new rape story confused them, so they left. The next day, she used the broken mirrors she kept at her window pane to cut the window net. She poured out her trash and biological waste, pampers and so many disgusting things.

We got together, decided it was time to get her help in a mental clinic. The psychiatrist said we had no right to admit her without family consent. We called her daughter, and she said “I want nothing to do with that woman”.

So, here we are! Stuck with a mentally challenged woman in the compound. Honestly, I am genuinely worried and I need advice on what to do.

How can we involve the state government?

Help oooo! Before one day, somebody will burn the house while we are all sleeping!!!

What can we do for Mrs Evangelist?

Mrs Evangelist

Mrs Evangelist because… you will find out at the end of this post.

Who is she? Is she okay? What can I d to help her? You tell me, when you are done reading.

This may not be a street diary topic, but then again, it may be! Maybe I should create a Tenant diary category (you should advise me on this). Okay, so the gist:

So, I moved into my new apartment. It was a block of flats in a compound. The house stood out in the midst of the other houses in the street. It looked like it did not belong there, in a good way. I was so happy when I found that house! If you have ever looked for a house in Lagos, especially the mainland, you will know what I mean. I really wanted to live on the mainland since I worked on the mainland… Back to the gist.

So, I got comfortable in my new house, keeping neighbors at safe distance. We were close enough to greet each other and ensure things were working in the compound e.g. light. We were far enough to not get into each other’s business. So I didn’t have any issues with anybody. My house was my haven. My neighbors were golden. Or so I thought.

Everyone seemed okay but I noticed one person who didn’t particularly fit into my perfect, or almost perfect neighbors. She seemed very social sometimes and other times, very moody. She stayed indoors a lot. I first noticed her when there was a persistent knock on her door at about 11pm, one night. She yelled at the person knocking, cursed and splashed water through her window.

At first I thought, “this person sef, why are you coming to see somebody by this time?”. Later I found out he was her son. Well, it’s pretty late in an African home. Next I noticed, her daughter had moved out. Well, that didn’t mean much to me either,  the girl was old enough. Next, she stopped answering my greeting, I thought, oh, she probably has a hearing problem. Then, I took ill and had this serious cough, she texted one of my neighbors “Why is there a sick girl here? Come and carry her before she dies” and the neighbor showed me.

I still made excuses o! I said maybe she was doing it with a good heart, the issue was probably delivery. Next thing she calls the police to arrest my only friend in the compound and another young man. Guess why? She said THEY WERE PLANNING TO KILL HER. Also, she said they were hitting her wall and not letting her sleep. I was weak. The police saw the gentlemen, called the caretaker to ascertain their credibility and they released them. At this point I started getting worried.

Did it stop there? Of course not.

Read Mrs Evangelist 2.