God’s Testicles – Jekwu Anyaegbuna

“Don’t be afraid, Reggie.”

“Tim, I trust you. Why should I be scared? I can’t wait to breastfeed my baby.”

Looking down from the mountainside, I see Ilorin is a cityscape of neem trees and lonely streets, an urban sprawl of streetlights, blinking telephone masts, white-painted houses, lighted minarets and corrugated-iron roofs. What a fine city! But who needs modern amenities when the testicles need an urgent amendment?

When we arrive at the church, Prophet Elijah has lit green, red, orange and yellow candles, and placed one in each of the four corners of the dark interior. A lantern hangs from the ceiling, and through the small windows, slanting rays of the moon cut the darkness. The smell of incense hangs heavy inside. On the beveled altar, he’s placed a bare brown mattress, keeping it firm with a huge stone on each of the four corners. I wonder what the duo of cymbals in the center of the mattress are there for. Maybe they represent togetherness or, perhaps, they’re our unborn twins. That would be interesting.

He grabs the cymbals, wanders over to the cane chair facing the mattress, and sits down, holding a wooden cross in his left hand. He mumbles a hasty prayer and sprinkles holy water on the mattress. He asks us to undress and lie down. Regina moves towards the mattress, and I follow suit. When we’ve both stripped off our clothes, he places the wooden cross on top of his Bible and begins to hit his pair of cymbals together.

“You can start now,” he says.

“Let’s make it happen,” I tell Regina, with lots of enthusiasm in my voice.

We don’t have our usual foreplay; it’s a waste of time tonight. The faster we make love, the quicker a baby will form in Regina’s womb. She hugs me while I carry out my duty. I’m panting already.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the prophet swallow hard. He appears entertained as he nods his satisfaction and even smiles, but what can I do? My wife and I are desperate to have a baby. Even if it means having sex in a shopping mall, it doesn’t matter, provided the pattering feet of a child will be heard on the floor of our bedroom.

My ejaculation doesn’t come quickly, but the prophet’s cymbals provide me with a don’t-be-tired-at-work song and I press on. I notice Regina is huffing, getting exhausted, perhaps because she’s not used to this type of stiff mattress.

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  1. Mmadubugwu Okafor says:

    ‘What seems to be an easy path usually is the most difficult to navigate.’ ~Unknown

    An interesting read!

    I commend you for this beautiful piece. It was funny and entertaining, yet informative.

    I like that you highlighted Tim’s negligence of a possible solution, all because of money, only to patronize a ‘holy service’ offering little or no assistance towards his aspirations. This is the stark reality of many men in Africa who believe in supernatural healing than their scientific counterpart. Running campaigns for awareness for men’s health while making provision of access to finance, will go a long way to solve these simple issues.

    At the point I read that Tim had chimpanzee balls for a meal, I reclined and thought, “how many more animals to go?” Lol.

    I await your next short story. Well done!

  2. Gitonga Munyi says:

    Wow! A beautifully crafted master piece. Bravo!

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