When I took him home as the man I was going to marry, my parents were surprised. They raised me, and they knew me too well to know the effect of my choices. Later, my dad asked me, “Are you sure you can marry a pastor?” My mom added, “With this your character?”

Nathan was a young pastor filled with the Spirit, but I saw him as more than a pastor. He loved me in a way no man had shown me and made promises no man had made. He didn’t say God had chosen me to be his wife, the cliché other men of God use to get their women. He said, “If you accept my proposal today, we can marry tomorrow.”

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We dated for five months and married in the sixth month.

Right after marriage, he started policing my dressing. “You know you’re the wife of a pastor. You can’t wear this to work. It’s too short.”

Or too revealing. Or it showed too much cleavage. Or the dress was hugging my body too much. Even if I wore short knickers in the house, he would tell me to go and change.

I got pregnant in the first year of our marriage. I went through the pregnancy with ease. Then, a year later, the second pregnancy followed. At that time, his role in the church had changed. He had been made the head of evangelism, so he travelled a lot to branches and new places where the church wanted to establish new branches.

One evening, his phone rang. I took the phone to the room, only to find him sleeping. I put the phone on silent, placed it next to him, and went back to putting the kids to sleep. When I returned, the phone had rung several times, and it was the same caller, Moses.

I knew one Moses in church. I thought it was him, so when the call came again, I picked up. Before I could say, “Moses, my husband is sleeping,” a voice greeted, “Nathan, why are you not picking up my calls?”

It was a female voice.

Everyone called my husband Pastor or Man of God, but this lady just mentioned his name like that. Immediately she heard my voice, she cut the call.

My curiosity was piqued. I had always known my husband’s password to be Psalm 93. I keyed it in, and the phone opened. I checked his WhatsApp, and the first chat was from Moses. What caught my attention was her DP. She had a nice tattoo on top of her breast.

I went through the messages, and what I saw knocked me off my righteousness. Every photo this lady had sent was against the dictates of the heavenly throne. There were videos of her and my husband in a room, and she was wearing this skimpy dress that made it look like she had nothing on at all.

I said the devil was a liar. Every inch of the thread of messages revealed something crazier.

I left Moses and went to other messages. I didn’t even bother to check messages from women. I checked Pastor Noah’s messages.

Another woman he was seeing.

That one was also sending him nudes. The relationship was new. They hadn’t even met, though they had plans to meet.

Another message from Elder Sampson also revealed something crazier.

Another woman he was sexually involved with.

I slapped his thighs and woke him up. I started reciting all the names like I was possessed. “These people are all women you’re seeing?”

He looked at his phone as if it was something that had been defiled. Then he grabbed me by the neck, screaming with horror in his eyes, “Who asked you to go through my phone? Who sent you? Is the phone for you?”

I feared for my life. I thought I wasn’t going to make it through the night. I was choking, with my eyes almost coming out of their sockets. I couldn’t even breathe or beg.

He pushed me to the floor and left the room.

I saw him again the next morning. He came with two respectable people from the church to plead with me to let things go. I asked if they knew what the problem was, and one said, “No matter what the problem is, it’s not bigger than God. Let’s leave it in His hands.”

He didn’t apologize.

After those people were gone, he told me I shouldn’t have gone through his phone and that all those messages I saw, I had taken them out of context. They were people who needed deliverance, and he was working on it.

“You have to get into their world to know how to deliver them.”

I smiled and said, “Thank you for letting me know the truth.”

Actually, what I intended to say was, “Thank you for taking me for a fool, but this fool knows the truth when she sees it.”

I left home when he wasn’t there. I didn’t even pick a toothbrush. I picked up the kids and disappeared.

I narrated the whole story to my parents, and they opened their eyes so wide as if they were watching the world disappear right before them. When I told them the explanation he gave me, they both screamed, “Ah, is he mad?”

He called in the evening when I wasn’t coming home, and I told him I couldn’t compete with Moses, Noah, and Elder Sampson, so I wasn’t coming home again.

“You’re putting asunder what God has put together?” he asked me.

At this point, I thought I had married a mad person or he was going through some mental sickness.

Again, he sent those same people he had brought to the house to come and meet my parents. My dad sacked them. He said he wasn’t going to talk to them without my husband.

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It took him two weeks to come home to see us. He said everything I said about him wasn’t true. Those ladies didn’t send nudes, and he wasn’t sexually involved with them. He said I saw what the devil wanted me to see, but God is supreme, so He would mend us.

I was watching him, and I was laughing. I asked myself, “Was he always like this and I didn’t see it because of love, or is my husband getting mad?”

As if my dad was reading my mind, he told him, “Seek psychological assessment. It doesn’t look like everything is okay up there.”

He says he won’t give me a divorce because his Bible didn’t teach him about divorce. Traditionally, we are done. He won’t come to court for us to get a legal divorce, but in my mind and soul, we are divorced.

—Dufie

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