"Excuse me, I hear you're, like, from Africa." I looked at her. She was barely a teenager, rather attractive, and seemingly naive. I nodded my head and responded "Yup."
She spoke again, "do you people, like, believe in exorcism and stuff?" I knew what she was getting at. "Yes," I replied, "I go to the gym once a week. Have to keep in shape. Exercise often." With that I started to walk off. I tried to play dumb, but she wouldn't give up. She ran after me. "No, I mean exorcism, you know. Like in the movies, where they cast out spirits and stuff like that."
I began to get uneasy but she was relentless. "Please sir! I need your help." I turned to face her. Her eyes were soft... pleading. I couldn't just leave her alone. I had heard what happened to her mother, her only off-kin, but I didn't know much about these matters. If it was my brother that would be a different story. He was more or less a pastor, and was well-versed in the art of deliverance or "exorcism" as these crazy first-worlders called it.
I decided to help her out in any way I could. "Listen, I know what you want from me. But I'm not qualified. I'll bring my brother to your place tomorrow and he'll help you out." She almost burst into tears. "Thank you very much sir! Thank you! Thank you!" She skipped off, leaving me rather uneasy. I didn't even know that my brother was going to have time, or even want to do this. But it was worth a shot.
The next day I found myself panicking. My brother had to stay an extra week in Brooklyn. I couldn't think of anyone else who could do such exorcism, but for my cousin Otuagga in Houston. It would be ridiculous for Otuagga to travel from Houston at any manner of short notice. I looked at the time. I had about ten minutes. "Excuse me," I stopped a passer-by, "Do you know how to cast out demons?" I couldn't understand why he looked at me the way he did. He must be racist, I thought. Can't I ask a simple question? I decided that I'd go to the girl's house and tell her what was going on--tell her that my brother couldn't make it.
I started shuffling my feet until I eventually broke into a walk and arrived at the house ten minutes later. Before I could ring the bell, the front door opened and the young girl was there beaming. "Thank God you're here. Hurry please. You're the only one that can help me and mama!"
I tried to protest, but her young hands dragged me through the hallway and into their apartment on the first floor. At least there was no possibility of me getting thrown out thirteen stories. Inside the apartment was a mess. There was paper everywhere, and books lay strewn on the floor. I saw several pictures also lying on the floor, most of them of the girl, her mother and a man whom I presumed was her father. Poor girl. Her father must be no more, and now this?
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