A Collection of Short Stories

Bankole Banjo
Fourteen Years
speak up now or forever hold your peace,” the officiating Bishop announced unrushed, each
word reverberating off the silence in the cathedral.
Inwardly, he sighs. Having never witnessed such an objection in his many years on earth,
he adjudges this portion another banal requirement that ought to be done away with. He
desperately wants to yawn, but he puts up a sterling veneer. It is an art well honed from years
of practice. After all, he is going to be the Archbishop’s son-in-law.
“If there is no one, then we shall proceed,” said the Bishop in a rote manner with which
persons conversant with church weddings are all too familiar.
“Before nko,” the groom mutters to himself as the Bishop broaches a sermonette about the
sanctity of marriage. He hears without really listening and waits for the only part that matters
to him.
“Do you, Adeagbo David, take Ilekhomon Elizabeth, as your lawfully wedded wife, to have
and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness
and in health, until death do you part?
“I do,” he answers firmly with a depth and fullness in his voice, as he peered lovingly yet intently
into the eyes of his pretty bride. She blushes shyly, and casts a glance of adoration at the
diamond-encrusted ring rested on her fourth finger.
The Bishop turns to the woman and recites the same lines.
“I do,” she replies with tangible excitement and the church comes alive with a standing ovation.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the Bishop shouts above the thunderous applause.
*
That was the sign they had been waiting for.
All six of them got out of the mini bus and jogged towards the east window of the cathedral.
They approached with axes in hand, chanting the Creed of the Hyenas in unison;
45