“Today, seven years ago, I lost my brother to a twisted faith.”
Layi and I were more than just siblings; we were public-pieced twins, born approximately a year apart. Our parents loved our closeness and outsiders coveted our relationship.
As we grew older, time etched its mark on Layi. He slowly morphed into someone different from his normal self. He would often seclude himself; his personality and behavior became unpredictable. Our father was almost absent, making him the unlikely one to notice Layi’s struggles. On the other hand, Mom was visibly concerned and the only way she could help was to strengthen her faith on his behalf. She did more solo vigils and was swift to attend any organized by the local church.
Layi’s behavior became more erratic pretty quickly. As time passed, he began a daily ritual of walking down the street, engaging in a disturbingly loud monologue. The things he uttered were foreboding. Once he said to a lady, Linda:
“You’re a witch and you’ll meet your end soon in hell.”
The young lady was a harmless passerby who went home paranoid this eerie day. In no time, the whole street knew of Layi’s mental state and would keep their distance from any of us. Living on Kalà Street became a tough one for our family. The news spread fast among households on the street and the pitiful stares and gossip embarrassed Mom.
Mom’s pastor, aware of the situation could only offer to render some spiritual help. Fortunately, this was around the same time as the annual crusade of St. Patrick’s church. It’s no hearsay as Mom was a witness to the miracles happening in the sacred auditorium. She owed her sister’s emancipation after being wrongly accused at her workplace to the amazing wonders occurring within St. Patrick’s walls.
It was hard to get Layi to the crusade ground. He had to be restrained for the entire seven-day duration. After the program, he was perhaps a little worse off. This experience was an unusual one and the pastor wouldn’t give up on him anytime soon.
While Mom was seldom away from her child, Layi was moved from the crusade ground to the church premises. As days turned into weeks, Layi’s mental condition only worsened. The pastor, determined to save him, continued to pray and fast. From his experience, he had handled and cast out more stubborn demons. But despite his best efforts, Layi’s behavior became more erratic.
The pastor, however, refused to give up. He believed he was on the verge of a breakthrough and Layi’s healing was just around the corner. But with every passing week, it became clear that something was wrong.
Layi’s physical health began to deteriorate, and he became gaunt and frail. Our mother pleaded with the pastor to get him some medical assistance, but he refused. Again, “It’s one of the devil’s tricks,” he said.
“Hospitals aren’t the best for cases like this. They will only fill him with useless medication. We must trust in the power of prayer.”
But as months dragged on, it became clear that the pastor’s ego was getting in the way of Layi’s recovery. More determined to prove that his faith was stronger than any medical intervention, he refused to listen to any reason.
Layi’s echoing screams were the haunting highlight of one evening. His eyes were wild and unfocused, lashing out at the man of God. With a face wrapped in fear and determination, the pastor tried restraining him after he had let himself lose.
“Get away from me!” Layi screamed. “You’re no man of God!”
The pastor, his eyes flashing with anger, raised his hand and struck Layi across the face. Layi crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
In a shocking turn of events, the pastor stood up, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.
“It’s over,” he muttered. “We’ve overcome the devil.”
A few hours later, Layi’s eyes flickered open, but it was a short-lived victory. His mental state was beyond repair and the pastor’s refusal to seek medical help had sealed his fate.
Suddenly, our mother finally stood up to the pastor, her voice shaking with anger and grief. With tears trickling down her eyes, she accused:
“You’ve done nothing to him. You’ve only kept him here all these months.”
The pastor’s face fell, but it was too late. Although it was time to get Layi to the hospital, the damage was already done. Still within his restraint, he had glaring vacant eyes and a numb heart, telling of a mind lost to darkness.
While we scrambled to get him help, he broke free from his leash and fought his way to freedom. Till today, Layi remains in the shadows with our faith hedged in his cold gaze.
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