For some reason, I felt like a fish flipping and flapping on the sand trying to find a place to fit in. Now don’t judge me, but I needed to try something new. A motivational speaker that came to our school then spoke, and I quote, “Leave your comfort zone so that you will move forward.” That was exactly what I did; I left my comfort zone.
Meeting John’s arrival was not coincidental, because I was waiting outside our church for my friend after rehearsals when he came over to me. He greeted me first and then went ahead to mention how sonorous my voice was.
He must have noticed my surprised expression, and then he said he came to visit my pastor, as he was his young cousin who just moved to Lagos from the east. I nodded without giving a reply just because I was too surprised to give a reply. My friend came around, so we left.
He stood there looking obviously surprised because I didn’t say a word as I left him and followed my friend. That was rude of me, I thought, but then I was not rude because my mother already told me not to talk to strangers. Who even says that to a twenty-one-year-old girl? But then here is Lagos, where anything is possible. Here I am, questioning and answering myself in my mind.
‘Who was that fine guy? My friend Nonye inquired. ‘He is our pastor’s cousin,’ I replied. ‘Wow, that’s good, so Pastor has a cousin so young and fine like that? She asked again. ‘I guess that question isn’t for me, right? “You should ask the pastor when you see him,” I replied back at her. She rolled her eyes back at me as we both walked home. It irritates me when people ask questions with an obvious answer.
I ran home as I held onto my slip; I had just gotten 278 in my JAMB score. This was a distant score from what I got last year. I read like no man’s business this year because I don’t want to stay at home another year. I had spent 2 years at home already, and finally God allowed there to be a breakthrough for me. I got home so ecstatic that my dad bought some drinks for the whole family that evening. He spoke on how I should make the family proud on this new journey I am about to embark on. I was so excited that I dreamt of school in my sleep that night.
I resumed school some months later, fully ready for the life ahead, or so I thought. As a freshman and a novice in the university, I treaded carefully. My routine check for each day was from lectures to the library and then fellowship. There were so many invitations to different fellowships in school, but I decided to attend my church fellowship because I wanted to feel at home there.
I hurriedly came out of my hostel, as I was late for an afternoon lecture. “Idara, Idara.” I turned to see if I was the one being called, as I wasn’t the only person around, and anyone could be bearing the name “Idara.” I turned around back on my way for lectures only to hear footsteps so close to me, and a hold of my arm. I turned and saw that it was John. I was surprised. What was John looking for in my school? He smiled widely at me, and the surprised look on my face gradually changed into a small smile.
‘You must be surprised, Idara. I wasn’t sure it was you, so I called your name,’ said John. ‘Good afternoon, Sir,’ I said. I asked what he was looking for in my school, and he said it was his school also. Are you also in the 100 level? I asked. He smiled and said he was on a mission to get his doctorate degree. It felt like a relief because he wasn’t so young, and he looked way older than I was. I told him I needed to go to class, as I was late already. He smiled again and asked for my phone number, which I gave to him. There was a smile on his face all through as he punched my number into his phone, and I said a bye to him. He called out that he would see me later as i hurriedly left.
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It’s been 6 months and three days; each passing day has drawn John and i closer. He has taught me a lot of things and provided for me when I was in need so that I hardly ever have to call home. He would speak to my mom once in a while, and they, my parents, believed I was in good hands, as he was our pastor’s cousin.
There were times John would visit our pastor’s church to minister to the youths. Everyone loved his ministration, because as he ministered in words, he would chip in some little jokes that would make everyone laugh out loud. He could sing too, as he has a smooth baritone voice.
As we became close, there were times John would look at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, but I dismissed it as “brotherly concern.” One evening, in his off-campus apartment, the atmosphere shifted. He began talking about “higher spiritual liberties.”
Idara,” he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, scholarly tone I had grown to admire, “God isn’t a legalist. He looks at the heart. These ‘rules’ your parents and the church hold onto? They are milk for babes. We are called to a deeper, more intimate knowledge.”
I should have run then. I should have remembered my mother’s voice. But John was a PhD candidate, the Pastor’s cousin, and my provider. When he first held my hand during “prayer,” I thought it was spiritual connection. When he first kissed me, he told me it was a “holy kiss” of a higher dimension
“Idara, you go there too often,” he said one evening as we sat outside a café near campus. “You need to relax sometimes. Balance is important.”
At first, I resisted.
“But today is Bible study,” I replied.
He smiled gently, almost amused. “Missing it once will not make heaven close its gates against you.”
That night I missed fellowship for the first time.
It felt strange.
The next week he suggested we study together at his place instead of going to the prayer meeting.
“It’s still productive,” he assured me.
The second time was easier.
By the third time, I didn’t even think about it.
My life slowly changed its rhythm. The girl who once moved from lectures to the library and then to fellowship now moved from lectures to wherever John suggested we go. Sometimes it was dinner. Sometimes a movie. Sometimes gatherings with people I had never met before.
Slowly, the library was replaced by his living room. My fellowship songs were replaced by the secular playlists he claimed helped him “study the human condition.” He convinced me that my guilt was just “religious bondage” and that true grace meant being free to explore each other.
By the end of my second semester, the girl who was ecstatic about her JAMB score was gone. I was a shadow, skipping lectures to nurse the hollow ache in my soul while John spoke of his “doctorate in divinity” by day and led me into darkness by night. My path hadn’t been straightened; it had been dismantled. I had left my comfort zone, just like the speaker said, but I had walked straight out of the garden and into the desert.
My Bible sat quietly on my table, untouched for days.
Then weeks.
Yet each time my parents called, their voices were full of relief.
“Thank God John is there with you,” my mother would say. “We are happy you are in good hands.”
I would smile into the phone and say yes.
But deep down, something restless had begun to grow inside me.
It was in year 3 second semester when met with him outside our church when the truth began to dawn on me.
That evening I returned to my hostel later than usual. The campus was unusually quiet, and as I walked into my room, my eyes fell on my Bible lying exactly where I had left it months ago.
I picked it up slowly.
Dust had gathered along the edges.
My chest tightened.
When I opened it, the page fell to a verse that seemed to leap straight at me:
“Do not be deceived: Bad company corrupts good character.”(1 Corinthians 15:33)
The words struck my heart like a hammer.
Tears rolled down my face as memories flooded back; prayer meetings, choir rehearsals, nights of studying Scripture, the excitement I once felt whenever I stepped into fellowship.
Where had that girl gone?
Like Lot in the Scriptures, I had not moved to Sodom in a single day.
First, I had only looked toward it.
Then I walked closer.
And before I realized it, I was living in it.
John had not only dragged me away from God.
He had simply made the distance comfortable.
And the most painful truth was this: the same man my parents believed was strengthening my spiritual life had quietly become the reason it was fading.
I sank to my knees beside my bed.
For the first time in months, the words of prayer felt heavy on my lips.
“Lord… I want to come back.”
My journey to university had started with dreams of success and faith.
But somewhere along the road, I had left Zion and unknowingly begun walking toward Sodom.
And I learned a lesson I will never forget:
Not everyone who stands close to the altar belongs there.
Some people look like blessings but are carefully disguised distractions.
That night, as tears fell onto the pages of my Bible, I made a decision.
No matter how far the road had taken me, I would find my way back to Zion.
Because the path away from God may begin quietly…you.
But the journey back must begin with one honest prayer.
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