GLITTERING STONE by Winlade Isreal

EPISODE ONE
The usual cold weather that comes with dryness that cracks lips and whiten people's body has finally come. It is now clear that the year was soon to end with the streets decorated with Christmas light and roundabouts having the statute of Santa Claus erected to mark Christmas. Lagosians have taken their work serious. Particularly, those that have relatives awaiting a present whenever they visit their village. The relatives wouldn't want to hear story. To them, Lagos is a city where naira notes hang on the tree and is readily available whenever lagosians want to pluck it. Lagosians are respected for their extravagance spending when they visit their village, though many don't know the stress they undergo to gather the money they are spending forcefully in the village.
Pastor Salawu and his family could no longer waste time waiting till after Christmas before they travel. Even if they wished to wait, they would have been forced to leave to avoid some notorious elements to draw the beard of the anointed man. Pastor Salawu sat on the cushion chair specially made for his comfort staring absentmindedly at Iya Mission, his wife who is picking the remains of the broken vase that fell while Covenant was taking cooking utensils to the market square where they will be boarding Korope to Moro. He was gone, gone out of the cushion on which he sat to the valley of thoughtfulness that he didn't hear the voice of his wife telling him that the bus driver said he cannot collect the amount they were offering for the transportation service to Moro. When Iya Mission noticed that his ears were shut to what she has been saying, she abandoned the broken pieces of vase she was picking and walked to where he was sitting. She patted his back to call his attention. He looked back with a shock, as if he suspected a snake crawling on his back. He was disappointed at his reaction when he discovered it was his wife.
"Daddy, thinking can't solve the problem on ground o. I'm sure you know that," she said softly depicting in the way she spoke, the biblical virtuous woman.
"I know... But... I just can't imagine where to start after all these years," he told her with a sober voice.
"I believe God's plan is a perfect one sha," she assured him to lift the burden in his heart. After all, he taught his congregation two weeks ago the reason why it is expedient to trust in the Lord, for he will manifest when all hope is lost. "Our God is a living God," he had said. Iya Mission broke the news he didn't hear earlier to him. Knowing fully well that he would be hurt by his inability to defy the situation and balance the requested amount, she informed him that Baba Rasheed, who he prayed for his son when he was traveling abroad paid the transport charges already when he saw her begging the driver with tears forming two parallel lines on her face when she went to the market in the morning. He was grateful, though it hurt him that he is becoming a wretched being who is pitied by all. He hates that life. But there is nothing he could do than swallow his pride and thank his benefactor for their kind gestures towards him. He stared at the wall where he hanged his portrait to remind his dying soul of how promising he was when he graduated twenty years ago from Baptist theological seminary Ogbomosho as the best student of his set. But he was disappointed. The portrait had been disposed from the wall. It has been parked together with the load the children carried to the bus stop. What he could see now is the blue painted wall the portrait was covering. He was still consoling himself with the word of exhortation his wife gave him earlier when he heard a conversation between his wife who was tidying the surrounding before they finally leave and a woman whose voice sounds familiar to his ears. He listened carefully has they discussed until the woman told the wife her name. Of course he was right to have thought the voice to be familiar to him. It