There is this guy, we’ll just call him Tolu.
Young, bright chap in junior secondary school, Tolu had one simple task everyday; to wash his school uniform and then iron it. 2 tasks? whatever, who’s counting?
But like most boys his age, Tolu always left it for later to focus on more important things.
So in the middle of the night, our boy sneaks into his little brother’s room to use the socket there since he already spoilt his, as expected. His stealth game is very commendable, except for his one screw up.
His little brother who is sleeping is that type that won’t stop rolling and kicking in his sleep, so just as Tolu drops the hot iron on top of the bed, little brother rolls over, and the iron kisses the edge of his leg.
Little brother winces, but he doesn’t wake up. When Tolu thinks about the potential beating mummy is going to give him, he packs everything and takes off. Just as he is stepping into his room, he hears little brother scream to life in pain.
The parents rush in. They see their son writhing in pain with a burn mark across the his calf. There is only one explanation.
Must be the devil.
So they start firing prayer. By morning, they head out to go and see everybody else who knows how to pray, across religions.
Our guy Tolu is just observing carefully. He wants to talk but the longer he takes to talk, the more his beating is likely to mount, so he keeps quiet.
He keeps quiet for six years.
One day, Tolu is now in University having a conversation with his kid brother who loves God so much. They are talking about a school course on people and their encounters with the spiritual. Then little brother starts to recount his own experience with the spiritual, that time the devil touched his leg.
“There is something you must know,” Tolu says, “It wasn’t the devil. It was me.”
Over to you.
That encounter you had with the spiritual. Was it really the devil, or just someone’s hot iron?