I am distressed when I share confined space with believers and their every word is filled with God delusion.
I am distressed when religious leaders accuse children of witchcraft and those self-styled prophets are allowed to freely abuse vulnerable people under the pretence of casting out demons.
I am distressed that the opinions of religious leaders are deemed more important than scientific evidence.
I am distressed that creationism is taught in all Nigerian public schools but evolution hardly made it to a biology class curriculum.
I am distressed when I get a group mail message from a feminist group, asking for prayers for a sister who is seriously ill in hospital and members start sending prayers to different Gods.
I am distressed that I am most likely to get banned and be isolated from such feminists groups if I sent a response suggesting practical assistance might actually help more than praying to our different skydaddies e.g. financial assistance, volunteering to take or pick up her children from school or just writing her encouraging letters and asking her how we can be of practical help. Actually such suggestion cost me a long time feminist friend.
I am distressed when religion makes me lose intellectual respect for those I used to like because in all honesty, I cannot have any intellectual respect for someone who believes there was a talking snake, a Noah’s ark or gladly quotes the commandments of a war mongering, pedophile prophet.
I am distressed that I almost choke with disbelief whenever I am forced to share passenger seats with Nigerian religious believers, even in a London red bus, as they loudly narrate and gesticulate profusely on their phone to their captive audience at the unseen end, about how God just saved them from the evil plots of wicked village people, who somehow from the remote part of a Nigerian village, managed to use ‘juju/ voodoo’ to send UK immigration after them in London.
I am distressed by the ignorance and bigotry of religious believers.
I am distressed at how vindictive many believers are in the name of religion. The faithfuls are always praying to their Skydaddy and his warrior angels to destroy and kill their enemies by ‘fire by force’, never a word of love, always an orgy of vengeful vendetta.
I am distressed that I can hardly hold a conversation with Nigerians including some members of my family without them mentioning God in every sentence.
I am distressed that the God delusion has broken families and driven a wedge between many family members with the many accusations and counter accusations of witchcraft.
I am distressed that quotes from the Bible and Quran are deemed perfectly good reasons to oppress women and even stone to death gays, lesbians, bisexuals, Trans and women accused of committing adultery.
I am distressed every time I see a picture of a blue eyed, blonde Jew on a cross hanging on the wall of a public school, a village church or from my mother’s bedroom because it is another reminder of colonization and mental slavery.
I am distressed because the Gods now embraced by Africans have no physical or cultural resemblance to them; it is another reminder that Nigerians import everything, including Gods. Africa can’t even export its own Gods.
I am distressed when the sculpture of a white, pale woman aka ‘Holy Mary’ occupies a place of pride in the center of a remote village in Nigeria. It is distressing that even though the foreign sculpture has no resemblance to the village inhabitants, it is somehow deemed the most sacred sculpture in the village.
I am distressed when an African quotes from the Bible or Quran to justify the oppression of another. I wondered if they did not read the parts in their precious holy books that clearly states that they are not the chosen race, that it is OK for the chosen race to enslave them, rape their wives, kill their children and animals. Do they have such short memory that they have forgotten that the bible and the Quran they hold in such high esteem were used to do just that to their ancestors?
I am distressed that it is increasingly becoming difficult to have adult friends who do not have imaginary friends; they all talk about having a friend in Jesus, angels and skydaddy.
I am distressed that even though I am the one who does not believe in a talking snake, a talking donkey, a virgin mother, a Noah’s ark that ferried all living things on earth, yet somehow I am the one the believers call crazy.
Even though I am distressed by all these absurdities, I am happy I am not one of the believers. To be called ‘crazy’ by ignorant people is indeed a compliment.