BY Chudi LightsOut Ozoalor.

You'll be walking with the man, and next thing you know, he's looking at the heavens and saying, "Yes, Lord. I hear you Lord."
He's over a hundred years old. Probably senile. Has a son, Isaac, who I think is a small walk away from being an imbecile. Likely because he was birthed with nintey-something years old semen, I dunno. But that boy is unwell.

So, today, we journeyed all the way to Moriah for what Abraham said would be a sacrifice that God had instructed him to carry out.
It was me, Abraham, Isaac and the brand new, tear-rubber Arabian donkey we bought for six hundred shekels.

First of all, minus Abraham's incessant whisperings towards the sky, I knew there was a problem when he didn't even allow anybody to ride on the donkey. Not me, not him and not that his slow boy Isaac. I mean, how can three mentally healthy people be trekking alongside a donkey? If you see this distance I'm telling you, you will shout. It's like going from Chad to Computer Village. From Ikotun to Benin republic. From Asokoro to Cameroon. And we were trekking it. Even Fulani herdsmen that had walked from Jalingo to Bethlehem were sorry for us.

"Oga Abraham, don't be vexing, but where's the animal for this sacrifice?"

He looked at his son, smiled, and told me God would provide.

He asked if I had a fire. Yes. And a dagger? Yes. And any sensible length of rope to bind this boy, sorry, bind the sacrifice? Still Isaac was there, moping, refusing to cotton on to what's going on.

Then at the foot of a mountain in Moriah, when we had finally arrived, Abraham left me and the donkey, took the fire, knife and binding wire, and asked Isaac, that gbomoro, to "Oya, be going in front."

Ah. I was waiting for the boy to protest; ask where the hell the sacrificial animal was. But what did he do? He walked.

"Give me your wrists, nwa oma."

And he submitted his wrists. Was bound very tight like a sacrificial lamb.

"But papa, where's the lamb?"

I'm in the bushes swearing to God that this one is an A-grade olodo. Abobi, sacrifice is you. You are so much like Jesus right now. You're the meek lamb, idiotua.

Small time, Abraham is shaking his head and moving his neck at odd angles like a possessed junkie, saying, "Speak Father, yes Yahweh, your sacrifice is here."

It was only then that Isaac started screaming, bleeding hot tears, "Mpa, mpa, mpa is me ooo. This is not lamb, mpa. Just watchigodu m first, dad. Iz me!"

By that time Abraham's eyes had rolled back and his irises were all up behind his forehead. Anya nwoke achago blood-blood. He was now singing songs from Last Burial and Igodo.

Chai! I knew I had to do something fast.

So from where I hid in the bushes, I said in a big, big voice: Abraaaaaam, Abraaaaaam!

"Sir?"

I said, "Do not lay a finger on that ijot son of yours for even though he has acted like a goat, he doesn't deserve to be killed by his own father."

"Okay, Chukwunna."

Then I used the voice of the Lord to command him to go to Ama Awusa and buy a ram for the sacrifice because the way I was seeing that man he would not have left Moriah without killing something.

So, yeah, that's it. That's how it all really went down. Abi have I ever lied to you?