"I have always been a Christian since childhood. I know what you have to say...but you can go on, make it quick!" I told him, making a nasty sound with the gum in my mouth. My red lipstick screamed audacity, or was it my makeover that truly revealed my wildlife? I just turned twenty-three on the first day of May; a day many could have made the balloons go kaboom, but mine was opposite—it reminded me of the day I lost my agency over my body to raise money for my mother, who was diagnosed with leukemia. I was a five-month fresher at the university when I got the message from Kamsi, my twin sister, about her illness. The news stood my world; my vision dwindled momentarily, and night never came anymore. The quest to raise three million naira became the order of my day. My mother's kiosk at the quagmire of St. Muna Street wasn't worth half a million if sold. Just like the breaking of the dawn, my sorrow broke. I prayed for this cup to pass me by, but it overwhelmed me. I had no choice. I couldn't watch her die; even if she died, I needed to fight for her survival.

"I am glad you're a Christian. Let's pray." He said to me as he coughed. The smoke from the cigarette I held in my right hand was doing its thing. I extinguished it for him to have his way. 
"Amen. Do you know someone with the name Kambili?" He asked. I startled; it was my name, although I had none with such a name. 
"No, but that's my name," I answered reluctantly. 
"It's fine. Do you have an E-bible?" He inquired. At this moment, I glared at him as my heart burned in rage. His presence had cost me two clients. I yearned to leave; I also wanted to hear him. He began from John 3:16. Before he could recite it, I had completed it. "I told you. I'm a Christian. Don't mind my outfit. It's for business alone." I said to him, and he beamed a smile. He was cute and coy. I admired his innocence. He began to talk to me from the scripture. It was expected— Love of God and salvation. I knew it wasn't for me.

"Don't waste your time. Salvation is not for me anymore. Even God knows it." I intruded, and he beamed a smile again. He quoted several scriptures, and I felt stillness in my body. I had never heard them before. "Can I see it?" I wanted to confirm that he was with a Bible; it was true. He continued; he was soft spoken, but his words were sword-like. Each phrase was a dagger, slicing through the armor of my indifference, exposing the deepest longings of my heart. His words cut through the noise of my doubts and fears, piercing my heart like a sharp arrow. As he was preaching, my eyes betrayed me. The cigarette in my hand fell on its own. I realized that I was naked in the blue miniskirt I wore. His voice intensified like a thunder; his passion ignited a fire within me, illuminating the darkest corners of my mind. The words he spoke were like a honeyed sweetness, soothing the wounds of my past, yet simultaneously stirred a sense of righteous indignation, calling me to action.

"Will Christ still have mercy on me?" I asked as my speech struggled to be heard in the brewing cries from my heart. 
"His mercy is not dependent on our worthiness, but on His goodness. It's not about being perfect, but about being honest with Him, about coming to Him with all our fears, doubts, and weaknesses." He replied to me, and I felt a sense of peace over me. I felt the weight of my guilt and shame slowly lifting, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't beyond redemption after all. Maybe His mercy could indeed cover all my sins, no matter how deep-seated or persistent.

"Lead me to Christ, sir." I knelt in front of the brothel as the girls were all amazed. He prayed for me, and my soul came to rest. In that moment, I felt the possibility of forgiveness, of a second chance, of a new beginning. Indeed, the gospel isn't for condemnation; it is for safety.