Papa Davina, also known as Teribogo, preferred to craft his own words of wisdom. Such, for instance, was his famous: “Perspective is all”.

The early morning Seeker, his first and only client on that day, and a very special, indeed dedicated session, looked up and nodded agreement. “I am listening intently, Papa D.”

“Good. Even from the moment you spoke to me on the phone, I knew you were no ordinary seeker. Your voice reached out to me as belonging to someone eager to learn. I counsel all kinds. Every strand of humanity passes through those gates. You’d be surprised what contrasting souls have sat on that very stool if I chose to tell you.”

The Seeker sighed. It had been a long journey to this moment, a journey of startling contrasts and revelations – both physical and mental. Tutored in the mandatory protocols of the Prophesite, she had embarked on full compliance, even to the contents of the pink envelope she had brought with her, and laid solemnly on a small altar-table that stood by the entrance into the building itself. What was at stake did not permit any deviation from redemption rites of passage, a number of which she would normally consider degrading to her social status.

After all, it had taken a while, nearly a full year to arrange this audience – it was not the moment to place salvation in jeopardy. On the way, she caught sight of scavengers glancing slyly at her, transferring their gaze from hillside foraging to Papa Davina’s eyrie, as if to say – ah yes, one of these days, we also shall qualify to mount those final, paved steps and be admitted into The Prescience. They heard all about it, heard stories of the magic interior that spelt Transformation, belying the exterior of chapped walls and cracked cement. News filtered through and touched lives of longing with intimations of a changed destiny. Some played the football pools religiously, others the annual National Lottery and more, but craved that final touch of the magic wand – Papa Davina’s blessing. They dreamt of the day they themselves would climb the paved approach of fourteen glistening steps and be ushered into His Prescience. Active or dreaming, they hoarded images of the splendour of the recluse, the magician known as Papa Davina.

The Seeker felt thankful that her sister had faithfully contributed her tithes to Papa Davina’s ministry. One did not earn a private audience with Papa D until at least after a year of attending the open services that he conducted below for all and sundry, and with an unbroken record of ‘tithing’. Her sister had even transferred her ‘redemption coupons’ to her. There were, of course, exceptions for emergencies. To bypass any unplanned constraints, the seeker must first cover the year’s arrears – among other charges – and at double tithing. Emergencies covered vicissitudes such as court trials, where divine intervention was needed to soften the judge’s sadistic soul and pronounce a full acquittal, sometimes even citing the prosecution for abuse of process and contempt.

Her own predicament was not that drastic and, as some patients are prone to visiting the doctor, she was not without her self-prescription. Hers was simply a case of poor business choices, a spate of ill-luck that had persisted for three years leading to losses. Then there was the bane of customs levy on goods that barely survived the depredations of sea pirates now massively invested in the nation’s eastern creeks. Nothing that could not be offset by the allocation of a single oil block. This was what mandated the recourse to Papa D.