Pastor killed my husband and forced me to marry him

Pastor becomes a monster. I was only 24 years old when I married my one and only boyfriend, Brian Borotho. Brian was more than just a man to me; he was that king who was worthy to kiss and caress my bosom for as long as he wanted. I was honoured to have him, he was blessed to have chosen me as his wife. He was the prince of my heart.

Our love was unbreakable. Not even Angels or demons could scatter our union. I was looking forward to live with Brian for as long as life endures, give him many children and serve him as a good man he was. Somehow, that dream disappeared in thin air.

We stayed in the city of gold known as Johannesburg, in Newtown. Our apartment was one of exquisite calibre, thanks to my hardworking husband who was a computer scientist, bringing home a fat paycheck every month. I worked as a social worker and I was willing to give up my work whenever we were ready to have children.

I was a happily married lady, who was aggressively envied by other girls especially at church. It had been my dream to marry a Godly man, because my parents taught me that whatever I needed to do in my life I had to make sure that God is the centre of it. I was in love, l loved him and he was over the moon for me. What a guy he was!

Two months after our simple white wedding at our church, I noticed that our church pastor made Multiple visits at our apartment almost daily. He would reveal that he had been sent by the Lord to come and pray for us. At first I loved it, I thought his visits were innocent and harmless. I was in for a surprise.

I asked myself at some point, why is the pastor visiting us so oftenly? Perhaps he has an agenda, I thought! Whenever he visited, my husband asked me to cook for him and we would also give him some money before he departed. And it wasn’t peanuts.

Months down the line, l discovered that I was barren and I couldn’t bare children for Brian. I was frustrated, disappointed and devastated. Was I cursed? Did someone bewitch me? I had no answers. Our pastor, Pastor Zekezeke told us not to worry because he had the solution.

Brian and I trusted our pastor. He was an old, respectable man in our church and community. Brian had known him since he was a kid. They trusted each other inexplicably. One day, he visited us at evening. He came with a two little bottle full of brownish water. He called it, “miracle water” because he had prayer over it and anointed it.

He had come for a special service to help us bare children. Well, to help me bare children. Three of us stood in the bedroom of the apartment with the door locked. He sang a song as held his bottle closely to his chest setting his closed eyes to the ceiling. We sang along although the rythm sounded terrible.

As we sang, he looked like he had travelled to another world, an invisible world. We were anticipating the miracle that was to take place. Ten minutes later, he stopped singing and asked us to undress. Brian did so without hesitation. I was adamant and bewildered.

“The Lord is about to do a miracle. Just do as I say,” he commanded. I had to obey. We knelt down naked before our pastor. He spilled the brownish water upon us and then asked us to make love as he watched. I aggressively refused but Brian rebuked me, saying I was standing in the miracle of having children.

I was uncomfortable, but I had to do it. We made love as the pastor sang and watched us. After a third round, my Brian was tired. “Brian my son, thus says the Lord, you are not doing it the right way and the spirit says l should show you how it’s done.”

“Go ahead pastor,” Brian responded. I couldn’t believe it. I had to sleep with the pastor, that old man to receive a miracle. I was stupid. It was wrong. But Brian made it look right. He wanted Children. I would do anything to give him children. So I did it. This time, Brian was singing while me and the pastor made love. It was the most insane thing I have ever done.

It didn’t end there. The pastor would come again every Friday and we would hold our sex services. No one knew about it except the three of us. In fact, the pastor had said we shouldn’t tell anyone because if we did, the miracle wouldn’t take place. Brian strongly believed that this would work. He was looking forward to having children.

Five months later, the miracle happened. I fell pregnant with twins. I was a bit ashamed. Whose children were they? Brian’s or Pastor’s? We decided to believe that they were Brian’s, because of the sex services.

Everyone was happy for us. We received gifts and congrats from family, friends and relatives. Inside me, guilt was eating me up. Brian was joyous beyond any comprehension, bragging that he knew that the pastor’s idea would work.

The pastor then gave Brian another bottle full of reddish water. He would drink it every Friday as a way to strengthen his manhood so that he would make more children in future. If it finished, the pastor would bring a refill. I was happy that the sex services had stopped.

One month later, my Brian became sick and ill to the point of being bedridden. He couldn’t go to work. He had become a needle in size and the wounds that wrecked his skin were unbearable. What had happened? Why was this happening? My poor Brian was facing death. The pastor kept on bringing the reddish water and Brian would drink. He was eventually hospitalized.

The pastor suggested that I move in with him because the powerful demon that was attacking my husband was seeking to hurt my unborn twins. He said the only way for me and the unborn children to be safe is by moving in with him. It was very alarming that the pastor was single at his age, but I didn’t care. I was worried about my sick husband and the safety of the children.

I eventually gave birth to my female twins. On the same day, my husband died. It was a horrible tragedy. I blamed the pastor for failing to heal my Brian. He said that the Lord had already told him that Brian would die but was instructed not to tell me. It didn’t make sense. Again, I sank in depression and despair.

I discovered something shocking at the pastor’s four roomed house. He stayed with 15 young girls between the ages of 13 and 20. He claimed that he had adopted them as an instruction from the Lord. However, the girls weren’t allowed to go outside and I wasn’t allowed to interact with them. All their rooms were heavily guarded by armed men. I didn’t understand.

The pastor made it very clear that I had become his wife. He wasn’t asking me. The ironic part was that he ordered me not to tell anyone about our affair. I didn’t ask him why. I didn’t want to. I was fascinated by the way he lived his life. He was very secretive and I sought to find out what he was hiding.

One year later, l managed to drug the pastor to an unconscious state. Then I began my search in his private belongings. I hoped to find something. I needed to discover the truth about this man, and I did. I found a golden diary which was locked in his safe.

I wandered why it was locked in there. I perused over it and discovered some shocking facts. One of the pages had a list of written content which was headlined: my achievements this year.

The list mentioned what pastor Zekezeke had achieved including having earned R10 million from sex trafficking and sex slavery through the children he held hostage in his house, killing Brian through the poisonous drink, stealing Brian’s wife and hoping to use her children for sex trafficking and others.

My eyes were opened. The pastor wasn’t a pastor but a devil himself. I was fooled. He killed my husband. He destroyed my marriage. While he lied unconscious, I secretly grabbed my children, sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night and escaped from the house. In the early hours of the morning, l reported the matter to the police and then took the first bus to my parents in KwaZulu Natal.

The police raided the pastor’s house. He was nowhere to be found, but the girls were rescued. The church building was set on fire by angry community members. I was glad that my children and l escaped. Although I lost my husband, I’m glad I played a role in saving the 15 girls from the hands of a devilish pastor.

By Blessing Mhlanga. 23 June 2020. The Creativ Media

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