How We Met

(Excerpt from my autobiography, “When Destiny Calls”)

     During the next few weeks, I attended the choir practices. The songs weren’t difficult – they were some of our favorite lively, Igbo songs, along with several American praise songs. It was nice to be a part of something bigger than I was, to temporarily forget about my own ambitions and longings, and simply be a part of a mission that was about winning souls. I had no expectation that God would use those meetings to move me closer to my own ministry or personal goals, but it was kingdom work and I found delight in that. Additionally, we had never had an American evangelist in our little community, and the idea of seeing a preacher from the United States fascinated me. Like most Nigerians, I thought of America as a glamorous and exotic country and was impressed by anything or anyone coming from there.

     The meetings were to begin on Wednesday. On Monday of that week, I attended an organizational meeting. Being a part of the “mass choir” I was expected to attend and receive any last-minute necessary instructions. I sat quietly throughout the meeting, never saying anything as I felt too small in my own eyes to make any contribution. But toward the end of the meeting a thought came into my heart which was to change my life forever.

     At that time, I possessed a camcorder which I had been given while working for a company in Lagos. I had used it occasionally and was proud to own it. It always impressed people to see me with my camcorder and it made me feel important. As the organizational meeting was ending, I thought: “Nobody is talking about recording this meeting on video. This is an international crusade with an American preacher. It should be videotaped.” And then and there I decided that if nobody was going to record it, I would bring my own camcorder and do it, without charging anyone. It would be my gift to the work of Christ. I had little money to give, but I could at least give my time and effort to record portions of the morning conference sessions and evening evangelistic meetings. In my mind, this felt like more than simply a good idea – it really seemed to me that the Lord was giving me a direct word to do this.

     The next day a rally was planned. Any time Nigerian churches have some kind of evangelistic program, they will usually hold a rally, and a flatbed truck will parade through the streets where the meetings will be held. It will contain a sound system with loudspeakers and several musicians will be on board singing, praising God, and sometimes dancing. Others will walk and run alongside the truck handing out fliers to the people on the streets and inviting them to come to the meetings. I was allowed to ride on the truck with several other choir members. The rally began at the venue where the meetings were to be held and slowly made its way through the streets of that part of Lagos. With many different streets on our route, and with the truck moving at a snail’s pace, it took between three to four hours to complete the rally.

     By this time, I had sung and danced nearly the entire time, to the point of exhaustion. Singing in a church choir for twenty minutes is not too difficult but singing and dancing on a moving truck for three or four hours would be exhausting for just about anyone and it certainly was for me. I joked with the coordinating pastor: “If nobody’s praising me, I will praise myself. We did a great job, but I am worn out. With all this dancing and singing, I deserve an award.” He laughed and agreed that I certainly did deserve one.

     I did not get home that evening until around 8 pm, tired but happy. I made some soup and went to bed, excited about the meetings which would begin the next day, when I would get to see for myself the American evangelist and find out if Americans can preach as well as the fiery Nigerian pastors with whom I was familiar.

It All Begins

     After a while Apostle Frank, the coordinating pastor, came into the building escorting Dennis Pollock. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I was immediately impressed. He was a nice-looking man who seemed comfortable in his role as an American evangelist ministering in Africa. When he finally stood up and began to teach, I trained my camcorder on him. I had no tripod and had to record the old-fashioned way – with my camcorder in my hands, trying to steady the camera as best I could. It would have been impossible for me to record his entire sermon as my arms would have given out. So, I recorded portions of his messages, and then I would put away my camera, sit down, and simply listen.

     I was not disappointed with his ministry. He was sort of a preacher/teacher, and he had a way of being dynamic and interesting, while communicating important Bible truths. I was inspired, and as he preached, I gave him the ultimate Nigerian compliment. At times, when he was really going strong, I rose to my feet and stood there listening and nodding my head. This is the way Nigerians tell pastors, “You’re doing great! Keep it up!” Others must have felt the same way, because they were doing the same thing – standing, nodding, and shouting “Amen.”

     I was, however, a little disappointed that his daughter had not come with him. She had canceled at the last minute after the posters had been printed. As a woman with a strong sense of calling to the ministry, I would have loved to hear her preaching and teaching, but it was not to be.

Anointed Meetings

     In the evening Dennis spoke more like an evangelist and less like a teacher. He preached Christ, and even though most of us were believers who had heard the stories about Jesus many times before, still there was something exciting about the way he preached Jesus that made you glad to be there. People gave their lives to Jesus, and as he prayed for the sick, there were numerous testimonies to dramatic healings.

     And that is how it went for the next three days: exciting preaching that seemed to carry the anointing of the Holy Spirit, and good results. Looking back now, I realize that this Nigerian meeting was pretty small by his standards. In the evenings we might have had three or four hundred people at the most, and in the daytime the conference attendance was probably a hundred or less. But this was one of the first meetings of its kind which I had seen in our neighborhood, and I was both impressed and blessed. I loved the fact that I was playing a role in these meetings: singing in the choir and recording portions of the singing, preaching, and praying. It felt great to be doing my part in a successful work of Christ.

     As it turned out, I was not the only videographer at the meetings. Dennis had asked the pastor to find someone to handle his own camcorder and record the meetings for him. But by this point I had already begun the recordings and could not bring myself to stop. I felt the other man was recording for an American audience, and I would record for the local Nigerian believers. The other videographer sometimes asked me to take over his camera when he needed to leave the meetings for a while, and this made me feel especially important. I was actually a kind of substitute videographer for a big American evangelist! How cool was that!

     The days passed quickly. I went home happy each night. I had been busy in the Lord’s work, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. By Saturday morning I knew the conference was wrapping up. I had worked up enough courage to ask the coordinating pastor, Pastor Frank, if he would allow me to interview the American evangelist immediately after the Saturday morning meeting. I wanted to put together all my video footage and conclude with an interview of the evangelist himself. Pastor Frank said that this would be alright, but he must have forgotten my request, because shortly after Dennis finished his teaching, he and Pastor Frank went to the car and prepared to leave. I panicked. My final video would not be complete without at least a short interview of the evangelist, and now he was leaving. There would be no time after the evening service, and then I would never see him again (or so I thought).

Interview That Changed My Life

     Nervously I went up to the car where Pastor Frank and Dennis were sitting, about to drive off. I knew that African protocols demanded I never approach the visiting evangelist directly without the consent of the pastor who had invited him. I went to Pastor Frank’s side of the car, and said with as much confidence as I dared, “Pastor Frank, what about the interview? Is there a way I can interview Evangelist Dennis before he leaves?” To my great relief Frank did not immediately shoot down the request. He simply motioned toward Dennis on the other side of the vehicle and said, “He is sitting here right with me. You can ask him.”

     I made my way around the car to the other side. Dennis appeared to be watching me, so I did not have to try to get his attention. I asked nervously, “I would like to record a short interview and ask you a few questions about the meetings for the video I plan to produce.” Dennis did not appear upset or annoyed with my request, which was a great relief. He said with a smile, “They call you ‘evangelist.’ So you do media too?” I told him that I did both. He then replied, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you and Pastor Frank join me for a meal after church tomorrow at the restaurant at my hotel? After we eat, you can come to my room, and we can do the interview.”

     I was not expecting this. Eating with a pastor and an American evangelist! I felt like I was in way over my head. I hardly knew what to say, so I answered with the only thing that seemed reasonable – I told Dennis, “Sure, I would be glad to do that.” He said, “Great, I’ll see you then,” and that was that. I was now scheduled to have a meal with an American international evangelist, and then interview him. I was excited, scared, and more than a little overwhelmed. How in the world did this happen? What would I talk about, how should I act? What if I made a fool out of myself? I felt a tremendous pressure come over me. Still, it was kind of exciting at the same time. Of all the women at the meetings, I was the one being asked to join the evangelist for a meal, with Pastor Frank, of course.

     What I did not know was that Dennis had noticed me almost from the beginning of the meetings. In some ways that was not so unusual. I was taller than nearly all the other ladies and could hardly be hidden. Plus, I was standing around recording him much of the time. But his interest was more than idle curiosity. I later learned that he was single and had been praying for a wife. He had been seeing me not the way a Bible teacher might notice a videographer, but the way a single man notices a woman he finds attractive. I had no idea of this at the time, of course. Had I known, I would have been more nervous still.

     The next day after the Sunday morning service, I hitched a ride with Dennis and Frank to Dennis’ hotel. Frank and I waited while Dennis went to his room to put away his Bible and remove his tie.

Much “Fear and Trembling”

     Sitting alone with Pastor Frank, all the nervousness I had been desperately trying to hide came rushing to the surface. I literally began to tremble. My breathing was affected, and it did not take a prophet to realize that I was a nervous wreck. In my mind I was still the little maidservant who had been ordered about like a slave. I was so far out of my league! I had absolutely no business sitting at the same table with a pastor and an international American evangelist. I wished I could summon the courage to rise up and run back to my little room with as much speed as my long legs could muster. But there was no getting around it – I had no choice. I was going to have to eat and drink with this American minister, and even engage in conversation. Frank stared at me and knew I was close to an emotional melt-down. He said tersely: “Evangelist, do not humiliate me in front of my guest!” I told him, “I’m so sorry. I’m nervous,” to which he replied, “Yes, I can see that you are nervous. That’s why I’m telling you, do not humiliate me.” Shortly after that Dennis came to the table, and the meal was on. I had little choice but to try to hide my fears and pretend I was enjoying a casual meal with a couple of friends.

     But once the meal began it was not nearly as bad as I had expected. Dennis put me at ease by showing an interest in me, and even saying a couple of humorous things. And I found myself opening my mouth and actually talking to him. And the more I talked, the more the fear dissipated. Dennis had ordered chicken, and it must have been the toughest grandpa chicken in the chicken yard. He was forced to work hard just to cut off bite-sized pieces. I made a little comment to Frank, telling him, “Your guest is not getting much out of that chicken – it is too dry.” I felt proud of myself, being able to make a little conversation and join in the table talk. This wasn’t so bad. I was holding my own.

     After the meal, Frank, Dennis, and I went to his room for the interview. I set up my camera, and as I asked Dennis questions, Frank watched through the camera viewfinder. I felt good about the interview and even better when Pastor Frank complimented me, saying that I really knew my job. My years of being criticized, belittled, and beaten as a lowly housemaid made any and every compliment I received a special treasure. After the interview, Dennis set up his own camera and interviewed me about my observations of the meetings.