Ariri shook the dice vigorously in his cupped palm and threw them down on the broken concrete surface. He watched the dice roll till they stopped just about an inch from the foot of a man who clutched a black leatherbound Bible. He could have been young. Possibly in his midthirties. A visor cap shielded him from closer scrutiny. He wore a brown corduroy jacket over a white T-shirt that had once made a bold claim: Love New York. The T-shirt, now weathered, was neither genuinely white nor quite brown. The letters had faded, and some were missing, like teeth from the gums of old people. If you looked from a certain angle or distance, and you were not careful, you might even read Love Network or perhaps Loathe the Work. The man was not particularly prepossessing. He was of average height. Dark as an Ube pear. He didn't seem at all capable of aggression. But he pushed himself firmly towards the dice and spat, P-ss-s-t! Then he looked at the crowd and, with a voice full of indignation, began to preach in a loud, righteous manner.Listen to me, all of you, he thundered. gamblers will go to hell! It is written in the book-Commot for road o jare! a raspy, impatient, tobacco-cracked voice barked at him from the motley crowd.Go to hell with your mother's vagina! another voice said contemptuously. Street gambling in Aba was not just an ordinary pastime; it was serious business.At first, many of the gamblers joined in the raucous jeering, trying to shame the preacher away. Akulal Your head no correct! Onye-oburu! Nightsoil man! Stinker-up of this lovely town! But the preacher was a determined man. His conviction seemed unalterable. He could give back a jab as much as he took. Soon his voice, loud and fierce, was clear above everyone's. Ariri watched him with interest, his eyes careful, measuring as the crowd slowly began to form around the preacher's words. They began to listen, mesmerized by the theatrical and eloquent force of his insistent message. Such was the nature of the Aba crowd. It was the democracy of the curious. It changed like the wind.'Anyone who has not heard should listen now, so that they will not say 'Had I known' tomorrow! Rapture is coming soon! There is no time to waste-Wush one be rapture, biko nu? a curious voice from the crowd asked.'It is when everything will disappear, kabissal Just like that, said another, a bowlegged man. All eyes were, however, on the preacher.As we talk, the great army of heaven, the armed forces of God with Archangel Michael as commanding officer in charge is already camped on Jupiter. Soon, and very soon, the Army of God will set out for Mars. I'm telling you now! Before long they will arrive on Earth. Don't be among those who will say, Lord Jesus, but no one told us!' and the Lord will say, 'Get thee behind me, Satan! When I hungry you did not give anini, when I thirsty . . .' How many of you here have been to hell and back? Answer me with truth! Every day, the anointed of God warn you about it. You think it a joke? How many here can say they have seen hell, raise your hands!The preacher had become fiercer; the master of his crowd. One hand went up. A small man in light blue cargo shorts already fraying at the edges. He was hawking pure water. He bore the carton of ice-cold water sachets on his shoulder with the practiced ease of the veteran street trader. His buckteeth gave his face a permanent roguish grin.You have seen hell before, brother?Yes, o pastor. I see it every day. country is hell, pastor. we country, Nigeria, is hellfire man!Everybody laughed and said, This is true! Ah, na way a} Uuumn! The preacher also smiled in spite of himself. He allowed the mirth to quiet down a bit before continuing.Well, brother, we not fit to argue about that one. But I'm talking about real hellfire. The one that burns night and day, seven days a week; three hundred and sixty-five and one-quarter days yearly. …