As a young boy attending Sunday services at St. Peter’s Anglican Church in Ijare, I frequently heard sermons about the stark differences between heaven and hell. This morning, I was transported back to those formative years. For younger generations or those raised in cities during that time, such an experience might be unfamiliar. In my hometown, Ijare, the messages about heaven and hell extended far beyond Sunday sermons.
Every morning at the crack of dawn, preachers armed with handbells would walk the streets, proclaiming the need to accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior. Their voices rang out, urging us to “yipada, ijoba Olorun ku si dede” (repent, for the kingdom of God is near). They warned that rejecting Jesus meant an eternity in a lake of fire. As I lay beside my grandmother, Yeye, I would vividly imagine this lake of fire and whisper to myself, “I must not burn in it.”. I must partly credit these preachers for instilling in me a fear of hellfire that helped keep me on the right moral path
The mobile preachers and evening religious crusaders painted hell as a fiery torment for sinners and heaven as a place of joy and eternal bliss for the faithful. They described the roads to each: the path to hell was smooth, beautiful, and pothole-free, while the road to heaven was rough, uncomfortable, and riddled with obstacles. Despite the rough journey, I resolved as a child that heaven was worth it. They not only told vivid stories but were also persistent and consistent—every morning at the same time. Their storytelling worked wonders, embedding clear images of these contrasting roads and destinations in my young mind. Today, I believe Nigeria’s National Orientation Agency could learn a thing or two from their persuasive methods.
As I grew older, acquired an education, and traveled the world, I encountered a noticeable shift in religious teachings. Sermons increasingly focused on prosperity and material wealth. Each time, I found myself questioning if those early preachers had misunderstood—perhaps the road to heaven was indeed paved with gold. Yet, I was often reminded of my grandmother, Yeye, and the wisdom she imparted while I lived with her. Whenever I asked why she didn’t attend church, her response always stayed with me: “Orun nikan lo meni toun siun nitooto” (only heaven knows its true worshippers). Though Yeye was no longer alive by this time, her words continued to guide me, offering perspective amidst the changing narratives.
This morning, memories of those childhood sermons flooded back as I embarked on a journey from Abeokuta to Lagos. I had initially calculated the cost of driving—a hefty N100,000 for fuel, vehicle wear and tear, and time as I could be stuck in traffick. A younger family member, JJ, suggested I try the train instead. With some reluctance, I agreed, and JJ booked a first-class ticket for me at a modest N6,000.
We set off for the Wole Soyinka train station, and the drive to the station was nothing short of a reenactment of the rough road to heaven. Located on the outskirts of Abeokuta, the access road was a nightmare—bumpy, unkempt, and jarring. It was not a journey I’d recommend for pregnant women or anyone valuing their car’s suspension. What should have been a 10-minute drive stretched to over 30 minutes of navigating potholes and uneven terrain. My SUV seemed to groan with each jolt, and I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for both the vehicle, myself, and the others with me.
When we finally arrived, the station itself was an impressive sight—clean, orderly, and well-maintained. However, I was irked by the N400 fee to drop passengers off at the gate. Such charges should either be eliminated for drop-offs or clearly displayed to avoid confusion.
Inside, I was greeted by courteous and professional staff. The reception area was spacious and clean, and even the men’s restroom was tidy, though in need of some minor fixture repairs. The train departed on time, with announcements keeping passengers updated throughout the journey. The first-class cabin was comfortable, and its washroom spotless. By the time we arrived at Mobolaji Johnson Station in Lagos, my overall experience was positive, albeit marred by the poor access road at the start.
As I rode an Uber to my hotel, I couldn’t help but reflect on the parallels between this journey and the sermons of my childhood. Perhaps those preachers were right—perseverance through challenges leads to reward. But must the path to comfort always be paved with pain?
The Nigerian Railway Corporation has done commendable work with the train service, but the experience remains incomplete without addressing the access roads. Fixing these roads would elevate the overall experience, ensuring that the journey to this modern service reflects the quality it promises.
NB: Johnson Babalola, a Canada based lawyer, story based leadership consultant and corporate emcee, is a public affairs analyst. Follow him for discussions on real life issues that affect us all:* https://substack.com/@johnsonbabalola https://medium.com/@jblawyer2021 https jbdlaw Website: www.johnsonbabalola://www.facebook.com/jbandthings
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