Oftentimes when people hold strong beliefs in an ideology or doctrine , it’s because it makes them feel a sense of hope and freedom. They feel seen and heard and most especially find solace in a community of similar minds. The Oxford Dictionary describes belief as “an acceptance that something exists or is true, especially one without proof. Hope, on the other hand, is a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen”. Hope is like a drug, but for those who believe. It fuels dedication and serves as an anchor for adherents in a world of uncertainties and inconsistencies. But when belief in a cause, or ideology trumps one’s basic logic or rationale, leaving no room for opposing beliefs or thoughts, it becomes extremism.
Extremism is often never too far away from any ideology. Whilst this isn’t peculiar to religion in Nigeria, religious extremism remains a valid conversation in this society because of how strongly religion is regarded as a pillar in our society. Our culture in Nigeria is also one that celebrates togetherness and a lot of these communities have this as the core of their existence. In this piece, we spoke to 5 young Nigerians, exploring their experience with religious extremism, how they navigated this, and the effect on their lives.
Gigi, 26.
I became a religious extremist because I really wanted to prove a point. I was one of those people who just grew up Christian. My parents were active church-goers even before I was born, so naturally I followed suit. But I never quite got it. One thing my parents encouraged me to do when we went to church was to ask questions. However, I soon realized that people treated such questions like a confrontation with God.
In my first year of university, I joined a new popular youth church, and it was very exciting at first. I was happy to be there and the energy in church was always so joyful. Then it became very engulfing. I felt I had gotten high on performative Christianity and religion became my entire personality. My less religious friends still talk about how unkind and judgemental I became that time and I still hate myself for it. I remember even telling a distant cousin that she would rot in hell if she died as a Muslim. We were encouraged to date within our church and I tried to get my boyfriend at the time to join the church, but when he didn’t budge, I broke up with him. I was willing to risk and lose it all for this church.
One day, someone died, and they organized special prayers to resurrect them. That was my turning point. Through the prayers, I was just wondering why no one asked why. Sure, I believe in miracles, but I draw the line at letting hope linger in the hearts of people who just lost their friend. People who should have been grieving and getting closure were praying three days later. After that event, I started seeing signs I just couldn’t ignore.
One time, a church member sent me a DM on Twitter to take down my “feminist” tweet that was apparently in disagreement with an opinion the lead pastor shared earlier. The final straw was when I heard someone say that she would serve our pastor forever, regardless of what he did or what God said. I was dazed, and I just knew whatever they were on, I no longer wanted to join in.
Leaving was not easy. My church friends tried to stage an intervention multiple times but got tired and eventually cut me off, but I am better for it. I’m still a Christian today because of my conviction. Left to me, I’ll ask us to throw religion in Nigeria away. Now, I’m just more weary when I’m picking churches because I don’t want to fall into another weird murky slope of extreme behavior.
Damilola, 29
I’m a Christian and I believe in God. Growing up, we didn’t really used to go to church because my dad was barely ever at home and my mom would work late nights and weekend shifts at the hospital. So, my sisters and I would just rest with her on Sundays.
However, after my mum retired, she decided to take church seriously and obviously that has kinda rubbed off on me in some way. In my opinion, it will always be weird to take religion hook, line, and sinker. Our society plays a role in encouraging religious extremism because Nigerians love to overdo everything. Why do you revere your pastor to the point of idolizing them? I see no reason your pastor becomes infallible and can’t make mistakes. Why are you calling your pastor who is but two years older or younger than you, Papa or Daddy? It irritates me so much. I feel like these little things are self-serving and aren’t the crux of Christianity.
Beyond the honor, you need to see the lengths that people are willing to go for their religious leaders and that’s just scary.
I’ve never experienced religious extremism personally, but I’ve had a secondhand experience. In the university, I watched classmates call their fellowship leaders “Mother”, “Mama”, help them do chores, simply because of their anointing. Even now, as an adult I see people praying to their pastors (In the name of our father xoxo), donating their life’s savings to the church at the detriment of their family. It is all so coordinated and cult-like, and I try to avoid any appearance of such churches.
Kunle, 32
I’m no longer a Christian. I still sometimes believe in God. Twice a year at most, but that’s about it. The worst time of my life was when I was actively a Christian. My parents were core Jehovah’s Witnesses and so I grew up around kingdom halls and Awakes. We were very comfortable upper-middle-class children, but we never even got to enjoy stuff that mattered to kids. I remember we never celebrated birthdays, Christmas, Easter, nothing. My sister and I often watched in awe when kids in our class would celebrate their birthdays, knowing that would never be us.
My father is the typical older Nigerian man of his age group. Abusive, out-of-touch, and very performative. We all managed to stay out of his way, most of the time — my mum inclusive. Everything was fine until my mom got cancer when I was 16. My parents didn’t tell us. We just noticed their hospital visits became frequent, and we prayed longer for healing. But my sister snooped around one day and found an email trail with specialists abroad.
I was mad when I heard, but even more scared. But no one ever addressed us about it, ever. One evening, my dad hosted some elders from our kingdom hall, and before they left, they prayed that “Jehovah heals and takes all the glory.” That was the beginning of the end.
My mom stopped consulting, home and abroad and focused more on studying the bible, praying, and charity. It was like she was waiting to die. When she died, I was angry, more than I was sad. Even though I prepared months before that, it still felt shocking when it happened. My biggest grouse is that nobody fought to keep her alive. All that money and not a single naira was spent to even try. I still resent my father heavily for it.
I moved to Europe shortly after that and it was perfect because it was away from watchful extended family like my sister had in America. During that time, I properly grieved my mother and started to live my life. I remember celebrating my first birthday as an adult, feeling excited and grinning like a child.
Now, I don’t care about religion anymore. Church, Christianity, Witnesses, nothing. My father tried to shun me, but I didn’t even care. Now, I dedicate an entire weekend to celebrating my birthday. Throwing Christmas and New Year parties and making it my life’s mission never to involve myself in any religious activity ever again.
Sonia, 24
We grew up Sunday church-goers at home because it was never that serious in my family. It was not very staunch or regimented. Attending a Catholic-girls-only secondary school led me deep into my religious girl phase. A lot of religious groups used shame as a strong tool of control, and my school being catholic really imbibed that. Mockery, shaming, and ridicule were tools to ensure maximum compliance was achieved. So a lot of times, I did so many things to avoid being shamed.
In SS3, I joined a Pentecostal Christian community of young believers, and the experience was refreshing. I tried to break free from my previous religious patterns and experience something new. How ironic?
The thing with religious cults is its greatest appeal is the community it offers. Being offered a space where you are seen, understood, in exchange for total compliance seemed fair initially. I joined the leadership team of the fellowship and I experienced firsthand how quickly another member of the team was dropped when she struggled with moving to a new country and being depressed.
That was how I realized that if I slipped, I could get cut off.
I also noticed that most of my religious friends were in an unhealthy competition of who was better, and I found that slightly weird. Then, in 2020, I started attending a popular new-age Pentecostal church. The church had been accused of cult-like behavior on Twitter but I thought little of it at the time. Over time, I learned that as a member, you shouldn’t hold opposing views to the pastor because it means you’re tearing him down in public. I also eventually realized that they looked up to the pastor beyond his role as a spiritual father, and his word became law. Disagreeing felt like an affront, regardless of the context.
I tried to keep up and pretend to be into it for a while, but after a while, I just got tired of the herd mentality.