Lagos Journal; After Carnival of 'Second Coming,' an Apocalypse

By NORIMITSU ONISHI
Published: December 8, 1998


A dec ade after the death of Jesus of Oy ingbo carpenter, property developer, religious visionary, husband to 34 wives, father to dozens -- the empire of the man who described himself as the Second Coming lies in ruin.

Hundreds of his followers once lived on Manor Street, in buildings called ''Merciful and Mighty'' and ''Everlasting Father,'' surrounded by statues of Christ, Caterpillar tractors, sculptures of lions and mermaids with water spurting from their mouths.

It was an empire befitting the man who, mixing Christianity, paganism and profit, built his own church and popularized a movement that has put independent churches seemingly on every street corner in Lagos.

But today, in an otherwise well-kept neighborhood in this city of eight million people, weeds have pushed through the cracks in the imperial courtyards. Dust has settled inside deserted buildings, blanketing telltale relics of Jesus of Oyingbo's eclectic tastes: videotapes with sometimes incomplete, handwritten titles, ''From Russia With Love'' and ''Hawaii Five.''

The only ones left are 30 of his children, who wander through the remains, forlornly clutching pamphlets of their dead father's speeches.

Seye Immanuel, a 28-year-old son, stood on a second-floor balcony of the ''Prince of Peace'' building and pointed down to the empty courtyard, where the followers used to gather to watch movies every night.

''After he died, it stopped,'' Seye Immanuel said. ''Everything stopped.''

The center could not hold, and the place unraveled into factions fighting over the man's legacy and money, pitting longtime members against the children, mothers against sons and daughters. The church fell apart in recent years, after the eldest son took the longtime members to court.

After winning his lawsuit last year, the eldest son, Olukayade Immanuel, immediately evicted the members. As the legal owner of all his father's property, he allowed the children to stay. But now they accuse him of neglect and call him a thief.

The eldest son -- a 56-year-old, sumo-size man with oven-mitt hands that he likes to wrap around people's arms -- left his father's church in search of personal freedom. And yet he seems to crave his father's standing.

''I would never have talked to my father the way they talk to me,'' he said, adding that the children had violated the traditions of the Yoruba, his ethnic group and one of the three main ones in Nigeria. ''It's the way of Yorubaland. It's a structured culture. It makes for order. Follow that man! Follow the man! Not doing your own thing.''

''They do not show me respect as the senior man,'' he added. ''I will not give money before respect.''

Jesus of Oyingbo, whose real name was Olufunmilayo Odumosu Immanuel, lived until age 73. He was working as a carpenter when he founded the Universal College of Regeneration in the early 1950's. Before moving to Manor Street, his movement was headquartered in the neighborhood of Oyingbo, which gave him his lasting name.

He sharpened the concept of religion as a private business, an idea that seems commonplace now in Lagos and southern Nigeria. More than 500 followers lived on his compound and worked in his businesses: a bakery, a restaurant, a barber shop, a construction company and a printing plant.

Like most Yoruba, Jesus of Oyingbo was religiously tolerant, mixing, for example, Christian statues with Islamic and pagan symbols on his compound. But he was perhaps too tolerant, in ways that drew accusations that he was operating a cult.

Many Christian Nigerians have more than one wife. But he had 34 and had at least 40 children, said the children who remain on the compound, many of whom share striking facial similarities with their father.

''He was kind and generous,'' said Olulaja Immanuel, 29. ''He provided everything for me. When I wanted to go anywhere, we had our own cars and drivers.''

The drivers never let the children out of their sight. They were so sheltered that most still live in isolation, incapable because of their lack of education and social skills to venture much beyond Manor Street.

Bukola Immanuel, 25, was one of the few who was able to study, thanks, she said, to her mother who had immigrated to New York City and sent money. The young woman, an economics student at Lagos State University, began having doubts after her father's death.

''I don't accept him as my savior,'' she said. ''He's my biological father. I have only Jesus Christ as my savior.''

''I think my father was O.K.,'' she added, ''but I don't know.''

Longtime neighbors recalled an ebullient, boisterous man who made waves whenever he visited them, showing them movies with his projector, ingratiating himself even as he transformed the area into a carnival.

''He would crack jokes and make you reel with laughter from one corner to another,'' Virginia Akerele, 83, said with a smile. ''He and his followers used to disturb the neighborhood. Their voices would be all over the place. They used to wake us up early in the morning. We could not complain because that was his own way of worshiping God. We now have some respite with his death.''

Mrs. Akerele and her stepson, Tunde Akerele, 54, both Roman Catholics, said Jesus of Oyingbo never tired of trying to convert them. And even as they resisted, they ate the bread from one of his bakeries. ''His Good Luck bread was cheaper and better in quality than others sold around,'' Mr. Akerele said.

''Even the reverend fathers and sisters from the nearby St. Agnes Catholic Church used to come and buy his bread,'' Mrs. Akerele said.

''He was calling himself Jesus Christ and said he would never die,'' she added. ''We were surprised that he died.''

Not far from Manor Street, Olukayade Immanuel, the eldest son, stood outside the gates of his textile factory and shook his head.

''For six years before I broke from him, I said, 'You cannot force religion on people,' '' he said. ''I said, 'You must send these children to school.' ''

''And look what happened!'' the eldest son said. ''Look at this one. She's not even my father's daughter.''

Adeola Odumosu, a 24-year-old daughter, snickered. Just before she and Seye Immanuel took a reporter to the factory, she had called the eldest son ''greedy.'' ''He's wicked,'' she had said. ''He doesn't want to take care of us.'' Now, she pointed to the factory and accused him directly of building it with their father's money.

The eldest son laughed. The younger children stood many feet away from their brother and cowered when the big man turned brusquely, his belly swaying under his robe.

Just as abruptly, Olukayade Immanuel's mood brightened. He expressed optimism about the future.

''Nigeria has survived, and my father's movement will survive,'' he said.

And even though neither of the younger siblings had shown him any respect on this day, he asked them if they needed money and called them in behind the gates.

http://www.nytimes.com/1998/12/08/world/lagos-journal-after-carnival-of-second-coming-an-apocalypse.html

I remember the guy.. Actually lived close to his "jesu oyingbo" street back then

yorex2011:
I remember the guy.. Actually lived close to his "jesu oyingbo" street back then

Wow how is the place now?

paulGrundy:


Wow how is the place now?

Really dunno... Left there like 11 yrs ago

Hu wal awal
Wal akhir
A zohir
ALLAH AKBAR
ALLAH AKBAR
ALLAH AKBAR
THE GOD OF TIME
THE GOD OF ALL SEASONS
THE GOD OF ALL MOMENT
THE ONE WHO WOULD STAND WHEN EVERY OTHER THING FALLS
ALLAH


If only this man heard the Call. He prolly would have had a deep rethink. But i wouldn't judge him but he is one of God's many mysterious ways

yorex2011:

Really dunno... Left there like 11 yrs ago

I wonder why his followers never knew he was an impostor not Jesus. People can be so gullible, even an idiot knows that he is an anti-christ.

paulGrundy:
Lagos Journal; After Carnival of 'Second Coming,' an Apocalypse

By NORIMITSU ONISHI
Published: December 8, 1998


A dec ade after the death of Jesus of Oy ingbo carpenter, property developer, religious visionary, husband to 34 wives, father to dozens -- the empire of the man who described himself as the Second Coming lies in ruin.

Hundreds of his followers once lived on Manor Street, in buildings called ''Merciful and Mighty'' and ''Everlasting Father,'' surrounded by statues of Christ, Caterpillar tractors, sculptures of lions and mermaids with water spurting from their mouths.

It was an empire befitting the man who, mixing Christianity, paganism and profit, built his own church and popularized a movement that has put independent churches seemingly on every street corner in Lagos.

But today, in an otherwise well-kept neighborhood in this city of eight million people, weeds have pushed through the cracks in the imperial courtyards. Dust has settled inside deserted buildings, blanketing telltale relics of Jesus of Oyingbo's eclectic tastes: videotapes with sometimes incomplete, handwritten titles, ''From Russia With Love'' and ''Hawaii Five.''

The only ones left are 30 of his children, who wander through the remains, forlornly clutching pamphlets of their dead father's speeches.

Seye Immanuel, a 28-year-old son, stood on a second-floor balcony of the ''Prince of Peace'' building and pointed down to the empty courtyard, where the followers used to gather to watch movies every night.

''After he died, it stopped,'' Seye Immanuel said. ''Everything stopped.''

The center could not hold, and the place unraveled into factions fighting over the man's legacy and money, pitting longtime members against the children, mothers against sons and daughters. The church fell apart in recent years, after the eldest son took the longtime members to court.

After winning his lawsuit last year, the eldest son, Olukayade Immanuel, immediately evicted the members. As the legal owner of all his father's property, he allowed the children to stay. But now they accuse him of neglect and call him a thief.

The eldest son -- a 56-year-old, sumo-size man with oven-mitt hands that he likes to wrap around people's arms -- left his father's church in search of personal freedom. And yet he seems to crave his father's standing.

''I would never have talked to my father the way they talk to me,'' he said, adding that the children had violated the traditions of the Yoruba, his ethnic group and one of the three main ones in Nigeria. ''It's the way of Yorubaland. It's a structured culture. It makes for order. Follow that man! Follow the man! Not doing your own thing.''

''They do not show me respect as the senior man,'' he added. ''I will not give money before respect.''

Jesus of Oyingbo, whose real name was Olufunmilayo Odumosu Immanuel, lived until age 73. He was working as a carpenter when he founded the Universal College of Regeneration in the early 1950's. Before moving to Manor Street, his movement was headquartered in the neighborhood of Oyingbo, which gave him his lasting name.

He sharpened the concept of religion as a private business, an idea that seems commonplace now in Lagos and southern Nigeria. More than 500 followers lived on his compound and worked in his businesses: a bakery, a restaurant, a barber shop, a construction company and a printing plant.

Like most Yoruba, Jesus of Oyingbo was religiously tolerant, mixing, for example, Christian statues with Islamic and pagan symbols on his compound. But he was perhaps too tolerant, in ways that drew accusations that he was operating a cult.

Many Christian Nigerians have more than one wife. But he had 34 and had at least 40 children, said the children who remain on the compound, many of whom share striking facial similarities with their father.

''He was kind and generous,'' said Olulaja Immanuel, 29. ''He provided everything for me. When I wanted to go anywhere, we had our own cars and drivers.''

The drivers never let the children out of their sight. They were so sheltered that most still live in isolation, incapable because of their lack of education and social skills to venture much beyond Manor Street.

Bukola Immanuel, 25, was one of the few who was able to study, thanks, she said, to her mother who had immigrated to New York City and sent money. The young woman, an economics student at Lagos State University, began having doubts after her father's death.

''I don't accept him as my savior,'' she said. ''He's my biological father. I have only Jesus Christ as my savior.''

''I think my father was O.K.,'' she added, ''but I don't know.''

Longtime neighbors recalled an ebullient, boisterous man who made waves whenever he visited them, showing them movies with his projector, ingratiating himself even as he transformed the area into a carnival.

''He would crack jokes and make you reel with laughter from one corner to another,'' Virginia Akerele, 83, said with a smile. ''He and his followers used to disturb the neighborhood. Their voices would be all over the place. They used to wake us up early in the morning. We could not complain because that was his own way of worshiping God. We now have some respite with his death.''

Mrs. Akerele and her stepson, Tunde Akerele, 54, both Roman Catholics, said Jesus of Oyingbo never tired of trying to convert them. And even as they resisted, they ate the bread from one of his bakeries. ''His Good Luck bread was cheaper and better in quality than others sold around,'' Mr. Akerele said.

''Even the reverend fathers and sisters from the nearby St. Agnes Catholic Church used to come and buy his bread,'' Mrs. Akerele said.

''He was calling himself Jesus Christ and said he would never die,'' she added. ''We were surprised that he died.''

Not far from Manor Street, Olukayade Immanuel, the eldest son, stood outside the gates of his textile factory and shook his head.

''For six years before I broke from him, I said, 'You cannot force religion on people,' '' he said. ''I said, 'You must send these children to school.' ''

''And look what happened!'' the eldest son said. ''Look at this one. She's not even my father's daughter.''

Adeola Odumosu, a 24-year-old daughter, snickered. Just before she and Seye Immanuel took a reporter to the factory, she had called the eldest son ''greedy.'' ''He's wicked,'' she had said. ''He doesn't want to take care of us.'' Now, she pointed to the factory and accused him directly of building it with their father's money.

The eldest son laughed. The younger children stood many feet away from their brother and cowered when the big man turned brusquely, his belly swaying under his robe.

Just as abruptly, Olukayade Immanuel's mood brightened. He expressed optimism about the future.

''Nigeria has survived, and my father's movement will survive,'' he said.

And even though neither of the younger siblings had shown him any respect on this day, he asked them if they needed money and called them in behind the gates.

http://www.nytimes.com/1998/12/08/world/lagos-journal-after-carnival-of-second-coming-an-apocalypse.html

We still have many of them now.

Touch not

The place is exactly how they described it.

Bout to fall to ruins with many useless children still fighting and claiming