There are those days as a child. On Sundays, my father would summon us after we got home from mass . It would be in our little parlour where we pray and converse on matters of concern. There was a single spring bed, armchairs, a high table against the wall packed with holy books and personal items, a small mahogany centre table used both as a footstool and for meals, a tripod cased ' Sanyo ' television that can be locked with a key. We could only watch it when the Eagles of Nigeria are playing a football match, during the news hour, or a decent family show. Everything in the parlour was sacred because of an altar set up on a wooden attachment to the wall. The altar contained a wooden cross, a rubber statue of the Mother of God, and a frame of Mary's apparition to the three Children at Fatima.  My father would ask each one of us in turn, "What did Father preach in church today?" When there was no light, he would set a lantern dangling in front of our faces. Our ...