When the normal unexpectedly turns abnormal in human experience, it elicits unusual, startled impulses in the observer. That is what naturally happens when a reader comes across a new book with a provocative title such as The Lust Supper, which deftly twists the meaning in ‘The Lord’s Supper’, a biblical phrase and subject that Christians are quite familiar with.

How then does ‘The Lord’s Supper’, a scared biblical experience, turn symbolically, sacrilegiously into The Lust Supper? There lies the hook of a riveting literary offering that Sola Ogunbayo, a University of Lagos don, poet, writer and critic, beckons us to unravel.

The Lust Supper, published in 2024 by Pen-Impact Writing and Publishing Enterprise, is a fascinating 91-page collection of 10 short stories that excavates the human condition and societal contradictions through a distinctly Nigerian lens. By blending gritty realism, surrealism, and spiritual allegory, the anthology confronts existential crises, namely lust, pride, materialism, and hypocrisy, while illuminating paths to reawakening and redemption.

Rooted in Nigeria’s socio-religious realities, the short stories reflect both local experiences and universal anxieties, offering a compelling contribution to African literature.

By thematic depth and existential resonance, Ogunbayo’s narratives grapple with universal questions of identity, morality, and meaning, anchored in Nigeria’s cultural and spiritual milieu.

The foreword describes the stories as “eerie, dreamlike, fantastical, bold, psychological, realistic and supra-realistic,” capturing their ability to evoke visceral and transcendent responses.

In Blow Job, the first story for instance, a young Nigerian woman’s bus journey becomes a harrowing encounter with women’s painful monthly period and a suicide bomber. Her fears are vividly encapsulated in her expression, “My menstruation gushed uncontrollably with rushing pain.”

This imagery mirrors women’s traumatic menstruation experience as well as Nigeria’s struggle with the eruption of terrorism, evoking Boko Haram’s shadow, while a Messiah-like figure’s gesture for her escape from the in-bus suicide explosion underscores divine intervention: a recurring motif reflecting Nigeria’s Christian ethos amidst existential threats.

In Pisces to Pieces, Peter’s enchantment by the siren-like Jane, whose humming leaves him “transfixed between dizziness and delight,” explores spiritual bondage. This narrative echoes global concerns about seductive distractions, such as technology, consumerism, or false ideologies, while grounding them in Nigeria’s belief in spiritual warfare.

His parents’ prayers, invoking “The Lord rebuke you, Jane!” liberate him, reinforcing redemption through faith, a theme resonant with Nigeria’s Pentecostal zeal. The collection’s strength really lies in its religious thematic cohesion. Stories like Sash the Scripture and Chalice Angels probe the tension between holiness and carnality, using characters like the falsely accused Alvin and the philandering Nifemi to expose human frailty. The author also deftly critiques religious hypocrisy, as seen in the eponymous story, The Lust Supper, where a communion service strangely descends into debauchery, remote-controlled by diabolical supernatural forces, revealing the fragility of moral facades.

Listening Heir tackles mental health stigma, a taboo in Nigeria, through Dugbe, the “naked madman,” who sings, “All these mad people that don’t want to hear me; One day, one day, you will hear me o.”

His restoration via a divine “sheer, vast light in a figure that resembled a dove” challenges societal neglect, aligning with global mental health advocacy yet rooted in local spiritual beliefs.

Ogunbayo’s innovative structure, interweaving poetic verses with prose narratives, elevates The Lust Supper beyond conventional storytelling. Each section, Four Play, Running After Me, and Handwashing Pontius Pilate, opens with a poem that sets a thematic and tonal foundation, blending biblical imagery with existential musings.

Four Play invokes divine protection through metaphors like “Become a keen eagle; Feast your vigilant eyes on me,” echoing Ezekiel’s visions and priming readers for the spiritual-physical dichotomy in the prose.

These poetic preludes act as lyrical overtures, amplifying the stories’ emotional and philosophical depth. For instance, the incantatory “O Deflowered Birds!” in The Lust Supper mirrors the prose’s chaotic descent into debauchery, creating a rhythmic synergy that enhances the narrative’s surreal intensity. Instructively, this experimental genre reflects Nigeria’s oral tradition, where poetry and storytelling converge, while aligning with global literary trends like magical realism, akin to Ben Okri’s work. However, the dense poetic symbolism occasionally risks overshadowing the prose, potentially alienating readers less versed in biblical or mythological allusions.

In terms of characterisation, Ogunbayo’s characters are vivid, though their depth varies. In Sash the Scripture, Alvin, falsely accused of rape, embodies the fragility of reputation in a judgmental society. His mental unraveling is captured as “the judge’s wig turned to different colours: from white to grey to blue to purple to yellow to pink,” a surreal reflection of his despair. Sherifat, the vindictive housemaid, shines with complexity, confessing, “I was just seeing blue everywhere… I am sorry,” humanising her vengeful motives. In The Only Ghost, Pastor Yemi confronts his past sin with Portia, who reveals, “I know that if I don’t forgive you, I will never have a child because I have cursed an anointed man.” Yemi’s remorse and Portia’s forgiveness highlight the personal cost of hypocrisy, a prevalent issue in Nigeria’s religious landscape, where clergy are often revered yet flawed.

Portia’s agency in reversing her curse adds depth, positioning her as both victim and redeemer. Conversely, characters like Leo in The Lust Supper feel underdeveloped. His vengeful threats, “I will kill you”, feel one-dimensional, reducing him to a plot device for Oscar’s redemption rather than a fully realised figure.

Style and craft also adorn The Lust Supper. Ogunbayo’s prose blends poetic lyricism with raw realism, infused with Pidgin English and biblical allusions. In Chalice Angels, Nifemi’s lustful thoughts of Daphne are likened to “her voice sounded like the piano played by heaven’s cherubim,” showcasing lyrical flair.

Local idioms and settings, like Egbeda’s stormy chaos in “Gabriel,” ground the surreal in Nigeria’s urban reality. Yet, the dense symbolism, such as “naked women bathing in the river of red wine” in Chalice Angels, can overwhelm, and pacing falters in stories like On Tekel Street, where apocalyptic vanishings feel too abrupt. Shifting narrative perspectives, first-person in “Blow Job,” third-person in “Sash the Scripture”, add variety but occasionally disrupt cohesion.

The Lust Supper mirrors Nigeria’s socio-cultural landscape, from the omnipresent churches in Gabriel to the market bustle in The Lust Supper. It critiques religious hypocrisy, as seen in Oscar’s past as a “homosexual lover and internet fraudster,” reflecting Nigeria’s tension between morality and modernity. Divine interventions, cherubim lifting curses, spectral winds ushering redemption, apparently resonate with Nigeria’s spiritual worldview.

Globally, ‘Blow Job’ parallels terrorism fears, and ‘Mask Execution’, with Dave’s T-shirt depicting “Simon of Cyrene helping Jesus bear his cross,” evokes pandemic-era anxieties. These universal themes broaden appeal, though the Christian framework may limit accessibility for non-religious readers.

Despite its ambitious attainments, The Lust Supper could be better. Convenient resolutions, like Dugbe’s sudden healing, and minor inconsistencies, such as unclear transitions in On Tekel Street, detract from narrative flow. Character depth varies, with Sherifat and Portia excelling, while others lack nuance. Yet, Ogunbayo’s fusion of poetry and prose, his witticism in the turn of familiar phrases, coupled with his fearless exploration of taboo topics like mental health and sexual sin, marks this debut as a commendable contribution to Nigerian literature.

For the Nigerian reader, it reflects their spiritual and social realities; for the universal audience, it is a window into the human soul’s struggle for redemption. The Lust Supper is a seminal but unforgettable feast of introspection. It is a feast worth savouring, even if some dishes leave you hungry for more.