TITLE: "Assemblies – More Than a Shop"

If you live in Choba and don’t know Assemblies, you’re either new in Choba or your village people are playing serious spiritual ludo. Assemblies isn’t the official name, but that’s what everybody calls it—and has done so for decades. Why? Because the shop is parked directly opposite the Assemblies of God Church, near the Chief of Choba’s palace. Back in the day, people would say, “I dey go that shop wey dey opposite Assemblies.” Gradually, the shop lost its real name—if it ever had one—and simply became Assemblies. It stuck like crayfish smell in market nylon.

Officially, the shop belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Uche. But let's be honest—Mr. Uche is more like furniture in the background. If laziness was a sport, he’d have gold medals. The man is allergic to stress. He can rest for Africa. Most people in Choba believe he invented “relaxation” before DSTV had the Relax TV channel. If you catch him awake, consider it a miracle. He’s either dozing behind the counter or discussing “past glory” with passing okada riders.

Now, Madam Uche—na she be real MVP. That woman is five people in one body. She runs the shop like a general leading a battalion. One minute she’s frying akara outside, the next she’s settling children’s quarrels, giving out change, stocking bread, shouting at customers, and monitoring POS machine—simultaneously. If multitasking was a school, she would be the dean.

Over the years, people have opened shops and locked them up, some with shiny signboards and painted tiles. Some came with loud music, some with capital from abroad. But one by one, they folded like gala wrappers in hot sun. Assemblies? Still standing like soldier wey no collect order to fall back. No signboard, no flashy anything—just resilience in human form.

Everybody calls her Mummy Assemblies. She’s the mother of the community—students owe her, market women depend on her for change, mechanics use her shop as meeting point, and during lockdown, her shop became both grocery store and prayer ground. Even the church opposite would borrow change from her during Sunday offerings.

Till today, Assemblies is more than a shop. It’s history. It’s heritage. It’s that place where memories are bought alongside Maggi and matches. And even when everything changes in Choba—rain, politics, road construction—Assemblies remains, like a stubborn old tree nobody dares cut down.

And Mr. Uche? Still resting. Still snoring. Still somehow, miraculously, present.