8th April, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Apr 8
- 3 min read
Entry No. 182: “Ashes to Ashes, Petty to Pettiest”
Filed under: Voodoo Allegations & Thermostat Warfare
Dearest Diary,
There are days in family law when you don’t need legal training—just a crucifix, a fan, and a strong stomach. This was one of those days.
My client, a lovely woman with nerves of steel and edges laid by the Lord Himself, was getting divorced from her husband—a man I shall call “Brother Ezekiel,” though frankly, “Pastor Petty” would’ve sufficed.
Brother Ezekiel, a first-generation Nigerian man with a God complex and YouTube spirituality, filed for a protective order against his wife.
Not because she hit him.
Not because she threatened him.
No.
Because she, in his words, “summoned dark forces using African voodoo.”
What was his evidence?
🕯️A small pile of ashes on the front porch.🕯️A door mat that said “Bless This Mess.”🕯️And a scented candle that smelled vaguely like eucalyptus and emancipation.
“She hexed me!” he declared.
“I felt the spirits climb my spine!”
Sir, what climbed your spine was regret and a lack of electrolytes.
Let’s pause here. The wife—also Nigerian. Also Christian. Her only spiritual practice? Lighting sage, praying in Yoruba, and not strangling him in his sleep.
Now, this fool came into court with a typed affidavit, double-spaced, 14-point Comic Sans, and included the phrase: “I saw the devil in her side-eye.”
The judge sighed. I coughed. The bailiff looked like he needed a cleansing bath and a therapist.
But wait. There’s more.
When my client went to collect her belongings, it was August. In Houston. You know—Satan’s armpit in July. When you can fry an egg on your steering wheel and bra underwire turns into medieval weaponry.
She entered the marital home to find—brace yourself—Brother Ezekiel had TURNED OFF the air conditioning.
Let me repeat for the back row:THE MAN DISABLED THE THERMOSTAT.
In 95-degree heat. With no airflow. And three flights of stairs.
She said she almost passed out trying to pack her wigs and Jesus books. I almost passed out reading the filing.
The judge almost passed out when Ezekiel proudly testified—with a straight face—that the heat was “a spiritual cleanse to cast out lingering demons.”
Sir, it’s not a cleanse. It’s an OSHA violation.
Now, he also tried to submit a screenshot from WhatsApp as evidence of “the demon’s arrival.”
It was a blurry photo of her lighting incense and looking tired.
He drew a red circle around her eyebrow and wrote: “This is not my wife. This is a medium.”
Reader, I was ready to scream.
The judge—who at this point was visibly Googling early retirement—denied the protective order with surgical precision and the weary sigh of a woman who once believed in justice.
Her exact words?
“Ashes are not curses. Thermostats are not weapons. And your wife practicing wellness is not grounds for legal protection.”
Ezekiel has since enrolled in an online theology program that includes two YouTube videos and a workbook.
My client? She’s thriving. Air-conditioned. And blessed beyond measure.
Family law isn’t always about custody or assets. Sometimes it’s about spiritual warfare, fake prophecies, and passive-aggressive temperature control. And in those cases, I don’t need a retainer—I need an exorcist.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Petty. Permanently Protected by SPF and the Lord.
Disclaimer:This diary entry is a satirical dramatization of fictional legal proceedings. Any resemblance to real people, spicy prayer warriors, or unholy humidity is coincidental and legally inadmissible.
Tag someone who lights sage but minds their business.
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