Every Nigerian father has a Sunday ritual that is more religious than church: washing the car. After service, after rice, he changes into his "car wash clothes." He fills the bucket. He brings out the rag that has been washing that car since 2015. He starts with the roof and works his way down with military precision. He does not trust anyone else to wash it. If you offer to help, you are given the tires as a test. You will not pass the test. Then comes the inspection. He opens the bonnet. He checks the oil with the dipstick, wipes it, checks again. He kicks the tires. Not to test pressure—just because it is tradition. He looks under the car for leaks that are not there. He asks you when you last checked the water. You do not know what water he is referring to. There are multiple waters. Then the sermon begins. "This car is your inheritance." "Do you know how much I bought this car?" "If you maintain a car, it will maintain you." He tells stories of his first car. The one that had no AC. The one that had a hand crank. You have heard the stories since childhood, but you must listen again. The car is not metal; it is a family member. And God help you if you scratch it. The scratch is not bodywork damage; it is a personal insult. A betrayal. A reason to reconsider your position in the will. Does your father worship his car on Sundays? And what's the most repeated car sermon you've endured?
