On Sunday mornings in the 1950s, the sound of hymns carried across the waters of Ayetoro long before worshippers reached the Holy Apostles’ Church. Dressed in white garments that shimmered against the coastal sunlight, men, women, and children walked along wooden bridges and narrow paths, their voices rising in unison. To many outsiders, this sight was both striking and unusual, but to the people of Ayetoro, it was the rhythm of life itself.
The Holy Apostles’ Church was the beating heart of the Happy City. Founded with the settlement in 1947, it embodied the community’s belief that spiritual order must guide every aspect of daily life. In the 1950s, worship was not confined to Sunday alone; it shaped the week. Yet Sunday gatherings carried a special power. Families prepared early, mothers dressing children in spotless white robes, fathers ensuring their hymn books were carried, while elders reminded the young that worship was not performance but service.
Archival photographs show rows of worshippers filling the wooden benches, their eyes lifted, hands raised, and bodies swaying gently with the music. Oral testimonies recall how the services often began with processions, led by drummers whose steady rhythm echoed like footsteps of faith. Women sang in call-and-response with the congregation, while children clapped in joy. The hall, modest in structure, seemed to expand with the force of collective devotion.
The teachings at the Holy Apostles’ Church reached far beyond scripture. Sermons stressed honesty, hard work, and equality, reinforcing the values on which Ayetoro was built. Leaders reminded the congregation that to be a true Apostle was to share one’s catch of fish, to settle disputes fairly, and to raise children with integrity. Worship was inseparable from governance, for decisions made in the church guided how canals were dug, how markets were run, and how leaders were chosen.
For visitors who came in those years, the sight of hundreds gathered in spotless white, singing as though the sea itself were their choir, was unforgettable. Many compared it to early Christianity, where faith and community were one. Journalists and missionaries wrote about it with awe, describing a settlement where worship seemed to dissolve the line between the sacred and the ordinary.
Yet for Ayetoro’s people, it was simple truth: worship was life, and life was worship. Children who attended those gatherings still recall the discipline of sitting quietly, the joy of communal singing, and the pride of being part of something larger than themselves. As one elder later reflected, “When we worshipped, the town felt like heaven on earth. In those moments, we knew who we were — a people chosen to live differently.”
Though the years have brought erosion and hardship, the memory of those gatherings endures. The Holy Apostles’ Church of the 1950s remains not just an image in the archives but a reminder of the unity, devotion, and spiritual strength that defined the Happy City.
