Its yet another Sunday.That's like saying,its yet another payday for me.See,that day which people think is for resting,is actually my one major working day.I sell miracles to the blind,that's what i do.By saying the blind, i probably mean you.I'm wearing this long, multi-coloured coat that has become the Kenyan uniform of Pastors like me.My only problem is the shoes.Its been raining and i still don't own a car so they are muddy.But my flock will take care of that.Before they buy me an old jalopy through their nostrils and preferably at the expense of their children's food,they are going to have to wipe my shoes every Sunday,before i step into that church.They actually jostle and fall over themselves to be the first to do so.So am not really worried about that.Its the car am worried about.Because i've realized that though i want to drive like my peers,this art is next to rocket science.Sometimes art can also be science,especially if a Pastor of my repute says so.Manipulating cars in the street isn't exactly my everyday food.Manipulating the bible is.
I kiss my unwilling wife a half-hearted good-bye and step out of the house,heading for church.These women!. Why would a woman think that she's always going to be the only one in a celebrated Pastor's life?. What is one supposed to do with all the other women who not only want personal prayers but also want private sessions of preaching and casting out of demons that are known to reside in their bedrooms? Is a pastor supposed to neglect his divine calling,all because of his wife?One Wife?. I guess i will have to pray about that. Preferably in Sophie's house,for there i know i will find some real peace.Sophie,by the way,is a bar-maid.But i pray for those too,so worry not.Didn't Christ Himself speak to a prostitute?I go a step further,in pursuit of true deliverance for them..i hug them.Privately.In their rented,little backstreet rooms.A pastor who neglects the backrooms is not worth their calling.Rhoda, my public wife gets some information that i have been blessing lots of women in the neghborhood and now she's sulking like a jilted teenager.She won't even come to church with me today,would you believe that!.Now am going to have to lie to the flock about her wheareabouts.That she's sick or something.Or better still,she broke her leg and can't walk.If she's seen later walking around that's even better.A miracle will have occurred.In the Pastors own home.After laying on of hands by,who else,me the Chosen Pastor/apostle/disciple/prophet/God's own messenger.
Last Sunday,i had urged my flock to show up each with a seed of not less than a thousand shillings,in obedience to the instructions of the spirit. I warned them that they will only have themselves to blame for the consequences that will befall those who will chose to disobey.I spoke to them about some guy called Ananias and his flamboyant chic Sapphira,in the book of Exodus,(Either that or Genesis.Pastors are not memory cards)and how they dropped dead because they wouldn't pay seed to this maverick guy called Peter.So am doing my Math,before the sermon starts.From a flock of fifty,if forty show up,we are talking forty.Forty thousand just like that!. Simple arith..what do they call it.I know it ends with 'tics' and has to do with counting.Oh,arimetics(sic).That's going to be enough to buy Sophia that decoder she was sulkng about and have enough left to take Suzzy to this hotel everyone is talking about in Isiolo.This is going to be a great day.
As i approach the compound,am beginning to notice unusual movement by the church door.And noise.My flock only makes noise when i tell them to.They would even sing naked if ask them to.No one can see me though,for am standing behind a thicket that i had insisted not to be cut off.A prophet always sees things before they happen.
On a closer look,i see clearly the big bust of Sophie.And if that she is waving in the air is my missing red underwear,its time i crawled away.I can't believe Suzzy's here too,wearing one of my shirts!.And is that my wife?.Even if i wanted to strangle her,now,where would i do it from,seeing as this might as well be the last time my feet are both rooted in this town?.If i knew the book that spoke about Jonah and the big fish,i'd try to summon it now so i can willingly be swallowed.For this ground doesn't look like its going to open up and swallow me as fast as i would like it to.My days at the top,seem to be drawing to a close.Because even the media people are here.I hate cameras,except when they are recording something good about me.Everybody has their 'sell-by' date.And mine seems to have arrived,complete with the evidence.
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