Chapter 1: Fifteen years back
I was happy the day my parents gave their lives to Christ. Christ was good ;in my 15 year old mind, this meant things were to change. We would have enough to eat, I would have a complete uniform, they would stop fighting and well, we would live happy.
I am not sure if the decision was premeditated or not, mhama stood up first, looked at me and started for the front. Dad soon followed, his height making him look like a new born deer trying to dance to the ‘Ndamuwana Jesu’ hymn that was being sung as he walked .
When Pastor Nhaka made the alter call, I looked at my hands, trying to avoid meeting the eyes of all the other congregates who would look at me as if to say ‘it’s been 1 month, what are your parents waiting for?’
Mhama and baba had finally agreed to come with me and amainini to church 4 weeks ago. After a year of convincing. Mhama’s excuse had been that she didn’t trust these charismatic pastors who seemed more interested in people’s wallets than anything else. For baba it was the alcohol, he was busy on Sundays.
The first Sunday he slept throughout the service, his loud snores an open protest. Mhama kept nudging him, on our way home he told her to never disrespect him in public like that again. I could not hold back my tears of embarrassment and frustration, they both scolded me for crying.
‘Manini I don’t think inviting them to church is a good idea anymore’, I later opened up to mainini Rose as we waited for sleep on the kitchen floor. ‘No, no Tanya, we can’t give up, if they come to church things will change I promise you. Just last week Deacon Mharapasi was talking about how husbands should treat their wives, if Bamkuru comes to church and hears that he will change, I’m sure of it. Have you heard of any church men that treat their wives badly?’.
I did not reply, too caught up in my own thoughts, she was right, at 21 years old, she was always right. They had to come to church.
I sigh, this all had been 15 years back. I am looking at an old tattered diary I kept when I was 15. How time moves, how things remain the same. 15 years later and my parents still did not have one kind word for each other. I flip to the first page of the diary…
The story continues…
