SHADES OF SIN

 Listening to the anointed man of the service, he's an exciting fellow full of comic utterances. Watching him enjoying the pulpit like a stage makes everyone envious of his position. I'm following him dramatise the hidden light of Mathew chapter five and sadly, it arouses the demons of a questioning Thomas in my pumpkin head.

The Anointed One:He makes everyone envious of his position. PHOTO COURTESY.

“You can't light a lamp and put it under a bowl." He quotes the verse fifteen. What if the bowl gets on fire? Why didn't the speaker explore that possibility? Still on the same logic, salt is used that we should be the salt of the world. Why didn't he talk of the effects of excess salt?

My line of thought makes me miss the next joke as the congregation bursts out. I ask for forgiveness immediately, not that I have sinned but because the devil's deviation led me to miss the message of the Anointed. He insists that he's not the one speaking, he's a mere loudspeaker, a magnifier of the Good News. To some extent, that's believable, until he touches on the concept of becoming a real light to the lazy neighbour.

“Do not be mean to the lazy neighbour. If his children knock your gate hungrily, feed them. Pray that the neighbour who refuses to till his land gets the urge and reason to. "

All faces get busy elsewhere. Guilt is painful than itchy skin rashes. No one is ready to tolerate laziness as a temptation to test discipleship. Contradicting the teaching on ' the lazy should not eat' subjects queries to the good man's motives. Is he paid? Is he a lazy bloody neighbour?

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It's offertory hour. Toa ndugu toa dada hits the air. I can't find my sadaka, a fifty bob note. The line is moving faster as people hum the common song. 'Bwana anakuona mpaka moyoni mwako.' That line stings as I give up on the small note. The only other note in the pocket is four times the other, two hundred! My Sunday budget is altered. No movies, no soda madiaba, no samosa and no mutura. Why did I or how did I misplace sadaka?

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I forgot to mention my placement. I mean, my sitting position is betwixt two ladies. I am literally sandwiched in temptations. On my left, probably the hand of the Sin one since the Son is said to be on the right hand, sits a restless lass likely to be suffering from a hormonal imbalance. She’s scratching her thigh that’s barely covered, the one on my side. She lifts her hand unnecessarily, probably to confirm to me that she shares my cologne brand, Nivea for Men. She’s in her late teens likely a form four leaver. It's an injustice to fail recognising her endowment, especially the external region of the heart. Her top must be a remnant of another clothe. The furrow between the ridges is narrow telling much about the semi-nude twins. The luscious lips, all juicy and glossy in the company of the black and white big begging eyes, drives one's urge to look at the crucifix and promise to rush to the confession box once the service is done. 

Shades of sin:i am am betwixt two ladies. PHOTO COURTESY.

The one on the right hand is a right one. The missal is open, following all the prayers and readings. Her voice while reciting the prayers sends shivers in the blood vessels. The imagination of an ideal mother of well-bred tots can't leave the thoughts. Unlike her left hand Madonna whose impact between my legs is checked by the tight khaki pants, hers is a great deal that I harbour even after the service.

Peace. Shaking hands, sending and selling peace to each other is a noble opportunity to steal glances. I hold each of them, the lasses slightly longer than permitted, to send signals of 'interested'.

As we listen to the announcements, the cheeky, pretty and bold left hand Madonna hands me a piece of paper and a pen. She carelessly whispers,

"Your digits please."

The one on the right stares, smiles and focuses on the husky announcer, my spiritual dad.

A quick thought runs, I hands her the paper, the pen and the message,

"Your digits please." She obliges. A great handwriting and a name that befits her stature, Purity.

Tearing the paper into two, I retain the Right One's number, writes mine and hands it over to the Left One, coconut and mango all at my disposal. Naturally, mango ripens faster and only available for a season. For the coconut, Purity will  tell the story to our bouncing babies. (Dreaming hurts no one, does it?)

No one gets hurt by dreaming. PHOTO : COURTESY

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