The Pastor and his Side chicks! (Short Story)

Smelling like fresh flowers in my maroon dress, I walked into the little church with hesitation. Unsure of my decision to attend a service,after years  of saying goodbye to the land of the ‘I receive my father! ’the land of the ‘Yes Papa!

 I felt like a sinner, taking each step as slow as a sloth ,tilting my head from left to right in search of a safe spot to sit. A sit that would make me invincible ,at the same time giving me a better view of the whole show...after all I am a lover of things!!

Yes Papa

It had been four days of being scolded by my former pastor in Zimbabwe.

 I had served in his church as a worshiper before moving  to South Africa in search of greener pastures. After a long conversation I finally agreed. He introduced me to his pastor friend ,who immediately sent me an address to his church and invited me for a service the following Sunday.

Truth is, I was a grown woman now and I was starting to see church differently. 

Deep down I feel like nowadays people do not go to church to learn the word of God, but they are  forced by poverty, desperation and frustrations of this world. In the worst case scenario most of them are just victims of psychological mind games. But believe me there is a God.

I found a good spot ,a few rows from the back. I took out my tattered bible which I hadn’t read in years.

People started walking in, dressed to kill in their flashy clothes and jewelry. Wait! Usually in other churches you find congregants of different age groups, colour and even sizes. Balance!.

 All I could see in this church were high heels,yellow-bones,heavily painted faces, tight pencil skirts, red and purple lipstick,Gucci, Fenty ,Brazilians,Peruvians and females walking around with a sense of entitlement ,proud as peacocks ,with their fake English accents.

 You could spot a few mothers, who absolutely looked and felt out of place, in their old fashioned clothes but were willing to stay, in search of miracles. 

They said on a good day Papa could prophecy your phone number ,address or even see what you ate last night.

 I saw a young brother in his mid 20’s wearing tight jeans and a pair of Yeezy ‘s, walking straight to the pulpit ,holding the Pastor’s bibles and bags. But Wait!...why didn’t  I get the memo? Is it a Church or a Fashion Show!?

The pianist was playing a soft soothing tune. I think it’s the famous ‘Amazing Grace’. He looked frustrated as he played.If you could ask a sinner like me ,I would say he looked like a guy who hadn’t had some in a while.

 Church can be very brutal, Pastors will teach you to abstain but many of them never practice what they preach. He had been playing the same tune for close to an hour now, preparing the atmosphere for the entrance of the man of God.

Forgive me for saying this… but pastors really love a good entrance. If given the freedom ,I am sure they would make the same entrance in church just like W.W.E superstars.

“Weighing 250 pounds!!..with a six pack just the same as that of the Archangel Michael!!....650 demons cast out!!......wearing the latest Rolex!!... Driving a Bentley!!...friends with Davido!!...Father of your fathers!.....ladies and gentleman theeee Man of God!!”

Okay forgive me🤣🤣 you didn’t deserve that.

As we waited for the great entrance, I started reminiscing of my time ku Masowe.

 My auntie ,Tete Mai Wilson as we lovingly called her ,was a ‘Madzimai’.Every time I would visit her ,she would take me kumasowe, whether I liked it or not.

 One thing I liked about Masowe is the fact that nobody would feel out of place. All of us in our white apparel felt equal in the eyes of God. No special chair for ‘Mufundisi. No great special entrances.

I swear I could have been a dope ‘Madzimai’.To be honest it’s cheaper to be one. You don’t have to worry about weaves ,shoes or painting your face.The rules there state that , if it starts raining during a Masowe service you don’t hide from the rain, you continue the service under the rain. So eyelashes don’t cut it ku Masowe. Funny thing is, they rarely get the flue ,even after services under the rain. Talk about faith!.

One Sunday killed that dream for me.

Madzibaba Reginault was preaching. He had traveled from Kumativi mana .I don’t  know what that means to this day but it was a big deal.

 I was expecting a very powerful sermon ,something that could at least distract our minds from the scorching sun, that was cooking our bums.

 We never read the bible,verses came directly from heaven. Talk about operating from an advanced level of  power.

In his exact words he said.

“Varume ndanga ndiri muchadenga ndikanzwa inzwi achiti tarira vana ve izirayiri voyambuka gungwa.Izwi akanditi Vhura nzeve dzako nekuti ndini izwi ndimire kumabvazuva ndauya kuzokusunungura.Moses asvika pagungwa mvura ikapatsanuka hove dzikatanga kuimba

Domini spiriot domini sipirio..domini sipiriot domini sipirio…Domini sipiriot domini sipirioooo!”.

The whole Masowe stoop up and we sang Domini Spiriot.That was the sermon for the day. A sermon about how the fish sang as Moses and the children of Israel crossed the sea….that was my last day kuMasowe.

The hunger gnawing in my belly, brought me back to reality. It had been an hour of waiting.

Suddenly he walked in and everybody stood up ,as a sign of respect. His hair was as black as charcoal ,one would swear it had been styled at a very expensive saloon.

 In his fancy suit ,he looked as rich as Croesus. What stood out for me ,was the size of his belly. It was as round as a ball, huge. I am sure all his clothes were tailor made. 

By his side was the wife, who looked as innocent as a lamb in her tiny frame. Graceful! was one word to describe her , the complete opposite of the mountain that stood beside her.

If a sinner like me was asked to describe him I would say the Pastor looked like Corruption in Zimbabwe….Big, out of control and unpleasant.

 I couldn’t stop wondering how they did the do. Clearly by the look of things missionary wouldn’t work, doggy wouldn’t work…kahle kahle nothing would work …but  "love is blind" and that’s  their business.

He went straight to the pulpit, started speaking in tongues and the whole church roared in prayer. Honestly  they just wanted to impress him. I mean just a few minutes ago why weren’t we praying? Some where on their phones ,others where gossiping, as for me  I was reminiscing of my time with Madzibaba Reginault ,singing Domini Sipiriot🤣🤣

He told us to remove all the chairs and put them on one side of the church ,to create a very big open space. In my mind I thought we where about to dance or experience a powerful prophecy session. 

Prophecy is one of the things that help us cope with the business of surviving a life ,that is daily becoming unbearable. Without a drivers licence and a job, the prophet can tell you  that he saw you in the realms of the spirit ,driving a Bentley. Talk about disillusionment.. talk about idiocy….maybe an escapism from reality!.

We were all excited as we removed the chairs, gushing with glee. Only God knows what happened to us African people. Business ideas do not excite us, business seminars bore us too….but prophecy makes our blood rush.

He told all of us to lie down,facing the heavens. Looking at each other in confusion we obliged. With our eyes closed ,he told us that we where about to experience the Sleep Anointing…...

Huh???

Like I said I am a sinner and my mind was already racing with dirty thoughts. Naturally when a woman lies down, her curves become more visible and her stomach will look  flatter. I can imagine the view in the pastors eyes, as he walked among us ,encouraging us to embrace this session ,as it would change our lives. 

Sisters in pencil skirts, tight dresses  and tight jeans even I would also enjoy the view.😜🤣

The sinner that I am didn’t  understand what was going on.

I opened my eyes and saw the young lady who lay next to me, drifting away into the land of the still or was she pretending?

 The whole church became quiet.Our  mothers on the floor trying to experience this sleep anointing.

 If only people could see what these pastors make us do. Maybe there should be a committee that visits churches every Sunday, just to check if congregants are not being abused.

The slay queens with faces painted like clowns were fast asleep. You could tell that all of them came by special invitation from the Pastor himself, just to make the church look good and full. It cant be a coincidence that all of them are light skinned, almost the same height and all of them had the same body type. 

If you could ask a sinner like me, I would tell you they know the Pastor from somewhere 🤣🤣🤣🤣but don’t  mind me I am a sinner, what do I know.

The silence was torture to me.I am an over thinker, imagine how fast my mind races in quietness. 

The Pastor was quiet too, he lay  a few inches  behind the pulpit. The way he was big, the pulpit looked like a mere candle in front of his body.

 

I tried to concentrate, I tried to tap into this anointing, but my mind wouldn’t allow me.Slowly I raised my head and I saw that I was the only one still awake.Amana tauya kuzorara here pano😭😭?…we have problems here!!Serious problems!!

I was about to lie down again ,when I heard the Pastor snoring behind the pulpit. 

The man was  really snoring🤣😭 in church ,his big stomach bouncing like a yoyo in slow motion. Sleep anointing?. Come to think of it ,why wouldn’t he sleep it’s his church after all.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe church is just not for me. Yes  I am a spiritual babe but ai Tauya kuzorara here pano? 

I  did myself a favour ,I stood up,grabbed my bag and walked out. Unlike the other congregants I was unapologetic about it.I value my time, if I wanted to sleep, I would sleep at home.

I couldn’t  say the same about the other congregants, who sorely lived to impress the pastor. I am sure their fear was greater than their voice but they too could see that this is utter rubbish. A perfect church for slay queens or Sidechicks. Imagine having a beauty sleep at church.

I got home, vowed never to go back there ever again. I love to sleep, but in my bed😜and in my own time.

A WhatsApp message notification, pulled me back into the world of the living. It was a text from the Pastor

It read:

We woke up and you where gone. For some reason you remind me of my ex.Can we talk?

Please let me know in the comments below …..what’s the weirdest thing you have seen pastors do in church. HAPPY EASTER Everyone❤️❤️❤️