Amen and Hallelujah

First, he thumps his old, tattered Bible onto the rostrum, takes out a handkerchief and carefully folds it onto the surface. He then glances behind him to the ushers, who at this time are mandated by the gospel to bring him a bottle of Dasani. He then looks around the church for an instance, holding the gaze of each male and female organism in the precincts of the structure in his steely gaze. And when the water arrives, he thumps onto the microphone once, then twice, then coughs as Africans are taught to ` test` the sound system. If it doesn’t reverberate through the hall, he cast a searing gaze at the youth, who by default are also mandated to take care of the ` instruments`, and chastise their inability to be keepers of the `weapons` for God`s war. If it does he will cough once more, this time to clear his throat, before shouting ” Hallelujah wana wa mungu” or the occasional ” Bwana asifiwe” when his moods are not so good


And when the sun shines, it’s not from the east, whence I had waited upon it. It doesn’t come with a glare and a beat of drums as I used to dream when I was a kid. It’s from her who I despised, the one I dared not look at. And I feel ashamed, as she changes the sheets on my bed for her clean soft ones, ashamed and gratified at the same time.

By Grace

My hands shot up and I managed to feel the links of a chain before they too were caught at the wrists. The chain went round my body fast, then jerked upwards and pulled me. Cold sharp objects punctured me at two points in the back and slid into my flesh. I was sure they were metal hooks.