The Freelance Clergy in a Rubbish Funeral
By Nyasigo Kornel
OTHIAGO died a terrible death. He was a millionaire with a dubious and mysterious way of life. It was strongly rumoured that he was the engine behind the chain of unlawful deeds that left the whole village paralysed.
The previous night, a burglar had been disturbed as he was attempting a break-in. “Thief! Help!” The owner of the house had screamed.
People had rushed to help, but the thief knew how to run. He would have doubtless won gold Olympics. Then, as he was about to pass by Othaigo’s house, he noticed the gates were open. He went in.
Five seconds later, the angry mob had arrived. They had pounded on the doors and windows of Othaigo’s house demanding that he produces the thief.
“Thief! What a thief?” Othaigo was mesmerised.
“The one you are hiding in your house!” the mob shouted.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he told the mob.
“People, this guy is wasting our time. Grab him! Someone screamed amidst the mob. Instantly, several pairs of hands scrambled for Othaigo from all direction blows and kicks rained on him till he died.
“He is dead! Ooh! I’m happy, so happy!” one guy whispered to me.
“What? Someone is dead and you are happy? Are sure you are normal?” I asked him.
“Normal? I am beyond normal. I am happy! Othaigo is gone forever! What a relief! God answered our prayers,” he rejoiced.
“Darling Othaigo, truly you are gone!” The reptile like woman wept bitterly and threw herself to the ground.
As most investigative journalists do to get exclusive stories for their papers, this time, Madiba did not take alcohol, except that his approach left his fellow veteran journalist with fear.
Madiaba took a walk amid the crowd with his camera hidden within the pastor’s gown, only camera’s lens records the events.
“My name is Pastor Madiaba, I believe that preaching at the funeral ceremony is not for the benefit of the deceased, but rather, for those of us who are left behind. I therefore hope that you will allow me to preach at this funeral.” There were murmurs of approval to the request of Pastor John Sango.
They knew that he was once a journalist to the Semayote Times. May be his boss had soiled his position due to his drunkard attitude, and he might have received Lord as his savoir and he has later become a born again Christian, now he is a spiritual freelancer, they were suspicious.
“Thank you and God bless you all. Let everyone close his eyes and pray.” The cheating preacher, Madiaba closed his eyes tightly, raised his hands and faced up the sky.
“Faaatheeeeerr in Heaven,” the preacher suddenly screamed. For such a thin man, he had strong voice. Everyone trembled. He prayed for nearly half an hour and then started preaching.
His message was hot. I, straight away, decided to become a born again Christian.
Half an hour later Ondiek, Madiba and the relatives of the deceased man were at the graveyard. After the cemetery preliminaries, the floor was again left to the acting like evangelist.
“Amazing grace how sweet the sound!” Someone started the World’s most popular hymn.
“That saved a wretch like me…!” The whole congregation joined in. After the hymn, Madiaba took over again. The message was even hotter than the first. Madiaba jumped into the air, pointed into this direction, screaming and gesturing. White foam escaping from the corner of his mouth. And then, abruptly, he paused and slowly surveyed the whole congregation. No one moved, no one coughed.
“Let us read the word of God,” Madiaba said. He opened a large, brown, tattered Bible, flipped through a bunch of pages and found the section he was looking for.
“Death of sinner displeases Lord!” he screamed. “He who says there is no God is a fool! All sinners are fools! If you are adulterer, then you are a fool and your death will displease the Lord! And the death of a fool angers the Lord! If you are a thief, a sorcerer, a fornicator, a drunkard then you are a fool and your death will anger the Lord!” he screamed.
“Preached it brother!” Ondiek screamed. “Tell them!” another person screamed.
“Ohhh Hallelujah!” his friend Ondiek interjected while taking exclusive notes for the Semayote Times.
‘God bless you brothers,” the preacher echoed. Then he suddenly screamed at the crowd: “Othaigo was bad news! He was a thief! A criminal! A sinner! Othaigo was therefore a fool! As a fool, his death angered the Lord.” Abruptly, he bent down, scooped some loose soil near the mouth of the grave, walked to the open grave and stopped.
“Dust to dust,” Madiaba said as he released some of the soil into the open grave. He paused for a second, moved an inch closer and then peered into the gaping hole.
“Rubbish to rubbish,” Madiaba declared and carelessly threw the remainder of the soil into the grave.
All hell broke loose. An elderly female mourner suddenly rose to her feet, took three long strides to where the evangelist was standing and slapped him hard across the face.
“Wuod ng’a inyalo luongo ni yugi? (Whose son are you calling rubbish)” Slap! Slap! Two more slaps landed on the preacher’s face. From where the woman has raised, a small squadron of women in heavy makeup similar to that of the woman who was singing: “Darling Othaigo,” jumped to the feet and joined the bereaved mother.
“You are rubbish! You are rubbish!” they screamed and seriously slapped the veteran journalist.
The journalist who acted like an evangelist stumbled backwards, lost his balance and then tumbled into the open grave. There was loud “Thud!” as evangelist landed on top of the coffin.
“You are rubbish! You are rubbish!” The offended mourners screamed and with their hands started shoving some soil into the grave, apparently with the intention of burying the offending evangelist alive.
By the time the rest of the congregation reacted, the evangelist had taken quite a good shower of graveyard soil, now his camera laid bare on the coffin.
“He is a journalist,” someone spotted him, “Yes he works with Semayote Times” another screamed.
The entire drama had taken exactly nine seconds. The mourners were quickly overpowered by the crowd and dragged out of the cemetery. The evangelist was pulled out of the grave and the grave was hastily filled.
It was an interesting funeral.
The sun was nearly setting as people walked out of the cemetery and rushed to the bus stage where they boarded a minibus to go home.
In the newsroom, Ondiek wrote a story without sharing information with his friend Madiaba, and as usual they left to take local alcohol in the expense of other people.
The next day, just to realise that his friend wrote the drama that happened in the grave yard without his concert he promised to change the style for the next news.
0715 551455
emmakornel@yahoo.com
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