Church Chronicles: Part 1

One: The Pressure

I had about six months left before I turned thirty, yet I had no child, no cat, no dog, and most certainly no husband. Sometimes I wondered what happened to the life-plan I had in secondary school? You know, the "When I'm twenty-five I'll be living in a mansion, with my husband and two kids, driving a Range Rover" plan?

"What are you doing for your birthday Yaya?", my best friend Sindisiwe asked, disturbing my thoughts.

"I don't know... I haven't thought about it yet"

"You do realize that it's actually your crown birthday, right?" she asked and I nod, downing a glass of merlot.

"Maybe I should call Akho, you don't seem interested"

"I am" I said laughing, "I just... I have a lot going on right now Sindi, I'll probably think of something as it gets closer"

I was born on the 30th of March, so my coming 30th birthday would be my crown birthday, 30-30. I really had no plans, I was just frustrated. Sindisiwe was two years younger than I was, married, had three kids already and they were living their best lives. Akhonke who was my childhood friend was also married, had two kids and she was also living her best life. And then there was me, successful, beautiful, humble... No husband, no kids. Kanti how did this whole thing work?

I drove home that evening, after our drinks, feeling a bit frustrated. At the last traffic lights to my house, I saw a church poster about a revival-crusade that was coming to town in two weeks' time but I didn't really get all the details because the lights turned green while I was still reading so I drove off and actually forgot about that. The post caught my attention because well, I grew up in church, my mother was a church treasurer for at least the five years I spent there. I later stopped attending church when I reached puberty, I got bored, and my church friends had no life. Every conversation revolved around the bible, cleaning the church, buying church clothes, going to outreaches. Some of them didn't even own a pair of jeans, who in their right minds don't own not even one pair of jeans?

I had received a call from my grandmother later that night asking the usual "When are you getting married?" and stating the never-ending tale: "I got married when I was nineteen, your mother got married when she was 21, you're almost 30 and we still haven't seen a man pushing even a trolley walking in here."

Those things were getting to me, and the worst part of it all I couldn't just blurt out to her or anyone else for that matter, that I almost got married three times already. The first time when I was 20, my college boyfriend wanted us to elope, I refused and he went ahead and married a white girl. They were still happily married. When I was 24 my "fling" got too attached and asked for my hand in marriage, I wasn't ready... Well I wasn't serious about that relationship as a whole, he relocated and I never heard from him again. The last one, when I was 27... He came asking for my hand in marriage because his father wouldn't give him his shares unless he found a wife who would bare him a son to continue with the family lineage. Of course, I refused, I had always said that I wanted to marry for love. Pure love, not money, not status but love.

Well... What if love didn't exist? But money and status did?

**** **** ****

Two weeks later on my way from work, I saw a tent structure at one of the nearest fields and a few teenagers handing out flyers at the same traffic lights so as I approached them I lowered my window and took one flyer. Ah, that revival. The pastor on the poster looked very handsome... I mean, very handsome.

"Mh, Yandisa... Uzoya ecaweni girl"! (Mh, Yandisa... You're going to church girl) I said to myself smiling mischievously as I drove into my garage and parked. I freshened up and got into bed with a novel and a cup of coffee next to me, later on, I heard the church sound filling the neighborhood's atmosphere and then someone preached. I wasn't really listening to the preaching, but to the voice of the preacher. It was deep yet hoarse at the same time. When he hit low notes in his songs in between his word ministration it sounded as though he was whispering.

On the third day of the revival I decided to attend, it started at 6 pm and I only walked in around 7 pm. I didn't want that whole noise of the dramatic "prayer warriors" , I just wanted to see the pastor... And maybe listen to the Praise and Worship team minister one or two songs. As I walked in, a young lady shook my hand smiling, I smiled back and she led me to the front row. I politely asked her if I could sit on the third row and she didn't seem to mind. Luckily for me the singers had already taken the stage, they were jumping up and down, waving their face cloths in the air... warming up? Maybe. I sat down and looked around, the place looked clean and beautiful. Well decorated, not too much on the Christmas lights around the stage and just enough draping at the back. They had a wooden backdrop where the pastor's seats were... No wait, I meant the pastor's thrones. Everything looked neat. He must have good taste.

About thirty minutes later, he walked in. The whole tent shook as everyone started behaving as though they were seeing a celebrity of some sort. They were screaming, shouting, clapping, and throwing things around... Okay, maybe they were celebrating the man of the cloth. He walked straight to the thrones, the three ladies who walked in with him found seats on the front row. He knelt down and prayed, a few minutes after that, he stood up and joined the rest of the congregation in worship.

He must have taken the mic to preach, I don't know when I was just glued to his body. Clothed in a Grey three-piece suit and white shirt, greyish black dotted tied and black shoes, he looked exquisite. I watched his biceps flex every time he lifted his arms, the grey fabric hugged at his thighs with every movement. I snapped out of it when our eyes locked, for a moment it seemed like it was just the two of us in that tent. I cleared my throat looking around but no one seemed to care about what just happened. Which made me wonder, did we really just lock eyes or I was going crazy already?

After the closing prayer, the band started playing music and the young adults collected chairs, taking them to the already waiting bakkie. Other people were hugging and greeting each other so I guessed church was out. I grabbed my tablet and walked out, a bit disappointed that he disappeared within the crowd before I could catch one last glimpse of his handsome face.

"Molo sis'wam" (Hello my sister)

I turned to his hoarse voice behind me, he was smiling from ear to ear, offering me a handshake. I shook his hand, returning the favor.

"Hi mfundisi" (Hi Pastor)

"Uhamba nabani? Kurhatyele noko for uhamba wedwa" (Who did you come with? It's very late for you to go on your own) he asked, still smiling.

"I live just around the corner, thank you Pastor"

He spoke looking behind me unsure of what I had just said, "Thank you for joining us tonight, we do hope to see you again"

"Absolutely Pastor, absolutely"

We both nod and then walked away from each other. I didn't walk home, I skipped.