Remember when the measure of a child's approbation included going to church on Sunday?
I remember back then as a child when we looked forward to going to the celestial Sunday rendezvous of the meek and the devoted. I remember my older siblings bathing me up and applying an imperceptible film of Vaseline Petroleum jelly to my little round face. But for my sausagy legs, a bit of lather from a bar soap helped bring out that natural mocha color. They would then slip me into an outfit maintained holeless for the express purpose of weekly special occasion. During the week, it was folded and tacked away in a suitcase, all the while drenching in the concentrated aroma of kambolokonya. You had to be a little bit eccentric child for your little nose to stand the nose-shriveling strong whiff of your clothes taken out of kambolokonya-filled suitcase. I hated it! But my mother it was allright. According to her, kambolokonya did not only give clothes a fresh scent but also kept utusumi at bay. I have to give it to her, my mother (peace reign upon her spirit) was one of the most witty women I knew.
Allow me to boast about her for just a second: My mother practically proved the theory of natural selection independent of Darwin. She did not know Darwin from Adam, yet what she did in her spare-time was such a marvelous display of differential reproduction of genotypes in action. I did not understand it until my second year in college. Imagine a woman who had never even seen the inside of a primitive lecture room conducted experiments year after year and came up with results that everyone who came into contact with them, wanted a piece. That was only one of my mother's strong points; what she missed out in school, she made it up in her personal undertakings. You could not help but be fascinated by her dedication and self application. She strove for excellence in everything she did. Her other strong point was, she raised me. I was not the easiest child ukukansha, but my mother excelled once again.
My mother also made me believe that to be umawana musuma, atemwa ukukula na mano, it was absolutely essential that you attended church on Sunday. Evidently, I loved my mother and so I went everywhere she said I needed to. I was umwana musuma, you would say or, mayo ali nkushishe bwino. She did a great job, if I may say so myself.
But that only lasted as long as I was under her watch. Ilyo twafumine pang'anda, twaliya ikata iciila and bright lights. Some of my siblings got tossed and battered by the violent waves of life. Unfortunately, they passed on a little too early. Others did pretty much follow mu nkasa sha mufyashi. I took a turn and got to be different from everyone else in may ways. The consequences of that are a topic for another discussion. Suffice to say, many who knew me as a child think there is a complete disconnect between the child they knew and the man he bore. I have grown, I say. Not in girth, mukushishinkana. This piece, however, is not about me. Neither is it about my mother. It is about what has happened to the sublime celestial groves I once craved.
To my mother's dismay, I drifted from the once sublime groves. I think houses of worship used to be places to be, to escape from the excessive daily toll we pay both consciously and otherwise. Not anymore! They are just as taxing and as corrupting as any trendy night club. Some are comparatively sicker than famous Chez Ntemba.
When we patronized them, even as children, we humbled ourselves before the gods. We paid homage to the gods in appreciation of the harvests and the good health. Those we perceived to be messengers spoke about being clean and wholesome. They advised the adherents to abandon worldly pursuits and seek righteousness. Some of them actually walked the walk too. Not all of them, though. Just some of them. In fact, few of them led exemplary lives. But the rest of them were stinking dirty rotten scoundrels - deceptive and cunning ba kateka, balelya nokuputilisha.
In today's churches, being humble and seeking atonement is not the aim. Rather showboating is encouraged. Congrgants are preoccupied with what used to be "ifya kunse." Now efya mukati. Ifilimba, ma-wee! There is no difference between icongo ca mu mashebeen ne ca mumacalici. Kuti banjo nga nailila, niteka fitalale. Abene ati tushanine ba YHW. Tufwenkwile ba YWH. Mwe benashikulu mwe! Ukufwenkula nsele nsele, cumi? Which wrong exit did the church take and when?
Another thing is, the talks are no longer about seeking righteousness. Talks are about umutulo and ways to generate more so that uletula uukulu. Those who can't meet the expectations, like myself, choose to stay away, because we don't want to embarrass ourselves again and again. But some who choose to stick in, steal.
I know people who fleece the government and tithe big. They even boast about it. They shamelessly claim that 'it is god who gave them the ingenuity' to fleece the government. Each time I hear such ridiculous words get sent out of their mouth, I ask myself, 'did the gods listen to humans more before than they do today?' I have been grappling with that question for a while and I am very close to accepting it as a fact.
I am actually beginning to believe that the gods are upset with us; they may have gone away and left us to our own vices. We have turned the sublime to the ridiculous and that is why we are having what seems like an endless stream of insurmountable problems. It is not only the Zambians, but all humankind.
I am here suggesting that to be well again, against incredible odds, we must go back to our ways - ku fishilano fyesu.
