Irakabiri

Chapter Three

Unlike any other Sunday, Zuba woke up at around 6 AM unable to go back to bed. She still had to decide whether she was going to church or not. Zuba figured there must be something to do beforehand but the dishes had been taken care of, laundry too, the house looked spotless, and her report from work was only due in a month. Bukuru was probably high on the Saturday madness and she did not feel particularly fond of Butoyi after last night's conversation.

 In a country where Sunday, regardless of how crazy the weekend had been, was still considered a holy day where children and grown folks gather in mosques, cathedrals, churches, it was hard to find anything interesting to do in the morning. After scrolling through her social media feeds for hours, Zuba finally decided to shower and put on her best yet least provocative dress. The idea was that she would drive to church but that if she even felt the slightest doubt, she would turn around the car and go back to her house.

The drive to the Kibenga Pentecostal church felt so short she found herself at the gates in no time. Telling herself that she must have gotten over what happened ages ago and convinced that moving to a different country must have kept the past at bay, Zuba entered the gates and parked close to the exit as she did not know how long she could stand the place. 

There was a certain familiarity about it such as the women dressed from head to toe, the men carrying giant Bibles, fedora hats, and canes to symbolize their elderliness. Kids were still not allowed to play and hence would occasionally run around their parents until one or both gave the deadly stare hence forcing the kids into adulthood for a few minutes. Zuba remembered how jealous other kids in her time were of her when she attended church with her grandmother as she would let her play longer or sometimes during mass.

*

The bell rang, and everyone rushed inside the church to hear the opening sermon. Zuba contemplated going inside the church for a whole hour before she gathered enough courage to get out of the car. She figured the congregation singing the psalms in unison was the perfect time to make an entrance as everyone would be on their feet facing the pulpit. 

Zuba took two steps forward past the church's door and found herself quite close to one of the empty benches when her eyes met a woman in her mid-60s staring back at her. At that moment, Zuba's blood flow quickened, visuals of her grandmother defending her against the members of their old church came back. They had decided to excommunicate Zuba in front of the congregation when they learned she was born out of wedlock. The rejection that she thought had been tucked away came knocking her stomach so hard causing her to feel nauseous and unsteady. Her mind froze for a minute, her eyes watered as she ran back to her car and vomited behind the trees.

"Shit!" was all her mouth could come up with once she got inside her car and gulped a bottle of water. Turning on the AC and pulling the windows up, Zuba played her secular music and waited for the service to be over as she was determined to see her goal for the day all the way through.

As soon as the bell rang, a huge number of attendees walked out, and Mama Kwezi was amongst one of them. She looked just like in the photos and it wasn't hard to spot the woman whose hands everyone wanted to shake. Also known as Mama Representante, she was indeed the choir director, and she came close to the pastor in terms of popularity. Zuba waited for half an hour in the car until it looked like the crowd was reducing. At that moment, Mama Kwezi was walking back inside the church which Zuba took as a sign of availability, so she quickly checked herself in the mirror and hurried in the direction of Mrs. Kwezi trying hard not to run. A few steps away from the entrance, Zuba shouted "Mama Kwezi?"

Suddenly, the old lady stopped in her tracks and starred at the young woman with a confused look on her face, nobody had ever called her by that name in ages.