Читать книгу SOUTH B'S FINEST - MAKENA MAGANJO - Страница 10

The Karanjas settled into their new life in Malaba quickly. So quickly in fact that within a month, they’d confirmed what they’d suspected was their primary mission in Malaba Estate: to start a Bible Study group as the estate did not have one.

It hadn’t taken long to establish this fact. Mr. Mutiso seemed distracted when Mr. Karanja bumped into him the first morning after they’d moved in, but not too distracted to reply, ‘No, I don’t think so,’ when asked about the status of a Bible Study group in the estate. Janet from house forty-four assured Mrs. Karanja that whilst there was one it was only attended by herself as the rest of the residents in the estate were either new to the estate or actively backsliding.

On the first Bible Study, three rules were set:

1 Bible study would take place on the first Wednesday of the month from seven p.m. to nine p.m. (so that people could get back home in time for the news).

2 The regular Bible Study goers would alternate hosting duties.

3 The hosts were only expected to offer tea and perhaps one or two snacks. Dinner was not expected.

~

At that first Bible Study hosted by the Karanjas, their living room overflowed with their neighbours. In total, forty-nine of the fifty-seven households in Malaba had at least one representative in attendance that night. The age limit Mrs. Karanja suggested was twenty-one because kids would be too much of a distraction. This did not stop a few of the residents from dragging along their children who snored on their laps or played outside in the backyard with the Karanja children. Never again would there be so many households represented at Bible Study.

‘Where are the Mulis?’ someone asked.

‘Oh, I saw Justus earlier, he said they can’t come because their pastor hasn’t sanctioned it. They are worried about the doctrine that will be taught,’ someone else volunteered.

‘Ah, Mrs Mutiso! I was just talking about you today.’ Baba Sally of house number three flagged Mrs. Mutiso down as she walked into the house. ‘You remember Angela Maina––the one who married that lawyer from Narok?’

Mrs. Mutiso was surprised that her neighbour was speaking to her. The Mutisos kept to themselves and their neighbours (who revered them for their wealth but also mistrusted them for it), made it easy to do so as they too avoided the Mutisos. Mrs. Mutiso’s reasons for avoiding her neighbours were motivated by self preservation. At least when they thought she was the luckiest woman in the world to have married into a wealthy family, it was with envy that they spoke about her. That was better than the alternative if they were to find out the truth.

Mr. Mutiso had pursued her relentlessly after their first meeting. He appeared in her life one day dressed in khakis and cowboy boots unironically. At first, she’d refused to recognize his advances. What good could possibly come from a wealthy man dating a poor girl like her? And anyway, her friends warned her, ‘Men like that only want one thing from girls like you––and it’s not marriage.’

Girls like her. Girls who had to send part of their university boom back home to their parents who were still living in a mud hut. Girls who didn’t wear a pair of shoes for the first thirteen years of their lives. Girls whose English was so heavily accented it sounded like a lumbering train whose engine was about to fail. Girls like her.

‘You remember Angela?’ Baba Sally was still enquiring. ‘She said you used to go to the same church.’ His tone made the sentence sound like a question. Mrs. Mutiso knew what he was doing. It was what her neighbours all tried to do when they did deign to speak to her, he was fishing for information about her mysterious life.

If Baba Sally continued down this line of conversation, there would be questions like “She told me you stopped going to that church. Why did you leave the church?” and “When did you say you got married again?” These questions were like a formula, adding up the year she left the church with the year she got married subtracting that from the age of her twins all in a bid to calculate if the rumours were true: did she get her children out of wedlock? Had she trapped Mr. Mutiso into marrying her?

‘She told us you used to be a world class singer in the choir.’ Baba Sally nodded in the direction of his wife, the other party in the “us”. Mrs. Mutiso turned to look at the lady whose eyes bore down on her venomously.

‘Yes it was a long time ago. Have a good evening Baba Sally.’ she moved away to ensure she didn’t hear his follow up question.

~

‘Uh…hello?’ Mr. Karanja voice didn’t rise above the din as he had hoped it would. ‘Good evening everybody,’ he tried again, nodding along to his words, his voice not reaching further than Mr. Mathai who looked up when he realized Mr. Karanja was trying to get people’s attention.

With a wink, Mr. Mathai stood up and began to talk as if Mr. Karanja had asked for his assistance.

‘Everyone! Hello! Okay, okay this is very good. Waow look at that. We have been here for three months and I was beginning to think this estate was full of ghosts only. Thank you to the Karanjas for creating such a wonderful institution for us to meet one another.’ The room went silent as Mr. Mathai spoke.

‘My names are John Njoroge Mathai and this is my loving wife––’ here he beckoned for Mama Kanono to stand up. She did so reluctantly and only because he would insist she stood up if she tried to refuse. Mama Kanono was not the only person wishing Mr. Mathai would sit down. Mr. Karanja watched Mr. Mathai delivering his little speech as if this were his house with what was, at first, bewilderment but by now had metamorphosed into irritation.

‘Eh…okay, thank you Mr. Mathai for the introduction. Thank you, I hope there is somewhere for everyone to sit.’ Mr. Karanja tried to steal back the spotlight from Mr. Mathai.

‘No no, not at all, thank you for inviting us and what a lovely home. You can really feel the spirit of God in this home.’ There was a wave of “amens” uttered with deep feeling.

‘Mr. Mathai, we are only doing God’s work,’ Mr. Karanja said, not displeased that his neighbours had noticed how spirit filled his home was.

And now here was Mrs. Karanja standing next to her husband. Her appearance by his side shifted everyone's attention from Mr. Mathai to her. The Karanjas were, as it was becoming evident to Malaba’s residents, an interesting mismatch. Mr. Karanja was the kind of person you’d keep meeting throughout your life and each time you would do the right thing and introduce yourself always forgetting you knew him already.

Mrs Karanja on the other hand!

Where Mr. Karanja’s features were bland and made him indistinguishable from any other light-skin, port-bellied, Kikuyu man, Mrs. Karanja was striking. To start with all the hair on her head that made up the bouffant she wore for the better part of that decade was all hers. She was the kind of woman people stopped on the street just to tell her how beautiful she was. She could easily have been a TV ad model and she was on track to becoming one when she met the Lord at a Billy Graham crusade at Uhuru Park and never looked back.

I am merely speculating here, but the only way Mr. Karanja landed Mrs. Karanja was because she was on the look-out for a man willing to build a church with her and he shared the same vision as she did. Chance is a wily bastard, let no one deceive you.

~

Mrs. Karanja opened the Bible Study with a short prayer. In the natural order of things, a worship song came next. It took a few minutes for the gathered to pick a song, as would be expected from a multi-denominational gathering. Amazing Grace was thwarted because it was too sad. Someone suggested The Old Rugged Cross. Someone else shot it down because it wasn’t Easter so there was no point singing it. Another suggestion, Tunakushukuru Mama Maria was received with enthusiasm from the Catholics but was dismissed by the other denominations. Finally, a song was picked, a song universally loved and claimed by all denominations: Baraka Za Mungu.

‘Mrs. Mutiso was a choir master once. I think she should lead this one,’ Baba Sally piped up before his hand was slapped by his wife.

‘Oh really? In high school? We got to the regionals. Which school did you go to? We might have competed against each other,’ A bold voice asserted.

Mrs. Mutiso’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth. The attention on her made her feel claustrophobic.

‘I…uh…’

‘I can lead it if the honourable madam doesn’t want to,’ Mr. Mathai offered and he proceeded to do so though he didn’t know all of the words.

~

‘My fellow brothers and sisters in the Lord, thank you once again for coming today.’ Mr. Karanja’s voice was an arduous monotone. From the second he opened his mouth to speak, minds began to wonder. After the song, a few minutes passed where he explained how the Bible Study would work. They would read through the entire Bible over one year, using a study guide to assist them.

‘Eh…this guide…don’t you think we should be studying the Bible using the Bible itself not a study guide?’ Mama Sally interrupted him. This observation got a few nods, a few grunts of approval and even an “amen”. ‘I mean, why are we using another book to study the word of God? What if the person who wrote it is wrong in his interpretations?’ More people were swayed by her thinking.

‘Eh…’ Mr. Karanja had not anticipated a challenge to his plan.

‘I think we should vote on the matter,’ Mama Sally continued.

‘Wait! Wait just a minute.’ Mr. Mathai got up to intervene. ‘Mr. Karanja, I mean, Pastor Mister Karanja here is the ordained pastor. If he has read the book and thinks it is in line with the word of God, then we should do as he says.’ Mr. Mathai knew only too well that a vote would end in acrimony and to think this could be the end of such wonderful get-together with his neighbours. He wouldn’t have it.

‘Eh…’ Mr. Karanja resented Mr. Mathai’s interjection even more than he did Mama Sally’s challenge. He’d also not found the words to defend his decision yet––

‘Yes, we have been going through the Bible using this study book with our church Bible Study and we can personally attest to the fact that it is in line with God’s word,’ Mrs. Karanja said standing up as well to assure her neighbours.

Mr. Mathai and Mrs. Karanja had a pull on their neighbours who preferred to side with them over Mama Sally. They were the popular kids of this particular high school. The matter was dropped and Mr. Karanja was given over a subdued crowd which stayed that way until Mr. Mathai interrupted to say ‘––but the words in this book are very small.’

‘In which book? The Bible or the study guide?’ someone enquired only too willing to welcome the interruption.

‘The study guide. Mama Kanono can you see this?’ Mr. Mathai held the study guide to his wife’s face. She tried to pull away, embarrassed by the spotlight. It was one thing that Mr. Mathai adored it but why did he have to keep dragging her into it as well?

‘It’s not that small,’ she said when she realized everyone was looking at her, waiting for her response.

‘No, I think Mr. Mathai has a point. The words in this book are too small. It will strain my eyes,’ Someone else agreed with him.

‘It’s not too small. You people are just growing old,’ another voice piped up.

The Bible Study devolved into a conference on eye-sight, who was short-sighted, who was long-sighted, whose family had a history of glaucoma; the fact that diabetes could lead to blindness; the offensive intimation that disability was a punishment from God; God’s different forms of retribution; the ultimate retribution––the coming of Christ, which a few people had it on good authority was happening at the turn of the century, a mere nine years away.

‘We don’t believe in hell.’ The room grew still. Mrs. Shah who lived in one of the three homes owned by the extended Shah family, had come along to meet her neighbours. Now, a multi-denominational Bible Study was a challenge on its own. There were the spoken and unspoken biases: Protestants who thought the Catholics were a sneeze away from Atheism, Baptists who thought Protestants to be too liberal and therefore unlikely to be among the chosen few, Seventh Day Adventists who thought––

––And this did not even include the tribal tensions. Yes, the gathering, though friendly enough, was wrought with social, religious, ethnic and cultural tensions but all of these divisions disappeared in the face of Mrs. Shah’s statement.

‘But your gods are idols. Ours is the one and true living God,’ Mama Sally declared. The room held its breath at the harshness of Mama Sally’s words.

‘Um…I think…I think what Mama Sally is trying to say here––’ Mrs. Karanja came forward in an effort to rescue the situation, ‘––is that we believe that there is only one God.’

‘Oh? Which one? The Catholic one?’ Mrs. Shah asked amiably. She spent every day with the same people in the same three houses. Right now, she was just so pleased to be communing with anyone other than her family for a change, she hadn't noticed the uproar her question (born of genuine interest), raised. ‘I think he sounds nice,’ she added in appeasement when she realised the comment had not gone down so well.

‘There’s no Catholic God, Mrs. Shah,’ Mrs. Karanja tried again.

‘It’s Mary isn’t it? Sorry, I keep forgetting,’ Mrs. Shah’s apology was sincere as it was off-putting to a certain subset of her neighbours. The Protestants suppressed a chuckle as the Catholics bristled.

‘This is why the Bible Study is good. You’ll get to learn more about God. For a start no one worships Mary––’

‘But we pray through her––’ Mama Sally said, interrupting Mrs. Karanja.

‘Okay…okay…Catholics pray through Mary, but you can, and you should pray directly to God, through Jesus.’

Mrs. Shah cocked her head to the side, confused. ‘So it’s faster to get to God through Jesus than Mary? But wasn’t she his mother?’

‘She was, but Mary is not a deity.’

‘But she is holy, Mrs. Karanja,’ Someone else added.

‘She is the mother of God but she––you––okay––I think we are going into the details here which will get us a bit confused.’ Mrs. Karanja saw no other way to save the situation other than to avoid it. ‘Let’s get back to the study, shall we?’ she expertly steered the conversation into safer waters and handed the floor back to a sullen Mr. Karanja.