So the other day I was doing laundry (forgive the excess info, Jaluo?) while Mademoiselle Julie (aka In Law) was on the console. So I leave to go upstairs to anika the stoff when my heart stops. My neighbour was carrying her kiddo & I could see it in her eyes: ‘HELP ME!’ It was Jehovah’s Witness. But nah, I’m not Red Cross. I strolled by, exchanged kidogo pleasantries & once back in the house, Mademoiselle Julie & I barricaded ourselves in.
Not that I have anything against Witnesses. Oh contraire, anyone who can walk up to a Kenyan household and argue the finer points of ANYTHING has muchos pantalones in my book. Because we all know Kenyans are crazy, and the chances of someone 'nyanching you (a la Onyancha) is much to say the least.
Another testament to the Witness’ bravery is that they came to where I live. Anyone who knows the area is familiar with the grandness of the debauchery that occurs. & OF COURSE I won’t tell you where it is, lest you give directions during the Apocalypse. But the thing that got me was that I was genuinely scared. As in hide-in-a-hole-and-weep scared. WHY!?
Though I know this shouldn’t be comforting, I know many other people feel the same way. Eddie Griffin once said if they went to his house, he’d meet them at the door naked carrying a raw chicken. Talk about guerrilla tactics. Maybe we’re overwhelmed by how seriously they take their brand of Christianity. Maybe we lock up the doors because of the human trait of hating when people seem to be dictating the truth to us. Lotsa ifs-buts-or-maybes here.
I’d like to think I’m a religious person. Though I’ve been watching some documentaries that cast beaucoup doubts on stuff (Thogi na Dread, thank you?). Ama that fear is my instincts telling me that my various reasons for not going to church are rubbish. I don’t know. All I know is that it would be a shame on Judgement Day when you get to the front of the line, you see a sign on Heaven’s gate saying “Admittance to Witnesses only”. Or what do you think?
