This afternoon finds me at Meru Town main stage, waiting for a matatu home. I spot Kiogora, the tout who once crowned me “Bishop.” I must hide – this guy has no clue about the chaos he caused with that big title.
A few weeks back, Kiogora, with his trademark grin and booming voice, decided I had a holy aura. “Bishop,leo unaenda na Raha Shuttle!” he declared, confiscating my bag and newspaper.
He then guided me to the VIP section, the front seat and planted me there. I sat there feeling awkwardly holy and very much like an imposter,while spicing my phone conversations with profuse “amens.”
Then I heard the driver shout, “Can somebody pray for the journey?” Before I could duck, an elderly mama zeroed in on me. “Kasisi there can do it,” she said, eyes gleaming with unshakable faith. In Meru, a fake bishop is not safe from divine duties.
My heart pounded like an akorino drum. My lips trembled.“Natuombe,” I announced, mimicking every TV preacher I’d ever seen.
“Our Father who art in heaven…” And then, just like that, my mind went blank. Lord, why have you forsaken me?
Sweating bullets, I stammered, “Give us this day our daily bread.” The crowd nodded, murmuring approval. Emboldened, I improvised, “Where there is discord, let’s sow love. Where there is error, let us sow pardon.”
Once again, the good Lord forsook me, and the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi evaporated from my mango head. Then the same good Lord helped me remember another line:
“Lord, make us instruments of your peace.” I kept silent to notify fellow passengers that however much I tried, I couldn’t recall another line. In short, I had ended.
“Amen,” everyone echoed, clearly relieved. I collapsed back into my seat, trying to merge with the upholstery, mentally vowing to dodge Kiogora and his honorary titles forever.
