Sunday, December 25, 2016


By Nabimanya (translation means I knew everything)

Its 30 minutes into the Christmas service and that's the right time to walk in the village church, you think.

Because that's when everyone will look at you, from head to toe, in admiration. The church warden ushers you in and walks you to the front because you are from the city and you deserve the front seat.

This is what you wanted, after all. The locals have to see you. As you walk through the corridor to your reserved seat, locals raise their eyes and stare at you, unblinkingly. Faint conversations ensue.

Aahs and oohs. They stare hard, you feel their eyes prodding and poking at you. You sit. Yank your iPad from your bag and first check whether your makeup is still intact. It's on. You smile.

The service is still ongoing.

They start singing these songs in local dialect, but since you are used to Hillsongs and whatnot, you simply clap your hands as you lip synch in boredom.

They announce that those from the city should stand and wave at the congregation. You hurriedly lift on your high heels and wave to the masses. They clap.

You smile, again. You fish your iPad from your bag, again, and take a selfie right there because, why not? Then time for tithing comes. They announce that those from the city should tithe first. You clear your throat and excuse yourself. You tiptoe out of the church, like a ghost, and you disappear into the nearby bushes.

Till next Christmas.

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