During church service sermons I will stagger around in my favourite Stoned Cherrie dress, donned in Christian Louboutin heels, punching the air, shouting praises and tottering from one corner to the other, whip out my Louis Vuitton handkerchief and dab away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit doesn’t envelope you especially if you’re a blasphemer atheist or antagonist. To save me from possible embarrassment, I will rope in my ‘cousins’ from the village to act possessed. You know those so-called relatives who are said to be the children of your late grandmother’s sister’s husband’s cousin’s younger brother. The ones who call you ‘lekgoa’ just because you live in the city and wear stylish clothes. Yes, those ones who spend most of their days drinking home concocted beverages with odd names like tipi ya mokwatlwa, laela mmago and skipa sa nkaalla. Some of them aren’t only chief drunks, but excellent actors too!
