It�s our turn to be pastors!

Keletso Thobega | Wednesday February 26, 2014 10:34

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!

 If you bribe them; give cash, food hampers and blankets they won’t let the cat out of the bag but will instead remain steadfastly loyal. Just ask the BDP...

I will then brief them on how to act possessed. When I touch them they must jump as if they have been electrocuted and go into a trance, crying and throwing themselves on the ground in fist-like jerks. Then I will shout: ‘Fire, out devil out’!

The congregants will be captivated and tell their family and friends how powerful Pastor Keletso is! “When she touches you with her soft little hand, you feel the Holy spirit entering you!” Then scores of people will flock to the church for prayers, praise and worship. I will promise them miracle money, God-sent husbands, obedient wives from ribs and so forth.

Obviously they will have to thank the good pastor. Money always gets my undivided attention. I will have to control myself from rubbing my hands gleefully when the congregants take out their meneelo. My large eyes which never miss a thing, will be watching attentively as they slip envelopes and banknotes into the money basket. If anyone puts in coins, I will touch them on the forehead proclaiming that they have a devil spirit. You can’t give a woman of God coins!

Since word will go around that the mighty pastor is young and unmarried, there will most likely be a host of youthful congregants. It will be my chance to pounce on gullible handsome ma-14. Wow, these hot little things can turn one into a lustful animal!

 Each week I will have a new one writhing in my bed. Since some of them think they are smart, I will have to be sly and convince them that they have a spiritual wife tormenting them. As we strip into our birthday suits, I will assure them I will remove the spirits.

When I moan pre-orgasm, I’ll force the hot little thing to wipe out the fluids with his tongue, convincing him that it’s ‘holy milk’ that will make him prosperous.

That infamous pastor Mboro called women’s private parts ‘biscuit’. I will call men’s items ‘banana’. When I pray for them my hand will slither to the stomach. I don’t want those ones with spilling beer bellies. They are not nice to touch. With a flatter stomach, the hand easily glides down to the jewels. As I expertly feel the ‘banana’, I will shout ‘Fire’ to divert attention and continue mumbling prayers, as I quickly grope their buttocks. By the time they realize what’s going on, I will shout ‘Amen’. I will have finished with them! No one would dare say anything for I will threaten them and screech: Touch not the anointed!

Naysaysers will deny that I’ve been sent by the one above. They will say things like: Owaii...a re ke pastor?! Another will barge in: Okho, I saw her gyrating to Y-tjutjka in December, with a black bottle hanging from her hand. Yet another will exclaim: The world is really coming to an end!

Batswana always have something to say but I’m a strong lady. I will weather the criticism. Besides, you know that deep down I’m a nice girl; at least I won’t make my congregants eat grass!