Hellhole

Oh my god, not another prayer meeting!!!’

I watch in silence as Ma ends her conversation on the telephone. She’s once again agreed to host a prayer meeting or something like that at the house tomorrow evening. ‘Don’t these people know there’s more to life than constantly praying and lamenting their fates to God?’ Jesus!!!
My earliest memories are of being bombarded with religion, early morning- before you’ve even brushed your teeth- bible readings, singing (this part I don’t mind at all though!), and praying for the dead to be raised.
My mother is one of those ‘holier-than-thou, know- it-all, so- therefore- no-one- can- teach- me- anything- born-again Christians. At least these days, since we’ve joined the charismatic movement (‘we’ meaning I didn’t have a choice either way), I’m allowed to wear trousers, go to the movies (provided that the movie in question is read up on to make sure that there isn’t any demonic undertones in the scenes), etc. Much better than the Pentecostal movement I’ve known since I said ‘hello world’! Now there’s a bunch of lunatics if you’ve ever seen one!

Did I mention I’ve even ‘given my heart to the Lord’ without me wanting to. The one moment I was dreaming one of my favourite daydreams in church (the one where my real family finds me, saying I’ve been switched at birth, and takes me away from all these fanatics) and the next thing I know I’m standing in the front, confessing my sins and proclaiming my undying love and devotion to Jesus, and Ma is praising and hallelujah-ing God for this ‘miracle’ forgetting that she shoved me to the front in the first fucking place! I was only 11 years old for god’s sake! Well, needless to say that my world came crumbling down that instant, ‘cause now I’ll never get to go to Gayle Jansen’s party- pure evil prevails at those events, but maybe I had a rat’s chance if I wasn’t ‘born-again’ Christian – ‘Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful’ (Psalm 1).
I’ve even been baptised in Mauritian waters; not that I wanted to be, but that’s obvious step to take after you become a ‘child of God’- the ultimate test of your faith, burying the old person- the ultimate act of obedience; to be honest, by this stage I just wanted to get rid of the nagging, and thought ‘what the hell- let’s do this thing- at least then I can enjoy my three weeks in Mauritius! Must admit, these charismatics are truly amazing- they can raise funds in a flash, so that you can take the trip with a whole lot of other youths (including pastor, pastor’s wife, daughter and it’s boyfriend, son, Ma and my benefactor), just because God has given me an amazing singing voice with which I’m supposed to wow the cow-worshipping natives of the island into the kingdom of the real god! What do I care? I’m getting a free holiday in paradise, free mousse from the vendors at the market (they cannot believe I look like one of them, and South African!).

One day on our bus ride back from wherever we were ‘spreading the gospel’, we met a white South- African (sorry, I have to make this distinction for clarity- was in apartheid era) family. They strike up a conversation with my benefactor (did I mention she was white? – famous in SA nevertheless), talking about this and that; I ask her something in Afrikaans (our mother tongue) – the same language they’re conversing in- and their eyes but pop out of their skulls: ‘she really did pick up Afrikaans very quickly- how long are you here, did you say?’ As you can see I still find that occurrence very funny.
All I wanna do is enjoy these three weeks of sun sand and sea until I have to go back to my dreary life in our small fisher town. God, how I want to get out of that god-forsaken place…..and forget about that so-called-fucking- Pentecostal -pastor with his goddamn roaming hands.

I hope he rots in hell.