Shiri came from Israel on Monday. On Wednesday we had a date at the Intercontinental Hotel (the girl has class). After dessert she took my hand and led upstairs. This came by surprise. I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t, but deep inside me I knew I ought to play along, to be there and emotionally available for her. I found myself jumping the ship. That’s our foible we men when it comes to women.
When the weekend came I had to leave her. She wanted a full weekend at her place, but you know me! I have a duty to the church that has accused me of killing one of her bishops yet at the same time allowed me continue to serve. Well, I am priest forever in the priestly order of Melchizedek. There not many priests today. Young men are busy Facebooking and tweeting. And oh, blogging and ‘Instangramming’ skimpily dressed women, their motivation for secular world.
Well, rules are there to be broken. I was excommunicated ferendae sententiate – imposed by legitimate superior, Archbishop Raphael Ndingi Mwana’a Nzeki in my case – but I was reinstated from up the food chain the day the archbishop was retired. Pope John Paul II was another Mussolini.
They are everywhere – saints and sinners, angels and demons! I am no exception. Pawns – that’s what they are. All of us are!
The story of my life is just like any other – ups and downs, tears of joy and sorrow, and all that what humans face.
When I was saved from juvenile delinquency and jaws of death by a man of cloth some thirty years ago I did not know that I was being prepared for something else worse.
I was orphaned at ten – dad was in the army and was arrested after the 1982 failed coup to overthrow the Kenyan government. I have never known what the hell happened to him – whether he’s still on death row waiting for his day with the hangman’s noose, or whether the South African amnesty that freed Mandela was extended to Kenya. Mom had an ‘accident’ and her body has never been found. I don’t know where my six-year-old sister went.
I took to the streets then when John Kiriamiti, the legendary Kenyan pickpocket-cum-jailbird-turned-writer was the celeb in the ‘hood and tried to copycat his MO.
Then this initiative was started by the Catholic Church to rehabilitate us, we of the streets. That’s when the saviour came, Father Kizito, an Italian missionary priest from Ngong, who hustled us off the crime-laden-streets!
At the new home we were fed, schooled and converted (in all senses of the word) – some of us became nuns and priests; others opted for the much travelled road and today are ice-eating cabinet ministers and permanent secretaries – thanks to the church for saving us from the misery!
Some of us were turned saints and canonised by Pope John Paul II while others, like me, were turned monsters (and welcomed home by the devil).
I did not do my pastoral year at the parish like other deacons – I was taken to some rendition training camp off Baden-Württemberg Black Forest in Germany where I met the other chosen few.
That’s when all this started – the beginning of the end.
I am not trying to vindicate myself, just sit tight. The story has not yet begun!