He doesn’t want me to “over describe” his mother. So I will venture a more restrained version. Everybody has called her “Madhe” for so long her real name is of little consequence. If humans were elements of nature she would be a hurricane.
I haven’t been to church in four years. I was born in an SDA church, not literally of course, I mean our family is SDA, and as children we would be forced to go to church every Saturday.
Every Friday we’d gather around the counter at Pitcher and Butch and trade war stories. There was Jamo, a mechanic, ex Baraton University, Bachelor of Technology in Automotive. Boisterous, loud, carefree. He worked in a garage in Westlands as a garage manager.
He was seated at the Intercontinental Hotel’s Poolside Bar nursing a scotch. This was the tail-end of 2014. He was with an MCA lady friend who he’d known for dog’s years. “He will be here,” she said unperturbed as she brought her merlot to her lips.
He grew up around the church, Seventh Day Adventist, to be precise. The family spent long hours in church. His parents were committed church members. He remembers a childhood filled with rotating doors of people coming in and out of their house for prayers and food being prepared for these church people.