I fell into a reminiscing mood about my life in South Africa the other evening during ‘happy hour’ (the time when I enjoy my weekly ration of drinks). Pliny’s (23-79 AD) observation on Africa was spot on: ‘Ex Africa semper aliquid novi - Africa will always bring something new.
During the latter part of my life there, I lived in a town called Louis Trichardt in the Northern part of the country but worked at the University of Venda situated about 65 km away in Thohoyandou (meaning Head of the Elephant) which was the ‘Capital’ of ‘The Republic of Venda’.
This was a ‘Country’ recognised as such only by itself and apartheid South Africa. For the rest of the world it was simply a ‘homeland’ into which the white settlers had herded the black masses after having stolen all their fertile land.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu once jokingly said: “When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said, 'Let us pray.' We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land.” Earlier, I had spent two years in the parish house of a mission station as a tenant after the priests had left to live in the house attached to the new church. This mission compound, like the Vatican City State in Italy, was in South Africa while all around it was the ‘Republic of Venda’ with the national highway in front belonging to South Africa.
It took about 55 minutes to travel to work on the excellent road built by the Apartheid regime. The first 50km of the journey was one of the most scenic drives in Southern Africa. All along were large fruit and vegetable farms dotted with pockets of forests on undulating hills. The last section of the journey was through the ‘homeland’ of Venda. Here, both sides of the highway were dotted with densely populated villages where people lived on subsistence farming and remittances sent by relatives working in the big cities.
Along this stretch of the highway there is a place called Luwamondo. One day, as I drove to work, I see a small grass-thatched shed on a large plot. In two weeks’ time I see a group of people singing, dancing and praying there. On enquiry I learn that a fellow by name George Musondo has established a church called the “Church of the Tabernacle”. Musondo was a lecturer at a teacher training college. Realising that he would not make much headway financially as a lecturer, he decided to change profession to a more lucrative one – that of selling God. He called himself Pastor Musondo and got all his relatives and friends to gather at this place to dance and pray accompanied by loud African drums. In the ‘Republic of Venda’, all land belongs to the Chiefs. If you need some land for grazing your cattle or for starting a school or for building a church or for constructing your own house, all you need to do is to go to your Chief and present him a goat along with a crate of beer. A little money in addition would make things easier. These are not considered bribes as such. It is a kind of recognition of him as your Chief or boss. He is happy; you are happy. You get what you want and he gets his ego boost.
In course of time the shed changed to a large hall. A few years down the line it became a huge pilgrim centre with a large private school established within the compound. I was told that the members of the church contributed 10% of their gross salary for the upkeep of the pastor and the church. Musondo’s daughter, who was my student in the posh private school where I taught part-time, was chauffer driven in a very expensive car. All his sons turned out to be wealthy businessmen.
As I recalled these events of my African life, I asked myself what would have happened if I had resigned my job at the university and started a church to be called “Church of Heavenly Feast”. I do not have the gift of the gab; but that can easily be developed – look at politicians and priests. As I fantasised about the opulence in which I could have lived, I think I dozed off.
In my sleep I had a vision. It could have been caused by mixing drinking with reading about visions, those of St. Paul on the way to Damascus, Mohammed in the cave, Moses on the mountain in the burning bush etc. and reminiscing about my time in Africa.
In this vision, I am standing on top of a mountain. I see the outline of a figure on a flying saucer approaching me. Did he look at me closely, I wonder. Then ‘it’ disappears along an elliptical orbit. After a while, ‘it’ comes back. It passes me a second time. This figure again stares at me. The third time ‘it’ comes around, ‘it’ slows down and stops in front of me. “I am the Master and Lord of the Universe. Go down on your knees, bow your head and sing my praises. Bring all your relatives and friends here so they can worship me as I pass by. Those who praise and adore me, I shall make them wealthy and powerful against their enemies. After death, I shall carry you on my flying saucer to a paradise on the other side of the mountain where all kinds of sensual pleasures await you. You will have the tastiest of foods and the choicest of drinks. Everything will be totally digested so that there is no need for toilets in my paradise. Men and women can freely mix and enjoy but no woman will fall pregnant and suffer pangs of childbirth. There is no ageing. Now kneel down and adore me.” I do as he commands. On looking up, the flying saucer has disappeared.
I rush back home. I talk to the people about my vision. In time I convince them to come to the top of the mountain. I make them bow down and adore this ‘Almighty’ as He passes over us in His flying saucer. The word spreads and the hope of a paradise where all sensual pleasures are available makes millions of converts. Prancing around in fancy yellow attire with a hat in the shape of a flying saucer, I make myself the Infallible Supremo of the newly founded “Church of the Flying Saucer” and build an empire that spreads its tentacles to all corners of the globe. Many educational and charitable institutions are started under its aegis. All buildings are constructed in the shape of flying saucers. Members must contribute 10% of their GROSS income for the upkeep of the Supremo and the running of the institution. Donations too are welcome. The Supremo is not answerable or accountable to anyone regarding this money except to himself and to the Almighty in the flying saucer. In gratitude, statues of flying saucers are constructed everywhere; men are encouraged to style their hair in the shape of flying saucers and women told to wear flying saucer pendants.
After death, I am carried off on a flying saucer to the paradise on the other side. As I lay under the cool shade of the jacaranda tree by the smooth stream savouring a generous glass of Rémy Martin, served by nubiles in the altogether, I am suddenly awakened by a slap on my face. On looking up I see my little grandson Ryan who after trying to wake me up, slapped me as a last resort, since I was not responding to his yells!
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