IT’S FRIDAY AGAIN
Copyright © 2013 by Thomas Waita
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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It is Friday evening. It’s around six and everybody is in a hurry to a particular destination. Some are strolling from lecture halls towards their hostel cubes. Others are heading to the main catering unit singly and mostly in small files. They all portray whole week accumulated exhaustion.
Alfred, my buddy, and I are also headed for the main catering unit to grab something for the sake of calming our bellies down. As we near the entrance I notice a familiar figure in front of us headed our way. I focus only to realize that it’s Joan, Alfred’s sweetheart. She wears a weary grin on her face – she must have had a really long day – as she joins us. Alfred is undoubtedly caught off guard and is momentarily tongue-tied. I assume he is suffering from that common fright-like chill which creeps up lovers’ spines whenever they bump into each other unexpected.
Luckily my guy manages to compose himself within an almost impossible brief moment and opens his arms wide to extend an embrace to his darling. I shove my sorry self aside and stand there like the Vasco Da Gama’s pillar and stare at them as they savour an intimate hug. It makes me miss my girlfriend Esther in the worst way. How I wish she was here with me right now. I let the thought go as fast as it came – who knows? Maybe she isn’t even thinking about me let alone missing me. She’s in Nakuru and here I am in Kakamega; what a pity?
My momentary brooding is cut short by Joan who says hello to me while extending me a feeble handshake. I somehow manage to come back to reality and instantly draw a brave but sly smile as if nothing is amiss. There is however, only known to me, a sudden and deep feeling of emptiness and loneliness crawling into my heart.
‘Hey Jay! What’s up?’ I exhale as we move a little to the side to pave way for others going into the cafeteria.
‘Hey! I’m good. You?’
‘I’m great. Had your supper already?’
‘Yeah. I see you guys are on your way in. The queue is growing gradually and definitely gonna be crowded soon enough. I think I should let you grab something to eat then we can catch up afterwards, what’d you say?’
‘You are absolutely right,’ Alfred observes as he gently pats her on the shoulder.
‘Tom!’ She blurts. ‘Will you mind joining us for fellowship later this evening?’
‘Uh uuuuh…eeeeeh…I think I won’t be able to…to…’, I mumble struggling to find an excuse to turn down her request.
‘Look, I insist you join us please. I promise you won’t regret the whole thing. Deal?’ She interjects.
‘Fine. Deal, though I had other plans in mind. I guess we’ll see you then. Bye.’ I offer, defeated.
‘See you there.’
She turns to walk away as we resume slowly into the cafeteria.
‘Seems like somebody has finally succeeded in convincing you attend fellowship, and with amazing ease,’ Alfred teases quietly as we join the queue.
I say nothing. I just grin at his comment. There is something that always hits me as a complete mystery; the gain individuals derive from attending fellowships, popularly known as keshas. I have always viewed keshas as opportunities for individuals to go wild: make deafening noises, jump up and down, and break into hysterical sobs all in the name of worshipping.
It is however impossible to deny that most fellowship attendees derive a certain fulfillment from the activity. I certainly believe that there must be a divine secret behind fellowships; the problem is that I have not yet discovered it as the others have. But today I’m surely going to find out.
I occasionally spot guys, with whom I rub shoulders while clubbing on Fridays and Saturdays, going innocently to fellowships! It leaves me wondering whether their conscience is really alive; obviously if it were it would warn them about the consequences of that come with mixing God with booze – It is like summoning doom fire to consume you into ashes. Even the Holy Word has it clear in the book of Ecclesiastes that there is time for everything and for every activity under heaven there is a season.
But who am I in the least to decide if whatever they are doing is right or wrong, correct or otherwise? I remember those days when we were kids and used to attend Sunday school. Our spiritual parents would tell us that we are never to judge our fellow men; only God has the power righteousness to proclaim judgment upon wrongdoers.
Today’s plans seem to have been entirely demolished. What about my bottle friends? What about the dazzlingly beautiful girls in the club? Who’s going to dance with them since I’ll be attending a fellowship? Am I going to miss all that fun tonight? I think quietly as we enjoy our meals in silence. But tarry a little, am I certainly enjoying mine, really? I can’t even tell whether the food is tasty or not: I am so much engrossed in deep thoughts and for that reason I am not sure if I am having ugali with beef stew or boiled wild roots! Sincerely I don’t like the whole idea.
We had planned to go out to the new Club Bash with my buddies. I can’t help envisioning myself downing that thirst-quenching fermented wheat while exploring young women’s sleek curves as well as savouring a slow romantic dance. Just then my phone rings. It’s one of my dear bottle friends, Denis. I am dead sure that he wants to confirm my whereabouts and if our plans are still on. I receive the call:
“Hello msee, what’s up?”
“Great. Where are you man? It’s almost 7:30 pm now and we are all set to go, shall we?”
“You know mtu wangu, I…I…I’m sorry I am kind of stuck somewhere and won’t be able to join you guys tonight. Something has just come and is surely unavoidable. I hope you understand my friend.”
“Oh, I see. Ukona mrembo leo, right?”
“No! No! Listen. It’s not what you think. It’s complicated. Can you imagine that I have been invited to attend a Christian fellowship tonight by Joan? I really don’t think it’ll be cool if I turn her down. Ama unaonaje?”
“You are right. You should just attend but sincerely I am disappointed. You should have told her that you had other plans.”
“I tried but she could not hear of it, so I eventually agreed.”
“Okay then but…” The call is disconnected. I am not sure whether Denis has run out of airtime or it is network failure. He is quite a hard person to convince because he never buys feeble excuses.
Just then I lift my eyes to notice that Alfred has stopped eating and is staring at me blankly. He must have been listening to the entire phone conversation, I resolve. I shrug my shoulders and get on to finish my meal. I glance at him and can tell that he wants to say something but chooses to swallow it anyway.
Time flies away without warning and it’s finally 8 pm. We embark for the Christian Union (CU) hall which is just below the main catering unit. As we enter I notice that the hall is gradually getting filled up with worshippers. We find a suitable sitting position, somewhere near the platform in front of the hall.
The hall has acquired a churchly setting from the wall hangings with drawings of persons singing, praying, reading the Bible and others giving food, medicine and clothes. At first, I’m tensed but within a short while I manage to summon my composure. The MC mounts the platform and requests all to bow down the opening prayer.
After the opening the MC gestures us to ar
ise so as to sing a number of worship songs. People are still flocking into the hall and there is virtually not enough space to accommodate more. After a few worship choruses, the spirit begins to manifest in miraculous ways. Worshippers get more and more engrossed into the worship. Some start shouting as other pray aloud while throwing their arms vigorously in the air. The hall is becoming increasingly deafening.
The temperature too is becoming uncomfortably high forcing most of us to remove our overclothes. There is dancing and wild jumping. I suppose it’s the work of the Holy Spirit descending on these children of God who are thirsting for His holiness. I don’t know what is happening to me; I am unable to dance and jump as those around me. My bones feel stiff – it is as if I am an old man.
However, with time I get to ease up and it amazes me to find myself dancing, shouting and jumping as much as the rest and…enjoying too! I experience a certain strange feeling in my chest. From what I usually hear from those who claim to have experienced the Holy Spirit, I believe that I’m being visited by the Paraclete. I feel new, rejuvenated, and most importantly I feel light and it is as if I am floating in the air. I cannot comprehensively explain what I am going through; it’s beyond my understanding.
The singing and dancing continues non-stop for the next two hours. By 10 pm everybody is so exhausted and sweating profusely and the hall