SUNDAY
The weekend was fast, my sisters and I had washed and cleaned until we were void of any form of strength. My mum had called over the phone a lot. She now called more often than usual because I had joined my sisters in school. Her last daughter. She was alone at home with two men. Or maybe a man and half, seeing as my younger brother was only four years old.
“Have you guys eaten? What did you eat? Remember to take B-complex, folic acid and Vitamin C”.
We’ve practically crammed mummy’s words. And she knew this but still said them anyway, so we learned to listen without complaining. Sunday was also fast, we had attended 6AM mass at an outstation of St. Anthony’s Catholic Church. The outstation was a primary school with lockers, chairs and blackboards. Not the kind of black boards that were built to be used as black boards. These were best described as ‘black walls’, whereby a particular section of the wall was plastered and darkened to serve as a black board. The classrooms had no windows, the walls were so low you could place your hands on them. It was the kind of classroom that should be called ‘Umunne Secondary School’ but it was called ‘St Lucy’. There were plastic seats provided by the parishioners where people sat during the Mass, but they were not enough so people also sat down on the students’ seats and lockers. The priest preached about humility and chastity but somehow managed to drift into ‘the high rate of indecent dressing’ among students. The girl beside me adjusted her above the knee short skirt as if the priest was referring to her, as if he had somehow managed to see her all the way from the alter. We were sitting at the back, there was no way the priest could have seen her with his human sight. Unless of course it was with his spiritual sight. That theory didn’t really play out well in my mind, so I concluded it was her conscience in play. She knew her skirt was short and she probably thought about it before she left her house, but she still wore it anyway, now the mere mention of ‘short skirts’ by the priest as a form of indecent dressing among girls awakened the thought making her conscience count her as one and she became uncomfortable. I gave out a small smile when the thought of my mum’s sarcastic tone whenever she thought a dress was indecent or not modest enough to be worn to the church crossed my mind.
“Your dress is fine my dear, but is that the best you could do? Pull it all the way up, or better still take it off entirely. Let us show the priest and the church members your nakedness”. No one was supposed to tell you to change your clothes if you found yourself in such a situation with Dr. Vera Okoli. I was glad I was wearing a long gown today. I wasn’t fighting with my conscience. The priest was talking to the girl beside me. My sisters and I, we were in the group the priest referred to as ‘God’s instruments’. I laughed comfortably at the priest’s jokes as if I was on his team against the team of the girl that was beside me. I wanted to tell the girl that even though we were on different teams that it doesn’t mean that she wasn’t God’s instrument, that her short skirt does not completely define who she is, that the priest could not see her, that she should stop pulling the skirt down before she pulls it off her waist. I continued listening to the priest and noticed the girl had become comfortable when the priest left the topic to address lateness to Mass. The rest of the mass was a success, we gave offertory and received Holy Communion. The Mass ended and we made our way back to the lodge.
“Have you guys eaten? What did you eat? Remember to take B-complex, folic acid and Vitamin C”.
We’ve practically crammed mummy’s words. And she knew this but still said them anyway, so we learned to listen without complaining. Sunday was also fast, we had attended 6AM mass at an outstation of St. Anthony’s Catholic Church. The outstation was a primary school with lockers, chairs and blackboards. Not the kind of black boards that were built to be used as black boards. These were best described as ‘black walls’, whereby a particular section of the wall was plastered and darkened to serve as a black board. The classrooms had no windows, the walls were so low you could place your hands on them. It was the kind of classroom that should be called ‘Umunne Secondary School’ but it was called ‘St Lucy’. There were plastic seats provided by the parishioners where people sat during the Mass, but they were not enough so people also sat down on the students’ seats and lockers. The priest preached about humility and chastity but somehow managed to drift into ‘the high rate of indecent dressing’ among students. The girl beside me adjusted her above the knee short skirt as if the priest was referring to her, as if he had somehow managed to see her all the way from the alter. We were sitting at the back, there was no way the priest could have seen her with his human sight. Unless of course it was with his spiritual sight. That theory didn’t really play out well in my mind, so I concluded it was her conscience in play. She knew her skirt was short and she probably thought about it before she left her house, but she still wore it anyway, now the mere mention of ‘short skirts’ by the priest as a form of indecent dressing among girls awakened the thought making her conscience count her as one and she became uncomfortable. I gave out a small smile when the thought of my mum’s sarcastic tone whenever she thought a dress was indecent or not modest enough to be worn to the church crossed my mind.
“Your dress is fine my dear, but is that the best you could do? Pull it all the way up, or better still take it off entirely. Let us show the priest and the church members your nakedness”. No one was supposed to tell you to change your clothes if you found yourself in such a situation with Dr. Vera Okoli. I was glad I was wearing a long gown today. I wasn’t fighting with my conscience. The priest was talking to the girl beside me. My sisters and I, we were in the group the priest referred to as ‘God’s instruments’. I laughed comfortably at the priest’s jokes as if I was on his team against the team of the girl that was beside me. I wanted to tell the girl that even though we were on different teams that it doesn’t mean that she wasn’t God’s instrument, that her short skirt does not completely define who she is, that the priest could not see her, that she should stop pulling the skirt down before she pulls it off her waist. I continued listening to the priest and noticed the girl had become comfortable when the priest left the topic to address lateness to Mass. The rest of the mass was a success, we gave offertory and received Holy Communion. The Mass ended and we made our way back to the lodge.
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