As in most African Christian families, my religious indoctrination started very early, too early for it to really set in. A young child is usually preoccupied with the toys clutched to their pudgy appendages, and I was no different. But, alas, my parents insisted on dragging me to church along with them from as young an age as memory allows.
One fateful Sunday morning, in 2004, a stubborn 6 year old me, slowly tortured by the droning of the majestically draped priest, asked to use the bathroom. My mother, ensnared by the Holy Spirit, absent-mindedly mumbled that I get back as soon as possible. I hopped out of the pews and pranced out of the enormous church doors, forgetting to pay attention to where my parents sat.
As I returned from an inordinately long bathroom break, that I had incidentally not used for the bathroom at all, after waving goodbye to a few friends I had found outside, I reluctantly approached the imposing church doors. As I looked through the doors, it dawned on me that my earlier excitement had prevented me from taking my surroundings into account, and I could not recall, with even a slight degree of accuracy, where my parents sat. The fact that it was also offering time did not help my cause. I walked into the church slowly, down the middle of all the pews, and was almost immediately swept into a queue for the offering box. Hoping it would lead to my parents, I remained in line. I …show more content…
He had thick eyeglasses and glistening black skin. I was terrified.
“I’m lost”, I said slowly as tears started to fill my eyes. The true horror of the situation started dawning on me; lost in a building with over a thousand people, looking for only two out of those. The man’s grasp on my shoulders tightened as I struggled to get out of it. He was dragging me to the entrance. Sensing I was going to be arrested, and my parents won’t be there to console me, my quiet tears became a loud, distressed
One fateful Sunday morning, in 2004, a stubborn 6 year old me, slowly tortured by the droning of the majestically draped priest, asked to use the bathroom. My mother, ensnared by the Holy Spirit, absent-mindedly mumbled that I get back as soon as possible. I hopped out of the pews and pranced out of the enormous church doors, forgetting to pay attention to where my parents sat.
As I returned from an inordinately long bathroom break, that I had incidentally not used for the bathroom at all, after waving goodbye to a few friends I had found outside, I reluctantly approached the imposing church doors. As I looked through the doors, it dawned on me that my earlier excitement had prevented me from taking my surroundings into account, and I could not recall, with even a slight degree of accuracy, where my parents sat. The fact that it was also offering time did not help my cause. I walked into the church slowly, down the middle of all the pews, and was almost immediately swept into a queue for the offering box. Hoping it would lead to my parents, I remained in line. I …show more content…
He had thick eyeglasses and glistening black skin. I was terrified.
“I’m lost”, I said slowly as tears started to fill my eyes. The true horror of the situation started dawning on me; lost in a building with over a thousand people, looking for only two out of those. The man’s grasp on my shoulders tightened as I struggled to get out of it. He was dragging me to the entrance. Sensing I was going to be arrested, and my parents won’t be there to console me, my quiet tears became a loud, distressed