Kitso was a well-known preacher and an imperfect man. He embraced his flaws, but there was one he preferred not to share. It was his shame despite it happening many years ago. His heart jumped like a startled cat whenever a person said something that resembled this shame, and he put protective measures around him to ensure that he did not appear weakened by it. Church members knew this about him and because they respected him, they promised never to speak about it. Despite this, the story lingered in their heads like a foul smell in an enclosed space. They began to tell it to their children and grandchildren like a folkloric tale.
Many years ago, when he was still a grade eleven learner at Mokopa Village High School, Kitso got a job at Kumalo Bakery. This was a local bakery shop owned by Ntate Kumalo. Ntate Kumalo was a short, fat man who enjoyed baking in his youth but had delegated it to his employees and had become the boss due to his age. He was a discourteous man who spent all his time in his office, barely interacting with his employees unless it concerned the business.
On the first day of work, upon meeting Kitso, Kumalo scrutinized him and judged him because of his small stature.
“Will you manage, boy?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kitso said, ambitiously.
Kumalo left briefly to go to the storage room. He returned with a fifty-kilogram bag of baking flour and carelessly handed it to Kitso, assuming he could not handle it. When Kitso carried the bag, Kumalo chuckled and remarked, “You are stronger than you look, boy.”
“Thanks,” Kitso said.
“You have the job, but I will not train you. You will learn from the others. I have trained too many of you already. I am not the government!”
At this point, Kumalo returned to his office and closed the door. Kitso wondered whether he would receive a formal induction or get told his salary and working hours, but Kumalo never came out of his office that day. Although people had already told him about Kumalo’s hard-hearted character, witnessing it made him want to quit immediately.
“Who is it?” Kumalo asked.
“It’s Kitso,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“I need to speak with you, sir.”
“Is it concerning the business?”
“Yes.”
“Come in.”
Kumalo’s office was small. The walls were unpainted and retained the original grey colour of the cement plaster. The floors revealed traces of unevenly applied black polish, especially at the back of the room. Kitso considered it a bland space, with nothing that could reveal another side of Kumalo’s character. There was also a depreciating table and chair next to a small window. Kitso wondered why anyone would want to spend all their time in such a space.
“Are you sure about this?” Kumalo asked moments after listening to Kitso’s grievances.
“Yes, I’m sure. I can drive and I think I will do better as the deliveryman,” Kitso said.
“As long as the business progresses, it’s fine. But your pay will not change.”
Kumalo owned two white Nissan 1400 bakkies. Both were marked ‘Kumalo Bakery’ in bold letters. Kitso drove one bakkie and Thabang drove the other. Mokopa Village was big and divided into sections A and B. Kitso delivered for section A and Thabang for section B. They each earned two thousand rands a month.
“I don’t plan to work for Kumalo until I die. That’s not me!” Thabang said. “I’m going to be like Killer and own businesses,” he asserted.
“Why do they call him Killer?” Kitso asked, surveying the tavern with a deep gaze.
“His real name is Lerema,” Thabang said, “but they call him Killer because he is a loan shark. They say he kills those who fail to pay him back. There’s also a rumour that he eliminates his rivals in the construction business.”
Kitso was shocked to hear this and now less impressed by Thabang wishing to be like Killer.
“So, that’s who you want to be like?” he asked.
“Not the Killer part. His success inspires me. Did you know he worked hard labour in construction before this? That is what I want too: ownership,” Thabang continued, sensing judgment from his friend. Kitso wished to contribute to this conversation by saying something that could show ambitions other than his job at Kumalo Bakery, but he could not. He had not thought that far about his life. He wanted to finish school but felt that he did not have the academic talents to get him to university and into a professional career. He also faced the pressure to find immediate work and support his mother and sister.
When Kitso reported for work on Monday, he was shocked to hear that Thabang had quit. The news inspired and devastated him all at once. While this motivated him to find his ambition, he was sad that his friendship with Thabang had reached its end. He spent weeks pondering and soul-searching to find his purpose. He was like a man looking inside a dark cave without the aid of a torch, yet he hoped to find something unknown even to him. He thought about school and recalled how his highest mark was ninety-four percent, awarded in grade five for a performance where they recreated a church scene. Kitso played the role of a preacher and gave an exceptional performance. He thought about this moment and was proud and joyous.
Kitso heard about this project. Like many young people in his community, he was excited but later withdrew his interest because he hated hard labour. Besides, he had found his true calling. He was now an avid bible reader who spent hours honing his preaching skills.
When Kumalo heard about the project, he was thrilled because he saw it as an opportunity for expansion. He expanded his menu from traditionally selling loaf bread to offering other baked products like muffins, fat cakes, rolls, buns, and many more. Even though he lacked people skills, he had a business acumen that helped his business thrive. Because of this success, Kumalo increased Kitso’s salary to three thousand rands a month.
Kitso frequented the construction site when he went to make deliveries. The workers appreciated this because he saved them time by bringing their orders directly to them. On Saturdays, he delivered directly to their homes at the temporary housing site. During these deliveries, he saw how the people lived and he was amazed. They lived with their children and partners in those small shacks. When he spoke to them, they complained that moving into the temporary homes meant they had to find new schools for their children, which was a struggle because there weren’t many good schools in Mokopa Village. He also overheard others complaining that Sunday was no longer a good day because they had to travel far to attend their old churches.
Hearing about these problems brought him to a realisation. He saw a small community in need of a preacher. That is where he would start and grow his audience, he thought. He had their favour as their deliveryman, therefore, delivering the word of God should be tantamount to that.
“You look like a young pastor,” his mother remarked, smiling. She had witnessed him practising his preaching on multiple occasions. It impressed her, yet she never commented. She gave him her blessing, and then he left.
When he arrived at the site, he found that most people were still indoors. This was his predicament: without an audience, he would not be able to proceed with his preaching and it did not help that the shacks were not facing the same direction. To solve his problem, he walked through the passages like he was navigating a maze and started preaching.
“Good morning, my name is Kitso, and I am here to preach the word of God,” he said aloud. His voice penetrated the passages like a gust of wind announcing his arrival. “The word of God says, ‘If you obey the Lord your God and carefully follow all his commands I give you today, the Lord your God will set you high above all the nations on earth!’” he quoted from his bible.
He triggered people. The sounds of chains pulled from locked doors were audible. People were coming out. Kitso was walking as he preached, covering as much ground as possible.
“All these blessings will come on you and accompany you if you obey the Lord your God!” he said. He continued preaching and thumbing through his bible until he delivered his message.
By the time he finished preaching, almost everyone had come out of their shacks to see him. He felt a heaviness from the people’s eyes gawking at him as if he were a madman. They looked at him like he was an inconvenience. All the familiarity and friendliness that existed between them had suddenly evaporated. They were uninspired by his preaching, and he hated this. He also hated himself for taking a chance.
Filled with discontentment and rejection, he turned and walked away. A woman followed him after a while.
“Wait!” she said, running after him. He stopped.
“I like what you are doing, but I think your approach is wrong,” she said. “Why don’t you get a tent and put it here next to these shacks? That way, people will come to you. I will come with my children to your church.” She told him. He nodded and walked on. He was depleted and had no energy for conversations, no matter how affirming
The distance home felt twice as long. People he met on the way stared, their greetings and remarks about his attire irked him. When he got home, he hid his sadness behind a fake smile that hurt to maintain. Later he went to bed, and as he slept, the woman’s words rang in his ear. Even though he didn’t react after she spoke, he agreed with what she said. His only problem was money for the tent. What he earned from his job was not enough to accommodate his dreams as well as those of his family. He thought about saving money until he could buy the tent, but that would take time. His plans were as urgent as nature’s call.
He went to work the next day, but he was afraid that people would mock him for his failures. He went as far as switching deliveries with the other driver to avoid interactions with the construction workers. There was this urgency to redeem himself. He wanted to get money, get the tent, and start preaching again. Throughout the day at work, money for the tent was the only thing he thought of. It was on his mind like food on the mind of a hungry man. An idea eventually came to him.
In the last hour of his work, Kitso was unable to concentrate. He was excited and ready to execute his plan. It was getting late, and the weather was changing. He felt a cold breeze. When the time to leave work came, he rushed to Killer’s tavern. When he arrived, he asked for the owner and he was told that he needed to go to his house.
Killer’s house was in a corner and visible from every direction. It was a fancy double-story house towering over the modest homes surrounding it. Upon arrival, Kitso stood outside the big gates and called. A tall and chubby man appeared. He was brown-skinned and bald. He was at least forty years of age per Kitso’s assessment. He opened the gate and ushered Kitso to a chair by the veranda.
“How may I help you?” he asked.
“I am here to borrow money,” Kitso said without hesitation.
“How much?”
“Six thousand rand.”
“Interest on that money will be a hundred percent and you have three months to repay it,” Killer said sternly. Kitso nodded in agreement. Killer left briefly and returned with a brown envelope full of money. He gave the money to Kitso and took Kitso’s identity document as collateral. When opening the envelope, Kitso saw more money than he had ever seen before. He imagined that the only time he had ever seen so many papers stacked together like that was the pages of a book. He was as joyous as a man who had just won a jackpot.
It was a few minutes after eight when Kitso arrived. He was shocked to find a few people whose faces he had never seen before waiting for him outside the tent. The woman who advised him was also there with her children. He greeted them and welcomed them to his church. As soon as they sat down and settled, he started preaching. He did not expect more people to come and was shocked when they did, seemingly multiplying with each word he uttered. It was like a miracle. He realised that the woman’s advice to position the tent next to the shacks where the construction workers lived served as a good marketing strategy. Many of these people came out of curiosity, not faith. The tent being close to where the construction workers lived made people believe that this was another government project and that a big announcement was coming, which could create more employment opportunities. With this idea in their heads and the desperation caused by joblessness, they left the comfort of their homes and swarmed the tent like fish during migration season. Their hopes were crushed when they entered the tent and saw a small man in a black suit preaching. He was moving theatrically like an actor paid to appease his audience. Some people left because they felt deceived by the preacher but most stayed because they were entertained. By the end of service that day, people declared that they would be coming to his church again.
The following Sunday during service, Kitso could not resist the temptation of playing a numbers game in his head as he preached. The church was full of exuberant congregants, singing, dancing, and declaring their eternal love to God. He calculated how much he would make if each person contributed as little as ten rands towards the debt. He was tempted to introduce the concept of tithing but felt that it was too soon.
“Come in,” Kumalo said. Kitso entered and sat on a chair in the corner of the office. Even though they had been working together for years, they never bonded. They were still strangers who only traded service with salary.
“I need your help,” Kitso went straight to the point. He did not see the necessity for a casual conversation or questions about health and wellness.
“Is it concerning the business?” Kumalo asked his usual question.
“I need you to give me nine thousand rands. That’s three months of my salary in advance. You can deduct that money from my salary until fully repaid.”
“What do you need the money for?”
“I need it to maintain my church.”
“You started a church, and you are struggling to maintain it,” Kumalo said, laughing. Kitso felt anger and hatred brewing inside of him.
“Are you going to give me the money or not?”
“No, I don’t have that money,” Kumalo said and returned to his work unbothered.
Kitso left Kumalo’s office possessed by anger and thoughts uncharacteristic of a man of his religious beliefs. He decided to forgive Kumalo at that moment. When the due date arrived, Kitso had managed to save four thousand rands.
“How much is here?” he asked.
“Four thousand rand,” Kitso told him.
“Where is the rest of the money?”
“Please give me another month. I will have all your money by then,” Kitso begged. His mind was full of violent images of what might happen if Killer decided to live up to his name.
“I’m giving you two more weeks, or you will regret it.” Kitso could tell that this was not a threat but a promise and that he had to do everything he could to get the money.
On Sunday, he placed two medium-sized buckets in front of him and circulated them when he started talking about giving in the house of the Lord.
“For God to bless us abundantly, we must give back to his house!” he said passionately, trying to convince the congregants to search their pockets for money and put it in the buckets. Because it was his first time doing this, he was uncomfortable, and there was no way to hide it. People could see his desperation. Two beautiful black children went around with the buckets collecting the money. Congregants reluctantly searched their wallets, purses, and pockets for anything they could give. They didn’t have a lot. The total offering amounted to five hundred rands.
Kitso felt that this money was too small to give to Killer. It would be like undermining him and endangering himself. When the second week arrived as agreed between them, Kitso did not go to Killer’s house due to his fear of what might happen. Instead, he continued trying to find means to get the rest of the money. While doing this, he had the dreadful expectation that Killer would send someone to kill him due to his betrayal, but nothing happened. He slept peacefully that night.
The next day, early in the morning, Kitso went to the Bakery. He wanted to understand what had caused the fire. He suspected that it was Killer, and he wanted to prove it. He searched and scattered the burnt remains and found two broken glass bottles that smelled of petrol. It occurred to him that a petrol bomb was used to start the fire. He confirmed at that point that it was Killer. No one else in the village had the motive to attack Kumalo Bakery and destroy it without reason. He failed to understand the logic behind the attack. If Killer wanted his money, why destroy his source of income?
The fire ruined everything inside the building. All the windows were broken, and some walls seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Debris and ash from the burnt remains were scattered across the floor. He entered Kumalo’s office and saw that the fire had ruined the whole office. On the floor, he saw a leather bag that belonged to Kumalo. The fire destroyed most of it and only a small part was still intact. He searched the bag and nearly had a heart attack when he found the remains of rolls of money packed together inside one of the compartments. Even though most of it was destroyed, he could see that it was a lot of money and more money than the salary advance he had asked from Kumalo. He became hateful at that moment, but remembered that Kumalo was fighting for his life in the hospital, and hate was unnecessary. He tried salvaging some of the money, but it was of no use. He continued searching the bag until he felt a piece of metal hidden in one of the compartments. He was shocked when he opened the compartment and discovered a pistol. He was so confused, feeling like he was in an alternate reality because he never imagined that a man like Kumalo owned a gun. His hands shook as he held the gun. He did not know what to do or who to tell, so he took the gun and ran.
After weeks of living in fear, Kitso resumed preaching.
“No weapon formed against me shall prosper!” he reiterated these biblical words that Sunday.
The congregants were happy to be back at church. This was visible by how much they gave when he asked for tithing and how they sang his songs and danced to his rhythms.
His glee only lasted until one day when Killer unexpectedly walked in during a service. His bible fell from his hand as if he had suffered a stroke. He stopped preaching and froze when he saw Killer. Churchgoers did not know that Kitso owed the man, so they celebrated instead. Seeing Killer at church was like a miracle to them, and they saw it as a process of his redemption. They welcomed him and gave him a chair to sit on at the front, closer to the stage, so he could hear what was being said. Kitso observed every move Killer made before he picked up his bible and continued preaching. Instead of moving around the stage, he went behind the pulpit and stayed there while preaching.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me!” he said these words without reading from his bible. They were embedded in him just as the natural skill of hunting is embedded in a wild animal. He was hoping that they would make him appear fearless.
Later, police arrived at the scene and declared Killer dead. Church members, who saw what happened, worked together with their preacher to help conceal the crime. They helped hide his gun just before the police arrived and when the police questioned them, they lied. They said Killer was trying to rob their church and some men in the church overpowered him, took his gun, and used it on him. The police asked no further questions. Just like many others, this crime remained unsolved.
By the end of that day, everyone present at the church had agreed that this story would remain a secret to protect the reputation of their preacher. When people who were absent asked, they were never told the truth. They continued with their lives wondering what happened That Sunday.