Sylvester Wapitso
10 October 2008
Francistown — Before turning right, a signboard inscribed "We will make sure that you are well prepared for your retirement" faces the road. It is so huge that it occupies a substantial space in Joseph Gilbert's homestead.
The message is explicitly crafted for all and sundry to see. While the advertising board belongs to the Botswana Life Insurance Company, it ironically readies a visitor for a religious reception that awaits one in the seemingly overcrowded low-income location of Block One.
With a handful of churches concentrated in the locality, perhaps religious retirement activities are found in the location. Heaven and hell are not physical places, they are spiritual conditions, men of cloth have remarked philosophically.
A road under construction starts from the robots towards the Tati River Lodge. A couple of churches are lined along this road that is going to connect Boikhutso ward with the rest of the city. An outsider gets the impression of an active religious culture, which much of everyday life centres around.
Sheila Ncube's homestead stands a few meters from the Zion Christian Church (ZCC). She relaxes with her friends enjoying tea. "Those ones are much better," she says mildly in reference to a group of singing women clad in church regalia.
"When they start playing their musical instruments we cannot sleep," Nkululeko Ncube breaks in. Every eye follows her hand as she points towards a tent some metres away.
"Past Pentecostal Holiness Church" the message is loud and clear, thanks to the public address system. "Dig up your economic resources. You may have financial woes but you shall have a major breakthrough, "echoes a preacher caught in the middle of a sermon.
"Pelo yame e kutumisiwa ke meropa le dikatara, (my heart pounds heavily because of noise from the guitars)," complains Galeboe Maseko, affectionately known as Mma-Nchonoko. The 66-year-old woman says that the situation worsens on Wednesdays and Fridays.
"I have a heart and high blood pressure problem. You cannot even hear a phone ringing here, nor can we hear news and funeral announcements from the radio because of the noise," protests Maseko crisply.
"We are, however, grateful for the presents our children receive every Christmas," returns Mma-Nchonoko.
"They play video cassettes and this has become popular with the kids," she continues.
"I do not have a problem with the noise. Even when unforeseen circumstances incapacitate me from attending service physically, the mere fact that I can hear the proceedings from here is a blessing. The noise gives me power.
This is a good and soothing noise," remarks Chikadzi Ntshiwa, a cleaner at Solamatics Company earnestly. She goes to Christ Citadel International Church, which stands firmly a stone's throw from her house.
"These churches do a good thing. We take the sick for healing there, "says Kgetso Maundu a ZCC member from Shakawe.
An inscription reads 'Chibuku sold here' explicitly on the wall. A Franco song reverberates from a radio system at house number 2934. "I am glad churches are in the vicinity.
We do not even board combis or taxis to go and worship. People who are concerned with churches must be non-believers. These churches can be very helpful in time of grief.
They bury the dead with due Christian reverence regardless of whether the deceased was a member," "returns Phillemon Mokgethi matter of factly. They donate clothes and teach our children to live responsibly," he continues frankly.Patrons at Thompson Mmutle's shebeen are having a ball. "There is a scripture which says 'drink but do not get drunk'," a neatly but elegantly dressed woman bursts out. Likumbi James takes a deep sip thoughtfully then passes the tin of Chibuku around.
"We have a problem with gumba-gumbas and not churches. We occasionally go to church even though we drink. When I die my friends are going to use this Bible at my funeral to give me a fitting send-off, "snarls James, showing the Chibuku for all to see.
A snort of laughter accompanies the words. "Some play loud music in their homes," interrupts Mmutle, an Everest cigarette burning between his fingers.
"I like church because it moulds our kids. If the concern was about the bad smell from the poultry then we could understand," protests an elderly woman. She goes to one of the churches in the area.
These places of worship are a part of us," she sighs thoughtfully and seems out of breath.
A marquee tent stands erect inside a large fenced plot. It is a white tent but looks brownish on the outside. "Speeding trucks ferrying essentials to the site make a lot of dust. However, we washed it last week," says Tshepho Hendricks.
The inside is neat and organised. Church service is over. A solitary figure is playing the keyboard. His fingers purposefully tap the keys systematically.
Two speakers, one atop the other occupy the left and right corners respectively. Four microphones stand firm on stands. "I have been playing drums and now I am learning the keyboard. Another service resumes at 1730hours. We are observing a fast," says Hendricks invitingly.
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