6-6-6

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Photo Credit: Getty/SiberianPhotographer


 6-6-6

I can bet the very first thing that came to mind on sighting that number is "The mark of the beast": especially my christian brethren. You can as well calm down now. Angel Micheal is not ready to blow the trumpet.

The date 6-6-6 was a fearful one that year as various news, prophecies, words of knowledge to mention but a few kept flying around. It was presumed to be the day the underworld would strike and every believer should be in church, praying.

As a result, all roads led to the redemption camp. Trust African mothers.

The day preceding the D-Day was my church's Holy Ghost night while the Saturday was Mfm's Power Must Change Hands program. Mum decided to kill two birds with a stone. My sister and I were dressed in SU clothing. The image of my cap that year keeps coming to my head and I can't help but laugh. That cap should be a national treasure.

We completed the holy ghost night service and moved to MFM. It was a tug of war. The prayer ground overflowed its boundary and everyone suddenly turned to a prayer warrior. How can I forget the uncle mistakenly who smacked my mouth with his elbow and my puff puff fell down? I silently prayed his prayers fall down too. Naive me!

My mum was wrestling it in the place of prayer while I was sipping my fanta. What do I know?

The fun part began when it was time to go home. We had a family member come over with his bus and it took us 6 hours to get out of the gate; it wouldn't take up to thirty minutes on a normal day. That's where I knew we had encountered the first 6. We were left with two 6s.

The older women were kabashing while the younger generation were sleeping. The traffic that day was a standstill; we spent hours not moving an inch. We eventually followed a bus that decided to hit the bush and viola, we got stuck in a heap of mud. That's where the fun began 😂

We had neither jack nor any other tools and no car was even ready to pull us out. Mum and other women in the bus decided to push it out. Somebody shout Aseju! 

To be continued...

Till I write again,

Mobola.


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