JAMES SHIMWITWA narrates the tale of a living lie his old friend lived with dire consequences, proving the adage that a leopard cannot change its spots. Read on …

BUMPING into an old friend can be an exciting occasion, especially if their guise portrays they are still in good shape and doing fine. While on leave recently, I stumbled into my old friend Potiphar Kasongo (not real name) on Ben Bella Road in Lusaka after more than two decades of missing in action.
Memories of his character rushed into my mind.
As a youth in his early 20s, Potiphar was quite a character with women. At the age of 20 he already had two illegitimate children – the first child was with a married woman whose husband was impotent, and the second child with a classmate.
Before this, he had faced criminal charges for having sex with an imbecile. When I lost touch with him, I heard from friends that Potiphar had pursued a teaching career and had later joined Government as a secondary school teacher. His employment was, however, short-lived. I read an article in a local newspaper one day with the screaming headline:
“Kasama teacher dismissed for impregnating five boarding school girls”
The story named the teacher as Potiphar Kasongo and further revealed that during term two school holidays he was found having sex with a headmistress of a neighbouring school in her office on a table. It was clear to most of us that Potiphar’s insatiable appetite for women would ruin his future.
As years passed, I lost track of Potiphar’s whereabouts. I assumed that perhaps without a job he had plummeted into destitution.
But now here he was with a clean white shirt, a black pair of Pierre Cardin trousers and clean shiny Pierre Cardin shoes, the shoes were so shiny as if he had just disembarked from a car. His hair was freshly cut: A pencil line moustache spiced his usual enchanting grin, an attribute that fascinated most women. He effervescently greeted me like a person well on track with life.
“How have you been, Brother James?” I was dismayed by the way he addressed me: ‘Brother James’? This was typical of BA’s (the born-again) manner of greeting. Potiphar was the last person I expected to greet me so respectfully.
“Potiphar!” I exclaimed. “I am fine man, long time.”
“Yes it has been a very long time; God through his Son Jesus is taking care of us. How is your family?”
“My family is well.”
“Praise God!” His selection of religious phrases insinuated that he was a reformed man, born-again if not mistaken.
We indulged into the usual question-and-answer sessions that characterise an unexpected meeting between old friends. At the end, he said, “I am so glad to see you again after a long time. I want to see you again, if you’re still in Lusaka for a few more days please call on me at my church this Sunday.”
“Oh, really? Which church?”
“I am now a man of God, a pastor to be specific. My church is called COTBOJ – Church Of The Blood Of Jesus.”
“That is fantastic. I am travelling back to Mansa next week after my leave ends. Give me your mobile number; I will phone you on Sunday morning,” I said.
Potiphar was now a pastor! This meeting with him triggered thoughts in my mind to reflect on my own spiritual life. God, I thought, was really a forgiving creator who was able to accept people previously perceived by the world as perpetual sinners. I seriously considered becoming a born-again Christian, not in the context of my Catholic religious orientation, but in the perspective of Pentecostal faith.
On Sunday, I joined a huge gathering of congregants at COTBOJ. Pastor Kasongo preached with eloquence and vigour. His preaching was centred on adultery.
He read from the book of Leviticus. Chapter 20:10.
He expounded this topic for over an hour. “Adulterers, fornicators and prostitutes shall not inherit the Kingdom of God,” he swung his arms madly in the air as he preached, screaming on top of his burning and crude voice, his face glistening with sweat.
He concluded by inviting those with ailments and other problems to step forward and receive their miracles. Testimonies of those who had received healing followed. A woman emerged from the gathering and collapsed before the pastor; she testified that she had no sense of smell previously and now prayer had healed her. Another woman staggered to the podium like a drunken man. Pastor Kasongo commanded evil spirits to leave her body.
At the end of the church service, I thanked my friend, the now Revered Pastor Kasongo for inspiring me into a new spiritual life. I promised to visit him again for more prayers.
A Samaritan who I came to know that day as Sister Josephine offered to give me a lift in her black Nissan Ex-trail.
“So where do you reside, Brother James?” she asked as we approached Kamwala.
“Actually I am a visitor from Mansa. But currently am at my sister’s house in Chawama.”
“Praise God. I will drop you there since I am going to Makeni Mall.”
The back seat where I sat was packed with assorted books. My eyes landed on a novel ‘The Da Vinci Code’ written by Dan Brown. I had been searching for this famous thriller novel for a long time. I grabbed the book as my eyes scanned over its rear cover.
The synopsis was captivating. Before I could ask Sister Josephine to lend me the book I perused through the pages. A white piece of paper suddenly slid from the pages and dropped on my laps. Curiosity begged me to find out what it was.
The paper was a page torn from a school note book. It was inked with feminine handwriting. What I read on this paper transmuted my reaction from disbelief, bewilderment and finally into anger.
“So how did you find the sermon, Brother James?” Sister Josephine asked.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to be referred to as a brother. And if this question had come before, I would have gladly answered:
“The man of God delivered a powerful sermon.” But not after reading this scandalous missive.
That night I retired to bed a disappointed man. I touched my fingers on my forehead, my chest and on either side of my shoulders; the cross of Jesus Christ. I grabbed my Bible and opened Leviticus 20:10.
“If there is a man who commits adultery with another man’s wife, one who commits adultery with his friend’s wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death.”
I pondered over this scripture. Then my mind switched to the contents of that mischievous letter that dropped from the Da Vinci Code. The message came on my mental page as vividly as before:
Dear pastor Kasongo,
Thank you for all the special things you have done for me. You really fill my heart with happiness. Pastor, I wanted to let you know that I missed my monthly period. Our relationship has borne fruits. I did a pregnancy test; I am happy to confirm that I am pregnant after 40 years of being without a child.
But pastor, the challenge is that everyone knows that my husband has erectile dysfunction. My husband will be the first one to contest this pregnancy because he doesn’t sleep with me. People will have a problem to liken my pregnancy to Biblical Mary who conceived without agency of a man. What is worse is that women are gossiping about the intimacy between you and me. Some are suspecting we are having sex. Please let us deal with this issue before it disgracefully gets out of hand.
I love you with my entire heart, pastor. We can only continue being in love if you marry me. But I also don’t want to leave the wealth of my husband. Please think about this and advise soon.
Meet me at the usual rendezvous, Makeni Mall.
Josephine.
I said my evening prayer and struggled into sleep.
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