Genocide – The 7th Commandment

Hi! I’m Pastor Curt.

First, I sprinkled deific water over 100 dark-skinned natives. Then, I chased demons out of thatch-roofed huts. Thereafter, heathen animists knelt in front of red-and-white glowing candles. The orange-yellow sun had disappeared behind the church when a villager with well-rounded hips zoomed into the half-open door.

“I’ve miscarried countless times,” she said, rubbing her air-filled tummy. “What?” I asked, stroking her stomach. “A magician rubbed my belly with greenery herbs,” she whined, rolling her beauteous eyes.

“Why?” I ranted, waving a yawning Bible. “My husband’s senior wife had cursed me,” she said, sniffling. I wiped off her spilling tears.

Later, our hands tangled while moon bathing at the church. “My husband flogged me with a horsewhip,’ she said. Then, she peeled off her goatskin skirt and pictured her bruised thighs.

“Choose between him and the baby,” I said, winking. “We’ve to pray,” I said, staring into her breathtaking eyes. “That witch,” I said, bespeaking about her husband’s first wife.

After countless evening sun prayers, I sprinkled clear yellowish oil on her puffedout stomach. “You’ll bear a son,” I prophesied, rubbing her tummy.

For months, she pushed around her ballooning wheelbarrow. Her pregnancy Christianised many demon-possessed animists.

Later, her miraculous condition became lyrical to the governor’s ears. Thereafter, the atheist governor licensed me to preach door-to-door about the salvation of the darkskinned disciples.

Suddenly, a bare-chested man stormed into the church. “You’ve impregnated her,” he said. “What?” I yelled, hitting him with the holy book between his eyes. “The she-baby is pale,” he said, tumbling down.

Instantly, a mob of half-naked worshipers kidnapped me. “You’ve sinned against the 7th Commandment,” said Chief Ngumbiro, hammering his walking stick on my forehead.

“I’ve prayed for her,” I said. “Praying?” the chief asked, chuckling. “It’s God’s baby,” I said, ripping my knee-length robe. “The she-baby looks like you,” fumed the woman’s husband. “Bring the baby,” the headman said. Soon, three juveniles sprinted to fetch the nursing mother.

The chief peeled off the cow-skin blanket from the newborn’s face. “You’ve prayed for a son, but it’s a ….” cried the breastfeeding woman.

“Pay the husband 10 cows?” the chief said. Soon, the governor ordered me to leave the German Protectorate.

Therefore, I ransomed 10 dark-brown cows to the husband and joined the firing battalion.

Irony: The baby was born with albinism