' ) * ) + & *

I LEFT Mafikeng at sunset, heading to Parys for the funeral of my cousin. I was dying for a drink but a responsible citizen such as yours truly does not drink and drive.

A few hours later, I arrived at my destination. The night vigil had already started in the marquee.

As soon as I d briefly greeted the relatives, I located a watering hole that would keep me lubricated for the night ahead.

I took a swig from the bottle while chilling with the bras outside and contemplated going inside to listen to the moving sermon and testimony.

The problem is I am not really good at mourning. Worse, I am not familiar with any of the hymns they sing at churches and funerals these days. I have been out of the loop for decades. I can only mumble like an Afrikaner when the Zulu and Sotho versions of Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika are sung, only to burst out at full throttle for Die Stem part of the anthem.

It can be disconcerting to mumble when all around you are singing confidently. As the older brother, I am supposed to take the cudgel and show those who come after me how the men behave when we have rituals like this one.

That was when my laaitie put his bottle down and told me he was going in for a while.

I d often heard stories that he had the rare knack of sending a congregation on a road to Damascus.

The same brother I d been talking nonsense with a second ago suddenly transmogrified into a man possessed, gesticulating wildly in a voice I did not even recognise.

The congregation lapped it up; the tent was coming alive, agreeing to every word that flowed from his mouth, the same mouth that s been swigging from the brown bottle a few minutes ago.

Then he started a hymn; the congregation stood up in unison, punching the leather cushion in their hands. I was safely hidden right at the back, watching this spectacle unfold with disbelief.

Son of a I d heard he had that talent, but some things you have to see to believe.

Abruptly, he stopped the hymn. They sat. But he was not done yet. He socked it to them so good and they loved it. The sinner in me screamed: Repent Mavusana! The opportunist in me made notes: We gotta start our own church and I ll be the CEO. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped in fright, my head nearly tore through the roof of the tent.

You see what your brother just did? As the older one, I expect you to take to the floor too and show them!” my mother s sister was saying to me.

I m a man of many talents, but moving a crowd about tales from Bethlehem and Judea is not one of them.

I ducked as soon as Pastor NK Nzapheza was done. We reconvened at the car and both reached for our bottles to suckle like two thirsty puppies. We decided the rest of the night would be spent at a tavern.

I started the car.