Excerpt - ZamaShort #8 'The Offertory' by Tabitha Wanja Mwangi
EXCERPT
THE OFFERTORY
TABITHA WANJA MWANGI
The strange offering was on a white saucer at the bottom of Pastor Mmoja’s special basket. A perfectly smooth, dark-brown twisty sausage. Selina Kumi retched from the stench as she let it slide off the saucer into the toilet. She flushed, scrubbed the saucer under the tap, and placed it on the sink counter next to Pastor Mmoja’s special basket.
The special basket, woven with fine white wool, was about the size of a junior football. It was kept in a cabinet, that stood at the front of the church, partially obscuring the baptism pool and back door. Pastor Mmoja was the only one with a key to this cabinet. At any point during the prayer session in the Sunday service, he would unlock the cabinet. The excitement in the congregation at this point was palpable, people would reach into their pockets and bags to retrieve and wave KSH1,000 notes in the air. Pastor Mmoja would hold the special basket to his chest and walk between the pews. He would stop in front of whoever he chose and declare, ‘Give and receive your blessing!’ The selected person would touch the basket then place their money within. Only five people were selected each week. On touching the basket, some collapsed in what appeared to be ecstasy.
Selina, like many in the congregation, believed that this was no ordinary basket. Pastor Mmoja’s special basket was overflowing with prayer-answering power because of all the spiritual investments of the people that prayed over it. Many in the congregation believed that any prayer request accompanied by financial input into the basket was all it took for their world to be put right.
The prayers that imbued the basket with this power were many.
There was a team of women, referred to as the “Prayer Warriors”, who would fast all day Thursday and at the end of the day, would gather at the church, surround the cabinet where the basket lay and spend at least an hour praying and weeping loudly. Pastor Mmoja would often come into the church just before they broke their fast in the evening and they would all wail, shout, and sing, together. The youth team would fast all day Friday, and after work, walk around the cabinet seven times, then let out a loud shout—whilst praying and singing. On Saturday evening, Pastor Mmoja would come into the church, lock the doors and spend an hour praying at the cabinet.
There was no shortage of testimonies about the miracles that placing money in the basket had brought into the lives of the chosen few. People had been gifted with pay rises. Others had bought cars and houses, the keys of which were brought to the church for a “show and tell”.
Selina had longed to touch that special basket every week. She always had her KSH1,000 in her backpack, hoping that Pastor Mmoja would choose her. In the two years since he started using that special basket, she never had the luck.
Yet here she was in the toilet, staring at the special basket. She stroked it gently. It felt like a very ordinary basket. She reasoned that perhaps today’s offering, on the saucer at the bottom of the basket, had cancelled its power. Selina was horrified that anyone would be driven to foul the special basket and felt compelled to try and work out who had done it.
Selina had watched many murder mystery series over the years, but nothing beat her childhood favourite, Derrick, a crime television series that she had watched on her family’s black and white TV. The genius detective, Derrick, was a tall, bulky German with huge bags under his large watery eyes. He solved murders with such certainty and would rush out of the building in time to catch the murderer before they escaped. His partner detective was always left in awe of Derrick’s wisdom, but the clues were always just under their noses.
Selina had learned a few things from watching this series and others. To solve any mystery, detectives looked for a motive, an opportunity, and means.
That strange offering in the special basket was placed there by someone who wanted Pastor Mmoja to soil his holy hands in public. Someone wanted to show him that they did not give a damn about his special basket. Selina felt righteous indignation on his behalf. Pastor Mmoja was a good man, not faultless, but good. A kind soul. Selina was sure she would solve this mystery.
She started where she believed all good detectives start, by retracing her steps.
The day had not started well. There had been an accident on the way to church, and the police had taken over half an hour to get to it. When she realised she would be late, she texted Pastor Mmoja to apologise. He had not responded. She was nervous about that and by the fact that the side doors of the church would be closed by the time she got there. She would have to enter the church through the main door and walk down the aisle to her seat next to Pastor Mmoja’s family. She dreaded that people would turn and stare at her. Being the centre of attention was not something she relished. Sweat trickled down her armpits as she did her best to be as silent and as small as she could be as she tiptoed to her seat, her backpack suddenly feeling heavy. The worship team was leading the congregation in songs and were swaying gently, some lifting their hands in the air, eyes closed. The tall frame of Pastor Mmoja in his typical dark grey Sunday suit, was standing by the cabinet, facing away from the congregation and looked to be in deep prayer. The phone in her bag vibrated.
“Come with your backpack to the cabinet. Be at ease”, the message from Pastor Mmoja read.
Selina walked up to the cabinet and Pastor Mmoja very discreetly slipped the special basket into her bag.
‘Before God, swear to me, you will not tell a soul what you find there,’ Pastor Mmoja whispered to her. Selina looked up at his smoothly shaved dark-brown face, his sad heavy eyes, and would have given her life to make him happy again.
‘Amen,’ Selina responded.
Selina used the back door, just behind the baptism pool. She shut the door quietly without looking back, hoping that the congregation was too busy in praise and worship to be bothered with her.
She was able to breathe easy once outside the church and it was then that she caught the first whiff from the basket. The church offices were to her left, but she turned right to the staff toilet. Once in the toilets, she locked the door, leaving the key in the lock. She placed her backpack on the sink and retrieved the special basket.
“You will not tell a soul what you find there”, Pastor Mmoja had said.
She did not imagine that anyone would believe her even if she told them. She was not even going to tell her son, whom she told almost everything. Pastor Mmoja need not have feared.
Selina could not think of anyone who despised Pastor Mmoja this much, or someone that he had offended enough for them to consider such a revenge.
Despite having flushed it away, the offering had left a strong smell in the toilet, like that produced by a person who ate too much meat or did not fare well with beans or milk. There was something about that smell that was familiar, a waft she had encountered in church when a rare silent fart seeped through the congregation. Selina had her first culprit: Dior!
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Tabitha Wanja Mwangi is a mother of three lovely people that give her joy and strength to keep going. She has spent most of her life in a university setting, learning, teaching, and now as an administrator. Her first published works were scientific journal articles, and she later became a freelance science journalist, writing pieces that make health research accessible to general audiences while highlighting the contributions of local researchers. She has written for the Daily Nation (Kenya’s leading newspaper), Msafiri (Kenya Airways flight magazine), and The Conversation, as well as her blog, Tabitha on Health. Her first book, 12 Remarkable African Life Scientists, profiles scientists from Sub-Sahara Africa, with the aim of inspiring young people across the continent to consider careers in the life sciences. Tabitha has also published fiction, contributing short stories to the African Roar anthology, Spark anthology and The Matatu Journal.
Released 1st Dec 2025.
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