DEVIL ON THE CROSS

[Published in the Weekend Nation of 6 February 2010]

The non-residential short-haired stunning beauty, standing nearby, momentarily brought my breathing to halt again as we waited to go into the college chapel. She was the girl whose spirituality in particular had melted my righteousness to pulp. You see, on campus I was christened ‘monsignor’, and it was not for nothing. Sprouting from a strong Christian background, I was justly faithful, well-behaved student, mainly well known for entertaining no women. However, when she arrived two years later, all that went haywire.

I tell you this beauty was devoted. With lips never parting ways with praise and worship hymns, and prayers, of occasional ‘tongues’, full of passion that sliced the heart even of the devil among other goodies, she was indeed a modest disciple. Even the notorious rumormongers on campus failed miserably, in their inquisition, to trace the slightest filth about her.

I stole longing glances at her and for the first time our eyes met. My stomach churned. Nonetheless, she mildly smiled, which encouraged me to greet her.

“Morning,” I started, “I’m-I’m Kalipo,” blushing, I stammered, “What’s yours?” That was sheer formality. Everyone knew she was Sindisa.

“Sindisa,” she meekly replied.

But before conversing further, time was up. Badly needing another opportunity, I muttered for a date.

“Okay,” she religiously said, catching me off-guard. I thought it would be swelteringly hard to get that answer even if she had decided to play the ridiculous miss hard-to-get.

I arrived at our rendezvous some minutes past agreed time prepared for a bruising waiting. You see, on campus, beauties, would keep you waiting on end to tell you they were worthy waiting for or you do not deserve their punctuality. However, she was already there. Her humbleness really touched my heart. And thereon more dates followed. I had never felt so close to God during these times the spiritually she conducted herself. And during one of the dates I gathered enough courage, and with all the holiness I could muster, I clumsily proposed.

“I hope it’s an inspiration from the Lord,” she holily said. That caught me unawares. Anyway, I said it was.

“Let me pray over it,” she said piously. After several weeks, she told me ‘the Lord had visited her to accept’.

One blackout night after a failed trip to my village that I had waited for the whole day, I retired to bed, too worn-out. It was also a day that had no network. The tired I was I failed to go and inform Sindisa that I was back.

I had just plunged on my bed when the network returned, only to be welcomed by an sms from an anonymous number. It screamed that Sindisa was with another man in her room. I mocked it, disbelieving how people could be so naive to think I could believe such nonsense about holy Sindisa.

“Stupid. Don’t be complacent, go, and verify,” some voice jolted me. I wanted to trash it but ‘repented’ when her phone went dead after ringing once when I tried it. In a split-second-reaction, I found myself jealously scuttling to her quarter, full of misgivings though. I could not wholeheartedly accept to mistrust saintly Sindisa.

“Who’s it?” it was her asking when I knocked after reaching her room, which was all-dark.

“Kalipo,” I said.

“A minute,” I thought I heard her voice quiver.

 *************************************

“You seem distressed, what- who’s it?”

“Ssh, it’s Kalipo,”

“So what…?”

“Nonsense, I’ve skillfully done everything religious to get myself a trustworthy man like Kalipo after getting tired of unzipping loose men like you. You think I lose him. That can’t be,” she said, reaching for her wardrobe.

*************************************

Several minutes passed but Sindisa kept telling me this damn excuse or that. Excruciating pain, rage, and distrust festered and knocked sense out of me.

“Sindisa, open this door!” I bellowed.

She was telling me another diluted excuse...

“Open up or I’ll break it,” I confusedly threatened.

“I’m…”

“Shut up. I know you’ve…”

I did not finish when a man whizzed out. I pursued hotly, shouting for help. But within seconds, nothing made sense; the person grounded to a halt.

“Kalipo, you think badly of me?” it was Sindisa, not a man, talking. She wore my suit she had collected for me from the laundry. I had never felt shamefaced and blameworthy. Inquisitive people started to gather and the voice was back again, nudging me ‘to think for certain things were not adding up’. I cursed it, especially for ‘coaxing me’ in the first place to mistrust my flawless Sindisa, as I took to my heels.