New life
Bible belt-up
Zenga Longmore
Whenever I hear the word 'Jubila- tion! spring from Olumba's lips early on a Sunday morning, it can mean only one thing. Uncle Bisi is on his way. So when Olumba uttered this fateful word as he brought me my morning tea tray, I felt the time had come to go to church to purge my soul.
Say what you like about Brixton, you've got to admit it has no shortage of churches. Walk along a Brixton street, and what will you see? Churches with names such as New Testament Church of God, the Humble Heart Church of God, Triumphant Church of God, the Latter Day Reign Outpouring 'Classless Britain? He'd have got probation with a courgette.' Revival Church of God, and so on and so forth. We Brixtonians are a pious people.
With great deliberaton, Omalara and I settled on the Church of England. Having found my seat in one of the empty pews, I instantly realised I had not made a wise move. In a Pentecostal church, where the congregation is totally intent on worship- ping, a baby can caterwaul to her heart's content without anyone noticing. A C of E church is more like a library, where a loud whisper is received with outraged stares. During the sermon, Omalara squirmed out of my arms and ran up and down the aisle shouting, 'Baby, baby,' at the wooden Jesus lying in a crib. The other children stood placidly by their mothers. As soon as hymn number 254 had finished, I managed to squash Omalara on to my lap with a grip of iron. At that point, with sickening clarity, she intoned a rude word which rang through the church like a bell. Where she learnt it I am unable to say, unless it was from the Welsh farmer we stayed with last August. After what seemed an eternity of
humiliation, the service ended and I hur- ried out with the pushchair, avoiding the vicar's eye. Next week I shall try my luck with the Latter Day Reign Outpouring Revival Church of God.
I arrived home to find Uncle Bisi making laborious conversation with Mrs Wright, the old lady from the ninth floor.
'I have been perusing, ah,' he was saying, 'the Sunday Telegraph. A certain
article states that young women of English extraction are entering the state of mother- hood with the intention of procuring a council-owned flat. The English cultural practices are indeed baffling. The correct procedure, practised in Nigeria, is to be- troth a girl at a young age, and pay a substantial sum to the intended bride's family. That way, her father can live in great wealth.'
'Whoever wrote that article', I chipped in, avoiding Olumba's frantic signalling (Olumba dies a thousand deaths whenever
I disagree with Uncle Bisi), 'appears to be badly informed. Young single mothers are
either housed in squalid bed-and- breakfasts or high-rise flats. They get f12 a week single parent benefit. It's a bit drastic to create a whole new being just to sample such dubious pleasures. What do you think, Mrs Wright?'
`Ah, in my day, 40 years ago, an unmarried maiden with a young 'un would have had to put the babe in a home, left to pine for a mother's love. The idea was a woman was supposed to be punished for her wickedness, a wicked idea if ever there was one! Ah, 'tis far better for mother and kiddy these days — is that gin you're drinking, Mr Bisi? May I have a little nip?' 'What do you think about it all, Olum- ba?' I asked.
'I agree with Uncle Bisi, and you — er — and Mrs Wright,' he replied tactfully. Then
with a despairing gesture he plodded from the room to fetch Uncle Bisi's tonic water.
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