The rest of the week passed at the usual dreary pace of village life: neighbours leaned over fences gossiping, unemployed youth loitered on street corners; the residents of Klein Tuin were clutched in a hustle to make it from day to day.

On Sunday, Rose sat in the front pew in church, listening to Pastor Jonginkosi’s sermon, her eyelids made heavy by the pastor’s monotone ministrations.

At the end of the service, Pastor Jonginkosi stood outside the church doors and greeted each member of his flock as they exited.

“Aah, Rose Ndima,” he smiled as he acknowledged her. “Always a pleasure seeing one of God’s angels.”

“Enkosi, mfundisi. Just doing what I can to help those less fortunate.”

“Bless you, my child. Go well.”

Pastor Jonginkosi’s eyes followed Rose as she walked away, his lips twitching with a smile. On Sundays he visited the old and frail who were unable to attend church. He was also often invited to lunch at several homes, but today he had a different agenda.

* * * * *

After changing out of her church clothes Rose settled down on one of the chairs in her front yard. Sunday was the one day she did not cook. She set leftover food aside for herself from the Saturday feeding, after delivering to the aged, ill, and infirm. The rest she dished out to those who lingered longer for a second helping, while Cynthia and Nomawethu took home food for their children and parents.

Saturday’s lunch had been a seven-colour feast of roast chicken, creamy and crunchy coleslaw, beetroot, tomato gravy, pumpkin, carrots, rice, and potatoes.

At the sound of the gate creaking, Rose opened her eyes and jumped up; her mouth agape in shocked surprise.

“Hello again, Rose. Please … sit down, my dear. I’m just another visitor. You get plenty of those every day … and night, I hear.”

Rose smiled at the pastor’s last words. “Can I offer you something to drink, Pastor? You will stay for lunch, of course? It’s not much, but a meal shared is more satisfying.”

“A cup of sweet tea, please Rose. It soothes the throat after much talking.”

After they’d eaten lunch, Pastor Jonginkosi motioned for Rose to sit next to him on the sofa. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. A couple of things actually.”

“Hawu, mfundisi, so serious?” Rose sat down and turned towards the pastor. “Have I done something wrong?”

“I am a man of God; I don’t listen to gossip and rumours. But when there is a feeling of some unrest, I have to act. Tell me, Rose … do they … speak the truth? You do things after midnight from your very same kitchen. They’re calling you a witch; saying you’re bringing your city magic to corrupt our people.”

Rose’s body stiffened, then she broke into peals of laughter. “Hayi, all I do is help people where I can. I cannot turn away someone who comes to me for help. I’ll always be a nurse at heart.”

“Very well, Rose.”

“You know, mfundisi …” Rose inhaled and let out her breath in a whoosh. “You can be the best of the best or the worst of the worst, but some people will still find something bad to say about you.”

“True.” Pastor Jonginkosi shook his head. “That is sadly very true.” After a pause he continued. “Now I need some of your help, Rose. I know people fall asleep while I’m preaching and I want to stop that happening.”

“Aah, that is not difficult to fix … if I may speak freely … without meaning to offend.” Rose fixed her gaze on the pastor and he nodded. “First,” she continued, “don’t write out your–”

“Hawu Rose. How do you know I write out everything … oh, you’ve heard that teacher Jakops types them out for me.”

Rose smiled and nodded. “Try not to memorise your sermons – it makes you sound like a machine. Speak freely from your heart. Your words will carry more emotion, and people will feel it, and be moved by it.”

Pastor Jonginkosi raised his eyebrows. “Hmmm …”

“I will give you something that will give you the confidence you need.”

 ***

Tell us: Do you agree with Rose’s advice to the pastor?