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Jesus 2.0



The new Jesus was come. Of course, he made quite a few people angry. He said that it was more important to fill the stomach first before paying rent. He said that, if you went to heaven, you went with your stomach… a land of milk, honey, ugali, ‘mrenda’ and ‘obambla’ unlimited. He said that if you diverted to hell, you went with your stomach… a raging sea of infernal pain and hunger stretched for all time. But for rent… houses, cars, material possessions, you left behind. The Kosowetovo Land Lords and Ladies Association called for an emergency meeting.

The new Jesus was come. Of course, he made quite a few people angry. And hungry too. He said, God, you talked to him direct. In bars, lodgings, the few un-grabbed public playgrounds… you could talk to him direct. You could talk to God direct, he said, as you fondled your Ceros bottle or your ‘mpango wa kando’… ask him why you were doing so instead of spending quality time with your once beloved wife and disappointing children. Then, depending on your after-state (or taste)… inebriation, post-nut clarity, Vitamin D gained… you would have your answers. The churches and the mosques, they emptied. Hungry, the clergy – The Kosowetovo Fellowship of Ordained Men and Some Women - convened in haste.

The new Jesus was come. Of course, he made quite a few people angry. Very angry. These people, they started being pelted with rocks in their meetings. He said, this new Jesus… a fellow clad in sacks, face smeared in ash, ‘akala’ sandals for that Messianic look of old… he said, man should be an authority unto himself. That, in God giving him free will, man should think and act for himself in all things. That man should always act in his self-interest. That, he stressed like a tune on repeat, was God’s will… the men of Kosowetovo, they stopped paying taxes and listening to their wily politicians.

Losing control, across blurred party lines, the men (and the few women – mistresses, mostly) used to eating off the fat of the land, they met at once. Democracy was at stake here, it was agreed. Assassination was offered – rejected by the Party Owners… would only make a martyr of the man and a whole religion of ungovernable subjects would grow out of these. As the men with the resources, their counsel was adopted at once. A ministerial delegation was dispatched at once to inform the foreign masters on this matter.

The new Jesus was come. Hungry, angry, this, then, is the account  - summarised - of his crucifixion. Venue. Kosowetovo National Gardens. The day, promptly declared a national holiday – attendance mandatory (and free, on this auspicious occasion) for the poor residents in the slum village next to this prime real estate. The owners of the country, seated on the dais, shaded from the scorching sun, sipping on funeral water with a spice of lemon, etc. The poor residents (siding with their oppressors) discussing trivialities, frivolities, banalities and rumours as appropriate of their humble circumstances… 

The new Jesus, he is straddled on the cross, a calico cloth covering his shame. His body, glossed in an abundance of simsim cold-pressed oil. For garnishment, there is a heavy sprinkling of salt, iodised, on the body and which has attached to the oil. The Kosowetovo National Broadcaster zooms in on the tormentor with a huge spray containing methylated spirit. It focuses on his bulging muscles, then lingers on the spirit. The message is clear, subtle… this is a day of pain, to be seared on the collective conscious of the Kosowetovo residents. Henceforth, they will be very law-abiding. To press home the point, the second tormentor is displayed too – holding a many-lashed whip of crocodile skin. The national anthem now plays, speeches, the main action follows… Christ Impassioned. Jesus 2.0.



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