In trouble with police over Apostle Elkana’s whereabouts
As good as Perpetua was, it was clear that the church was missing Apostle Elkana.
The name Apostle Dr Elkana, the Revered Spiritual Superintendent of the Holiest of all Ghosts (THOAG) Tabernacle Assembly, elicits different emotions in me.
This is a man who has brought lots of joy into my life—praying for me and presiding over key events like my wedding, the arrival of my son, praying for the successful construction of my house, and praying for my KCSE candidates every year.
Yet, the man has also brought me a lot of pain, always taking money from me and increasing the rift between me and Kuya.
He is the man who asked me to accompany him on a spiritual journey in May. I abandoned everything and blindly followed him to Nakuru, or wherever that place was. You know what happened there. And if you don’t know, I also don’t know much.
But we all know, when I came to, I was in the hospital, suspected to have almost died due to starvation for long periods. I would spend weeks in hospital and months at home recuperating. A few weeks after I returned, Perepetua, Apostle Elkana’s wife, came to see me.
“Pole sana kijana wangu,” she started. She was lucky I was sick and weak. Otherwise, I would have boxed her. How was she calling me her son when she wasn’t much older than I was? What makes men and women of the cloth think that we are their children?
Anyway, she prayed for my quick recovery, but we disagreed when she went to layer upon layer of her robes and pulled out a bottle of water.
“This is anointing oil that will speed up your recovery,” she started. “You need to take…”
I stopped her in her tracks and told her I did not want to hear anything about anointing oil. I am not sure what I disliked more: the fact that I knew the anointing oils did not perform any miracles or that I knew she wanted to sell it to me.
She just prayed and left. At her church, she was holding it together and had assumed the title Spiritual Prophetess of Modern Day Saints, always giving fiery sermons and telling all and sundry that Apostle Elkana was well and hearty wherever he was, they talked regularly. She would keep saying that he would return, but like Jesus, “no one knew the time or date.”
As good as Perpetua was, it was clear that the church was missing Apostle Elkana. I may not have the details, but membership was going down, and so was the sadaka.
Sometime earlier last month, she came to see me. Like her husband, she prayed for over 10 minutes when she arrived. Fiolina was around and couldn’t hide from her face that she did not like Perpetua visiting.
“Her husband caused you lots of tribulations, and you are entertaining her? What kind of man are you?” she would later wonder after Perpetua had left.
She did not prepare anything for her. Seeing no signs of tea or anything, Perepetua asked to speak to me alone, and believing that walls have ears, she asked that we go talk under the mango tree.
“I am suffering, and you are the only one who would know where Daddy Elkana is; please tell me,” she said desperately, tears in her eyes.
I told her I had no recollection of where Apostle Elkana took me, and I could not help. She asked for any clue I might have, but I insisted that I did have any. She left, dejected.
Two weeks later, she returned to see me. As previously, Fiolina did not prepare anything for her; in fact, she left as soon as Perepetua arrived.
“My son, I can’t take it anymore, and you are the only one who has the key to where Daddy Elkana can be!” she pleaded. I told her I could not help.
“Why are you not helping me? You were the last person I know who was seen with Daddy. You sleep with your wife every night; what about me who has been sleeping alone in a cold bed for over six months now? Don’t you think about us?”
She had touched a raw nerve.
“Do you have any idea what tribulations your husband caused me? I spent many months in the hospital, and I may lose my job because of him,” I said. “I am so angry with him! Get out of my house.”
I sent her away.
Last Wednesday, I was at Hitler’s, enjoying myself, when some unknown men arrived. I ignored them, and they spoke to different people, all of whom pointed towards me.
One came to me and said, “Are you Mwalimu Andrew?”
“You are under arrest,” he declared, whipping out handcuffs from his jacket pocket. It happened fast. Even before I could say anything, I was handcuffed, a car came to Hitler’s, and I was bundled into the boot like a sack of potatoes. It then sped off.
After driving for over an hour, the car stopped. I was blindfolded, and we entered a noisy police place. When the blindfold was removed, I was in what looked like a police cell. Later on, one police officer came in and told me that Apostle Elkana’s wife had reported me and wanted me to produce her husband: “She says you are the last person who was seen with him alive; take us where he is.”
I was shocked to hear that and pleaded my innocence. The policeman slapped me painfully, adding that he had better things to do.
“Unless you want to disappear, you must tell us where Apostle Elkana is,” he said.
I insisted that I only remembered us alighting in Nakuru, and that the rest I did not know.
I slept on the cold police floor that night. It was a long night.
In the morning, another officer, senior to the previous one, came to me and told me why I was under arrest.
“Perpetua Elkana is the one who wanted you arrested. Please produce Elkana,” he said.
After I told him my story, he felt empathetic – as empathetic as a policeman can be. He was ready to release me.
“But you know what to do,” he said. “You know, she has given my seniors something to keep you here.”
I called my brother, Pius, who sent me Sh5,000. The policemen had quoted Sh20,000, most of which he said was for his bosses, but I stuck at the Sh5,000 I had.
It was not until 2pm that he accepted the Sh5,000 and released me, but advised me not to go back to Mwisho wa Lami first. “Go after a week or two”, he said, or else the bishop’s wife will come for you again.”
As I left, I discovered I was in Mumias police station. I am currently hiding at my cousin’s place in a place called Ejinja and will go back to Mwisho wa Lami after two weeks. That is when Perpetua will know who I am!
