When my family’s CMC – Central Management Committee – consisting of my father, my sister Yunia, and I – resolved to expel my small sister Caro from our family, we left no room for appeal. Our decision was final.
As you already know, Caro was, until last week, Mwisho wa Lami’s Minister for Misinformation, Miscommunication and Broadcasting Lies.
Nevertheless, Caro, being Caro, immediately went into appeal mode, calling anyone and everyone she thought could help her. These people reached out to us and tried, really tried, to convince us to reinstate her – unsuccessfully.
By involving outsiders, Caro was repeating the same offenses that had landed her in familial Siberia in the first place: washing our dirty linen in public and bringing shame to us. If she was punished for telling outsiders our family matters, how did she expect to tell outsiders about her punishment and still hope for a reprieve?
She told my aunt, Senje Albina, in detail the conversation we had with her – adding a generous amount of salt. First, she told Senje that we had demanded some money from her, that we had asked her to leave her marriage, and that while my sister Yunia and my father felt she deserved forgiveness, I was the one who pushed for her banishment.
She didn’t stop there. She told Senje that Yunia and I were jealous of Maskwembe – her useless husband. She claimed I had never believed he would pay dowry, yet he did, and that Yunia was bitter because Maskwembe had visited our home formally before Yunia’s husband, Wilberforce Shikokoti, ever did.
The only time Shikokoti stepped into our home in broad daylight was during a funeral. I say “in broad daylight” because I am certain he has visited our home at night many times. Back when he was courting Yunia, there were many days she would “go to sleep” in our home but somehow “wake up” at Shikokoti’s. I doubt she walked there herself.
“Your sister is your sister, even if she smells,” Senje Albina told me. “You can’t chase her away, you cannot. Are you hearing me?”
I told her that no one had chased Caro away – we had simply made it clear she was not welcome in our homes until further notice.
“This is her home, you can’t stop her from coming, Andrea!” she shouted.
We were standing under the mango tree at my home. I reminded her that she was in my home, which was not Caro’s. The only home Caro could call hers was my father’s. I advised Senje to take her concerns there.
“My brother says this is a matter for you three to decide. Please be mature,” she said. I was not pleased to be called immature and almost told her she, too, risked expulsion – but I held my tongue.
“So, what if there was a funeral here? Would Caro come?” she asked. I told her no one is ever invited to a funeral – we just attend. I added that in the unlikely event of a funeral, Caro would attend, but we would cut ties immediately after the burial.
To end the discussion, I asked her: “So, who do you want to die? Me? So that you can inherit my property or what?”
“What are you telling me, Senje? What is this a child is telling me?” she snapped. She was exactly where I wanted her – upset. She picked her bag and left. I hear she later tried to convince my father, but he stood firm. My sister Yunia did not pick her calls.
The next person Caro tried to use was Apostle Elkana, the Spiritual Superintendent of The Holiest of All Ghosts Tabernacle Assembly Shrine. The good man of God called me, saying he wanted to see me. Knowing the apostle, I didn’t need a calculator to figure out what this was about. Clearly, someone had sent him, and that someone was Caro.
I tried to dodge him at first, telling him I was busy, promising to confirm my availability, then conveniently becoming absent at the last minute. Last Wednesday, knowing he was coming to my house, I went to Cosmos and switched off my phone.
On Thursday, I decided to go to school to check on things. I had just settled in my office, buried in files, when I heard a familiar whistle. It was Apostle Elkana.
“You are very difficult to come by,” he said as he walked in without waiting to be welcomed. After preliminaries, which included him praying for what felt like an eternity, he finally came to the point.
“Dre, do you read the Bible?” he asked. The question caught me off guard. The last time I read the Bible was when I was actively teaching CRE. But I couldn’t tell a man of God that I didn’t read the Bible.
“You know the story of Joseph, right?” he asked. I told him I knew the story but that he could tell me more, since he claimed to read the Bible daily. I told him that all I knew was that Joseph’s brothers betrayed him, he rose to become a big man in Pharaoh’s empire, and he saved his family from hunger.
“Good, I’m happy you know the Bible quite a bit,” he said. “Anyway, you are right – Joseph’s brothers got rid of him out of jealousy.”
“I’m listening,” I said, and asked him to tell me more. He narrated the whole story, including how Joseph later reconnected with his family and saved them from famine.
I was waiting for the main point, but seeing him go round and round, I asked him directly what it was.
“That is exactly what you are doing to Caro – getting rid of her, yet she is your family,” he said.
“It is common knowledge in Mwisho wa Lami and beyond that Caro has been expelled from your family,” he said. “I am here to appeal to you to reinstate her.”
I thanked him for bringing the matter to my attention but told him to keep off our family business. I went further to say that if, like Joseph’s brothers, we had truly gotten rid of Caro, she would go on to become successful.
The good man of God kept arguing. Just then, I received a call, which I pointed out was from the sub-county director of education and picked it. After talking for five minutes, I asked the Apostle to wait outside as we were discussing sensitive matters. I remained “on the call” long after it had ended. For half an hour, I was on a “call”.
Immediately after, I “picked” another call, which also took long. After two hours of waiting, the Apostle left, saying he had a busy day. I did not pick his calls after that.
In short, Caro, I have received your appeal from your two emissaries, but I’m sorry. I will not listen to them. You remain expelled until we review that decision. Swallow that!
