What if...

I was brought up catholic. When I was growing up English and Swahili Mass was considered an heretical departure from Catholicism, the idea of Catholics marrying other persons was anathema, and all other religions were considered cults. My parents read quite a lot and all of them had quite varied libraries. My mothers tended to have books based upon their professions while my father's library had a broad spectrum of books from philosophy, agriculture, fiction, religion and even psychology. Unknown to my parents I started rather early to read almost everything that I could lay my hands upon. I was an equal opportunity reader and, at that time, everything that was written, to me, was sacred. I remember reading Meja Mwangi when I was too young to differentiate between a bar and a restaurant, I do remember reading James Hardly Chase inasmuch as my father thought I should wait until I was 18 to read those. I graduated from Ladybirds to Nancy Drew, The Famous Five, to Sherlock Holmes, to Grimms Fairy Tales, to St. Augustine's City of God, to The Bible, to The Book of Mormon, to The Quaran. My young mind was quite willing to take in all that without even a grain of salt. I had already began to believe in almost everything I could read, inasmuch as I could see lots of contradictions and inconsistencies in the stuff. Any attempt not to believe was always encountered in my mind by "What if..." For some very strange reason my default position was that everything written is true until proven false.

Sometime in my school years my teachers noticed my love of reading and made me an assistant librarian. The librarian at that time was my best friend who, much as he loved reading, had many other pursuits and left to me much of the work. Here was I with the keys to a room full of books. I was in heaven, literally. My scope got wider and I'd sometimes even read three to four books at a time. I began to think there were not enough hours in the day to finish all the books I was wont to read. Classes looked to me like a waste of time, and I could not wait to get out of preps so I could hide myself in the library and read. I despaired of ever reading all of those and yet I believed I must read all. I believed in faeries, gods, ghosts, aliens, perpetual machines, cyborgs, evil geniuses, genesis, re-genesis, evolution, re-incarnation, young earth creation theory, big-bang theory, America, Europe, Father Christmas and the Elves, The Easter Bunny, Kunta Kinte, Shaka Zulu, Wangu wa Makere, Kintu and Nakku, Zeus, Hermes, even Hercules and Cupid. I even thought Mukibi's Institute for the Sons of African Gentlemen existed somewhere in Western Kenya and, boy, did I want to join that school.

Eventually I began to understand that people do write lies. Except when lies are written they are called fiction. I also learnt that the old, old lies were no longer called fiction and had to be called myth or, depending on the authority, sacred truth. I was told with all due seriousness that the Bhagavad-Gita was sacred truth and holy and yet I still was told, with equivalent due seriousness, that it is a myth and unholy. And I believed. As always any nagging doubts were dismissed with a what if...

It took until my late teens before this "what if..." finally got me into trouble.

On one of those pagan festival periods we have at the end of the year I was walking the streets of Nairobi, idle and purposeless. While walking I met these self proclaimed prophets who somehow managed to convince me they can pray for my prosperity so I never need to suffer later in life. They took me to some "holy" lodging down on River Road where I found quite a number of other adherents waiting their turn to get prayed for. I was asked to sit down and wait my turn. while I was waiting a woman came out of the room with a smile on her face just as if she'd won the proverbial million and one man got up next to me and went in. The woman smiled at us, said a few hallelujahs and went out of the room. After about ten minutes the man comes out with a bewildered look. He looks like he cannot believe his fortune and walks out without even looking at any of us. Then I'm beckoned in.

The 'prophet' tells me I've entered a holy place and I must remove my shoes. He also tells me I must not profane the place by entering with any money so I'm required to put my all my money on the side in a bowl where it will be prayed for. The fella prays for about one minute (he must have been tired) then asks me to bring the bowl with my money for him to pray over. I bring it and he prays for slightly longer. He hen tries to convince me that the money has entered my stomach and will come out again when I reach home. Then he tells me to go home and not to talk to anybody on the way until the money has come back. I tell him "that's very fine, now can I have my money back?" He looks askance at me at proceeds to pray a bit longer while making it a point in his prayers to ask God to show me how my money is now in the stomach and to make sure it gets out when I arrive at home doubled. He also asks God to remove the doubt in my mind since the money cannot double unless I do not doubt. At this point all my 'what if.." comes back to me. Here is a man of God promising me miracles if I believe. I am still adamant that I want my money back! The man of God prays harder and even longer for my salvation and quotes many bible verses on believing without seeing. The fellow even has the audacity to lay his hands upon my head and pray for the evil spirits that are blocking my belief to leave me. I begin to think 'what if I believed and the miracle happened?' I finally and reluctantly agree to go home, but with a lot of doubt.

It took me about half an hour later to realise I asked the wrong what if. I should have asked what if I refused to believe. At least I'd have my money even if it is not doubled. Going back there I discover that the fellows have already left, leaving a few faithful there waiting for their return. Needless to say none of us saw this fellow again.

Now that I am older (and hopefully wiser) I find that a lot of us stay in illogical and unsustainable beliefs because of that what if. We are frightened to live our lives just in case our particular 'what if' turns out to be true. We are willing to trade in the present, nay, even ignore it, for a future what if. We ignore the here and now, ignore the lessons of the past, suppress our reason for that pie in the sky. Mayhaps it is time to look at the world and instead of asking 'what if it is true and I lose the pie in the sky?' we should ask 'what if it isn't true and I lose what I do have now?'