The Rogue Priest #6

They are everywhere – saints and sinners, angels and demons! I am no exception.
Pawns – that’s what they are. All of us are!
The story of my life is just like any other – ups and downs, tears of joy and sorrow, and all that what humans face.
When I was saved from juvenile delinquency and jaws of death by a man of cloth some thirty years ago I did not know that I was being prepared for something else worse.
I was orphaned at ten – dad was in the army and was arrested after the 1982 failed coup (I have never known what the hell happened to him – whether he serves life or was put on death I don’t know). Mom had an ‘accident’ and her body has never been found. I don’t know where my six-year-old sister went.
I took to the streets then when John Kiriamiti was the celeb in the ‘hood and tried to copycat his MO.
Then this initiative was started by the Catholic Church to rehabilitate us, we of the streets. That’s when the saviour came, Father Kizito, an Italian missionary priest from Ngong, who hustled us off the crime-laden-streets!
At the new home we were fed, schooled and converted (in all senses of the word) – some of us became nuns and priests; others opted for the much travelled road and today are ice-eating cabinet ministers and permanent secretaries – thanks to the church for saving us from misery!
Some of us were turned saints and canonised by Pope John Paul II while others, like me, were turned monsters (and welcomed home by the devil).
I did not do my pastoral year at the parish like other deacons – I was taken to some rendition training camp off Baden-Württemberg Black Forest in Germany where I met the other chosen few.
That’s when all this started – the beginning of the end.
I am not trying to vindicate myself, just sit tight. The story has not yet begun!

Copyright ©Elove Poetry, 2012. All rights reserved.
If you have enjoyed this story, perhaps you would like to read the earlier series.

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