The Atheist's Messiah: Yanif

by Saul Dobney

  Yanif spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden cutting the overgrown grass and tending the flowers. He was interrupted by the doorbell and wandered back into the house. Mosi raced down the hall and flung open the front door.

  “Riaz. Hi. What are you doing here?” said Mosi in surprise. “I thought it would be Kwasi and Angelie.”

  Riaz stepped into the hall and put two suitcases on the floor. “Cool house,” he said admiring the décor. “All these things and wallpaper on the walls and such pretty pictures. Which one's my room then?”

  “But all the bedrooms are taken now,” said Mosi. “Eshe has hers with the wash-room, Tremus, Yanif and me. There are only four rooms Riaz.” Mosi showed four on his fingers. “There is no room for anyone else. And I don’t want to share.”

  “But we agreed, this house is for the Chama,” said Riaz. “Westlands is a good address. It has the right type of people.”

  “It is OK Mosi,” said Tremus coming along the hall. “Riaz is joking. He is not moving in. You won’t have to share.”

  “Joking?” said Riaz frowning. “This is for all of us. We all do the work, we all get the rewards. That is what you said. Our Chama, our union.”

  “But…” Mosi turned to Tremus in despair.

  Tremus sighed. “Then Yanif and I will share. Mosi, you will still have your own room. I will spend some time at my workshop, so mostly it will be Yanif’s room. Do you agree Yanif?”

  Yanif nodded. “There is space for more than one bed.”

  “But are you really sure you want to move in Riaz?” laughed Mosi brightening up. “Have you heard Tremus snore? He sounds like a rhinoceros. Are you sure you want to be a house with such an animal?” Mosi puffed up his cheeks and stuck out his elbows and waddled around the room snorting like a rhino.

  Tremus grabbed at Mosi, but Riaz held him back. “Let him be. We have to leave for Tabitha shortly, or had you forgotten with all this fine living?”

  When Tremus, Riaz and Yanif returned from the hospital, Angelie and Kwasi were sitting in the living room talking to Eshe.

  “The house is divine,” said Angelie. “It's fit for a king.”

  “And there's more good news,” said Eshe. “Show him the paper Angelie.”

  Angelie handed the newspaper to Tremus. A picture of Yanif surrounded by children headed the story.

  She began to read: “Kenya’s great healer.

  Children rushed to greet Kenyan healer Yanif as he visited their village yesterday.

  Crowds have become commonplace in the Nakuru district where Yanif has spent many of the past months garnering fans and supporters among local villagers offering prayers and faith healing.

  Mrs Flora Ata said that Yanif had already cured her baby daughter of deafness and now she was hoping he could treat her sister’s gout. Farmers in the villages are convinced that Yanif’s blessings are helping improve crops and make their animals more fertile.

  Others seem to believe too as crowds of up to 100 people gather to hear Yanif speak.”

  Riaz took the paper from Tremus and inspected the picture. “You know I have photos too,” he said.

  “Then we should have a web page on the Internet for Yanif. So everyone can see him,” said Angelie. “We can add pictures of the things Yanif does.”

  “Is that difficult?” asked Tremus.

  “I have my computer. I can show you.”

  Angelie showed them how to upload photos onto a social networking site. “There. ‘Yanif. The prophet from Kenya.’ ”

  “Yanif, the world can see you now,” said Eshe clapping her hands in delight.

  “Not bad,” said Riaz when Angelie had finished. “Do you think anyone will find it?”

  “We'll tell people,” said Angelie. “Put links on other people's pages.” She typed some phrases into the search engine. “Look. This man would be interested in finding out about Yanif. We'll send him a link.”

  She typed into the computer then added a link to the pages she had created and pressed send.

  42. Email from Kenya

  “Tea's up,” said Jill. She placed a mug on the table next to sofa in the living room.

  Dr Hill was reading emails on his laptop, and she snuggled down beside him, craning to get a view of the computer screen. “Anything from Tim yet?”

  “Nothing so far,” said Dr Hill, his eyes focused on the list of messages.

  “What’s that one?” asked Jill, pointing at the screen. “ 'Kenyan Prophet offers miracles’ ”

  “Another messiah claim from a couple of weeks back,” said Dr Hill. “First one in the collection from Kenya though.”

  “Go on then, show me. Maybe he can fix me.” Jill forced a laugh, then squeezed herself against her husband's arm.

  “The doctor's worrying you, isn't it?” asked Dr Hill.

  “Oh no,” said Jill. “It's just like going to the dentists. And I love that.”

  Dr Hill stroked her hand and opened the email then began to read:

  “Dear Dr James Hill,

  Greetings and blessings from Kenya. I saw on the Internet that you are a researcher looking for new prophets. I want to inform you of a young man called Yanif who is making miracles and healing children in the villages in Kenya. Please visit our web-page to find out more about him.

  God bless you, Angelie.”

  “Go on, click on the link,” said Jill. “I’d like to see this so-called prophet and his miracles. Maybe he has a cure for the big C.”

  Dr Hill clicked on the link. A basic web page in brightly coloured text and a mixture of fonts came up. At the top was a picture of a pale skinned young man in a plain white shirt standing among a group of black Kenyans. Further down the page, more pictures of a meeting, or event with the same white boy making a speech among mud-houses, then pictures of arms and backs that were supposedly cured.

  Dr Hill scrolled through scanning the text and reached a picture of Yanif with Tabitha and her father. Tabitha was standing with a scarf over her bald head smiling and holding Yanif’s hand, her father in a jacket and tie, and behind them a pristine white walled hospital.

  “Awww, he has such a sweet and innocent face,” said Jill. “Do you think he could be The One, Mr Messiah-Hunter? Or is he just another Jesus wannabee?”

  “Who knows? We'll have to wait to see how the word spreads.”

  “Save the email. I want to see how he does. He doesn’t look like one of your blood and thunder preachers.”

  “And if he can cure cancer are you going to ask him?” asked Dr Hill.

  “There isn’t a hope in hell of that,” Jill snorted. “If he really could cure people with a click of his fingers, wouldn’t he have just done it instead of all this religious nonsense.”

  43. Village three

  “Kwasi, can you try the microphone now?” asked Tremus as he fiddled with the leads at the back of the speaker.

  Kwasi jumped onto the stage, tapped the microphone and the speaker clicked, sending the noise around the crowd of block-built houses that made up Keneth's neighbourhood.

  Tremus twiddled with the dials on the home-made amplifier. “And again?” said Tremus.

  But Kwasi was too busy staring at a small white Toyota driving up past the painted wood and corrugated steel shacks that made up the village.

  The car parked behind Keneth's truck and Angelie, Eshe and Salina stepped out.

  “Pfftt Pffew.” Kwasi wolf whistled through the microphone with a sound that reverberated off the sides of the houses. “Welcome sexy women,” he boomed. “People, we have attracted a harem of African princesses.”

  Around the village heads turned towards the women. Eshe scampered to the stage, ducking to avoid the stares, but Angelie took hold of Salina’s hand and walked proudly to the centre of the village. Kwasi jumped down and hugged Angelie.

  “Have you seen Yanif's hut?” Mosi shouted to Eshe and Tremus, as he carried a case of beer from the truck to the stage.

  “What hut is that?” asked Eshe.


  “The villagers have set aside a place for Yanif,” said Keneth from behind Mosi. “Come. I'll show you.” He put the beer down and took them to a small hut with windowless timber walls.

  Tremus, Eshe and Yanif walked into the half-light where two white plastic chairs stood beside an upturned box for a table. Pictures of Yanif and handwritten messages and wishes were pinned to the walls, some with feathers, others with seeds.

  “They know that you can help them Yanif,” said Keneth. “It is a place to come and make wishes.”

  “Should I read them to you?” asked Eshe straining in the darkness to make out what was written on the pictures.

  Yanif put up his hand to stop her and shook his head. “The heart says more than the words.”

  As the sun went down, the villagers lit the fire not far from the stage. Salina played with Janee and Isaac in the orange glow of the flames, throwing leaves on the fire and watching them float and dance among the smoke.

  While they waited for people to gather, Yanif sat in the semi-darkness at the back of the stage gazing up at the stars.

  Eshe saw him and came to sit next to him, putting her arm around his. “You know, I feel at peace with you here with the stars. And then I turn around and there are the lights and noise and all those people over there. It’s like being castaways.” She placed her head on Yanif's shoulder.

  “Do you feel what the stars are saying Eshe?” asked Yanif. “Close your eyes and feel the universe sing.”

  The two of them sat in silence in the shadows.

  “There he is Uncle Mosi,” Salina called, pointing at Yanif. “Come. The people have arrived.”

  Hearing Salina’s voice, Eshe lifted herself up and took Yanif’s hand. “It's time Yanif, it’s your turn to work.”

  At the front of the stage a portly figure was strutting around watching the gathering villagers.

  “Who’s that?” Eshe asked Pamela.

  “That’s Reverend Farr,” said Pamela. “The district priest. He must have heard there was a feast. He never misses an opportunity for food.”

  “Ready,” shouted Tremus from the front.

  Music played through the speakers and the lights flicked on. Kwasi and Mosi jumped on the stage. The twins started to sing and the audience settled into their places.

  Riaz walked onto the stage and made a short speech before beckoning towards Yanif. “Now here is Yanif. The man who freed Isaac from his demons, took witchcraft out of Benjamen and the man who has healed broken backs and eyes that do not see. Listen as he tells you of the road to happiness.”

  Yanif walked to the front and took the microphone from Riaz. He stood watching the faces, waiting for the clapping to die down.

  “Go on. Go on,” mouthed Riaz from the side. “You remember what we said.”

  Yanif breathed in and began, “A miser wanted to have a watch but each watch he looked at was too expensive. ‘Take the strap off,’ said the miser to the watchmaker, ‘It can go in my pocket.’ But it was still too dear. ‘Take the glass off the front. It will still show the time.’ The watchmaker took the glass off, but it was still too dear. ‘Then take the face off, I can still see the hands.’ The watchmaker did as the miser asked. The next day the miser returned. ‘The hands have snapped off and the workings are broken and now the watch will not show the time.’ The watchmaker held up his hands. ‘You chose what you thought you did not need.’ ”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” called out a booming voice.

  Yanif could just make out the rotund figure of Reverend Farr standing at the back. He thought for a moment then replied to the audience. “That when it comes to God there are some things you cannot take away. God is all or nothing.” He lifted his head to the stars. “God is inside us if you listen. The part of God that is inside us is what makes us do good. It is what makes us feel good when we do good. God is the strength of my heart, and mine for ever.”

  Yanif knelt down and prayed in silence.

  The audience clapped and as the applause died down, Tremus started the CD so that music filled the night sky. Kwasi and Mosi led the singing as the audience joined in and Eshe beckoned the children forwards into a line.

  For the next hour a queue of people passed, shaking Yanif’s hand, or once again pressing Yanif’s hand to an ailing limb or back. A few brought bottles of water and Yanif kissed the bottles unsure of what else to do. As people passed, Eshe held out a small cup and took offerings.

  A tall thin man forced himself to the front, pushing the children out of the way, ignoring their protestations. In his arms lay a goat, its belly swollen and pregnant. Tremus came to the front to send the man to the back of the line.

  “I don't have time to wait,” said the man. “You must bless this goat. Make her strong. She has lost two kids already.”

  Yanif kissed his fingers and stroked the goat on the back, murmuring words under his breath. The man pushed the goat forwards. “Kiss her. She needs your kiss.”

  Yanif smiled and kissed the goat on the neck. It let out a small baa and kicked in the man’s arms, struggling to break free, but the man held it tight.

  “Now you,” the man said to Tremus pushing the goat forwards.

  Tremus stepped back, his hands open to stop the man coming closer. “That is not for me…”

  “Now do your blessing,” insisted the man. “You must do your blessing too.”

  “Go on Tremus,” said Eshe smiling and biting her lip.

  Tremus looked wide-eyed at Eshe and then at Yanif, but Yanif nodded to indicate that Tremus should take his turn. Tremus groaned and stroked the goat’s back and mumbled something under his breath.

  “And a kiss. Don’t forget the kiss,” said Eshe half laughing.

  Tremus frowned at Eshe, then kissed the goat. A mischievous grin crossed his face and he urged Eshe forwards. “And now Eshe,” he said.

  Eshe started to pet at the goat, stroking its back.

  “Stop. Stop. Stop,” said the man. He brushed Eshe’s hand away and hugged the goat tighter. “Women cannot do blessings. You leave her alone. Blessing is a man’s job. God would not let women do it.”

  Eshe stood open-mouthed as the man bowed to Yanif and Tremus and gave them each a coin.

  As the procession subsided Yanif stepped down from the stage, exhaustion in his eyes.

  Angelie placed her hand on Yanif’s shoulder. “My Saint Lucy necklace pulsed when you spoke and told us the story. It was incredible Yanif. It’s like I’m hearing direct from God.”

  “He was sent to us by God,” said Keneth clapping Yanif on the other shoulder. “He has the spirit inside him. That is what the mganga said.”

  “Sent to us,” said Angelie. She contemplated the words. “It was a miracle what you did for Salina. And Riaz said you cured that man’s broken back. When I listened my heart filled with joy. You must have been sent by God.”

  Behind her the rotund figure of Reverend Farr bustled over, the dark top of his vestments emphasizing the whiteness of his dog collar against his dark skinned face.

  “He was not sent by God,” said Farr poking his finger towards Yanif, his forehead bulging with indignation. “You have nothing to do with God and you have no right to say what you did today to these poor people, or play this music.”

  “But—” said Angelie.

  Yanif stopped her, beckoning for Farr to continue.

  “This woman here,” —Farr waved in the direction of Angelie but remained fixated on Yanif— “saying that you were sent by God. I have never heard such nonsense in all my life. You take God’s name in vain and dress it all up with this snake oil show where you try to convince these poor people that you can heal them of disease. You are a fraud and you are trying to mislead my people.”

  Yanif stayed silent.

  Farr seemed disconcerted by the silence, but continued: “I will not have charlatans in my parish spreading their muck and lies. You are a young cheat. A cheat I call you, looking to swindle these poor people, stealing their sou
ls as well as their money. And who will pick up the pieces tomorrow when you have gone and they find they have been used? I will. I will.”

  “Yanif’s not a cheat,” said Angelie rapidly. “He’s—”

  But Yanif held his hand up a second time and she stopped once again.

  “If these people want to learn about God then I am the person who can guide them. This is my flock and I will protect them from cunning wolves like you. The Bible is my guide and my weapon and you are a fake and if you are not out of here this evening then I will march you out of Kenya myself. These people need a strong and righteous leader, not some pale skinned fake like you.”

  Farr jabbed his finger at Yanif and stepped so close that Yanif could feel the reverend’s stomach pressing against him as if Farr was trying to provoke a fight.

  Yanif stepped back slightly to give himself space but smiled at the reverend. “I only come to give, not to take. Are you not proud of their hunger for God?”

  Farr was confused by the question and his belly wobbled with indignation. “If they are hungry, then it is because I have made them so. I am their teacher and I am the person who brings God to them. Not you or your little charade.”

  “Then you are a blessed man, a good and faithful servant,” said Yanif, “Because you bring joy to these people.”

  Behind Yanif, Tremus approached staring at Farr, almost growling as he sized up the pastor.

  “You are trying to trick me,” exploded Farr. “I see what you are doing.” He took a step back from under Tremus's shadow. “I see how you are trying to twist me, like you twist these people. Begone. Begone. Get thee behind me Satan. If you and your people have not gone then woe betide you. I have important friends you will see.”

  Farr turned and stormed out towards the darkness of the night.

  44. The finders

  “Monsignor,” said Svaldi, bowing, his cassock billowing a little in the breeze.

  Monsignor Straus was standing on the touchline watching the students from the Pontificia Universita Urbaniana playing football against the North American College, a short distance from St Peter's Square.