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Bomba Skwad Entertainment, Bomba Skwad Entertainment, Lagos (2026)

27/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 6: The Unveiling
By Skwad Entertainment

Ever since Trish’s confession, Peter had been troubled. He wrestled with the thought: “Why would someone plan such evil and find agreement in it? Why me, Lord? I have done nothing to them.” But after prayer, the weight lifted. He remembered the altars he had broken and understood: their spirits did not like the Spirit of God in him.

That morning, after prayer, he texted Trish: “I forgive you. May God forgive you and give you peace.”
She replied instantly: “Thank you… I feel better. I can be a better friend from now on.”
Peter answered: “I have forgiven you, but as for reconciling as friends, let’s give it time. Let’s give each other space and distance.”
Trish sighed: “I get you with crying imojis.”

The morning was merciless. Peter walked the corridors with mop in hand, his head bowed. A clique of staff mocked him openly, their voices sharp and cruel.

“Janitor, mop faster — you should do this earlier so people don’t slip!” (though it was still thirty minutes before office hours).
“Peter, clean the accounts cubicles and empty the bins!” (though company policy prohibited food leftovers in office bins).
One deliberately dropped paper into the bin he had just emptied. Another laughed, “Stick to toilets, Peter. Leave the serious work to us. Look at you now.”

Every word pierced him, yet he whispered inside: “Some people only value others when it benefits them. But God values me always.”

Laughter echoed down the hallway. Peter bent down, his hands trembling with pain and anticipation. He knew that they are about to change their behavior and try to patronize him.

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By afternoon, the atmosphere shifted. Peter changed into a suit and walked into the boardroom with the Marketing Director. Curious eyes glared at him — the janitor now standing among executives.

Mr Zara’s voice thundered: “Ladies and gentlemen, today we unveil something that will change Ziktechno forever. A new product, developed by Peter — The Kuunga App.”

Gasps rippled through the room. The same staff who mocked Peter that morning now leaned forward, their faces pale. So the App was approved. How. Some hoped they had treated him better

Peter stepped forward, laptop glowing. His voice was calm, but his spirit roared. “This app is not just software. It is memory eternal. It will make everyone forever young. It will be an app in every phone, because we all want to know ourselves more.”

The projector lit up with family trees, faces, voices, and videos. Staff gasped.
One said, “I will put my grandmother’s song… it will never be lost.”
Another cried softly, “It even shows medical patterns… my father’s illness, my own risk.”

Concerns rose. A manager stood abruptly, his tone sharp. “Peter, what about privacy? You’re talking about people’s secrets, their dead relatives, their living families. Who controls this data?”

Peter nodded, his voice steady. “We had noted that, to protect privacy every individual will give access voluntarily. This includes all scenarios — whether dead or alive. Public information will not be subject to privacy expactations. Families will choose what to share. The app respects consent, but it preserves legacy. It is not exploitation — it is restoration.”

The room fell silent. Awe mixed with unease. Some staff nodded, others frowned.

Mr Zara leaned forward. “This… this is not just an app. It is a covenant between generations. Peter, you have given us a lifeline. In his words this app will help us understand our past and prophecy into the future. And let it be known — Peter, as the developer of Kuunga App, will be the person in overall charge of this product. He is now the Head of Development. A post we have created for him. He is now one of the Directors here"

The boardroom erupted — gasps, whispers, and stunned silence. Some clapped hesitantly, others looked down in shame.

Then came the surprise announcements.

Mr Zara continued: “The Kuunga App will be officially launched tomorrow here at the offices. Already, we have partnered with the Ministry of Health, who will use it as an additional layer of diagnosis. We have proposals from the Ministry of Heritage, who want us to trace and preserve stories of those who participated in the liberation struggle. We are scheduling meetings with UNESCO World Heritage Centres. This app has already triggered interest from across the globe. We will be very busy with this.”

The boardroom buzzed with astonishment. Some staff clapped nervously, others exchanged stunned glances.

Then HR Director Mr Vusa stood. “I also have announcements. First, we have recruited a new janitor. Welcome, Mrs Zimanda.”
Staff turned and chorused, “Welcome, Ma’am.”

Mr Vusa's voice hardened. “Another announcement: we have conducted a hearing and found Trish and Mr Kwindi to ... Completed in comment section

20/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 5: The Revelation
By Skwad Entertainment

Peter stood up slowly, his voice steady but his heart pounding. “Let me rush to take my laptop,” he said, leaving the room. Moments later he returned, connecting it to the projector. The screen flickered to life, casting a glow across the tense boardroom. All eyes turned to him — some curious, some mocking, some burning with envy.

He cleared his throat. “Who here knows their history from their grandfather’s grandfather?” Silence. “Yet in the Bible there are fifty-five generations from Abraham to Jesus that can be tracked. Maybe you are the great-grandchildren of Nyatsimba Mutota, just as I am the grandchild of Changamire Svosve.”

The Director leaned forward, his tone sharp. “What is the app? Start there.”

Peter straightened. “I have developed an app that can build your family tree. It records your family background, stores pictures, finds videos, and allows manual data entry to fill in the gaps. There are Africans who were captured and taken during the slave trade — they don’t know their families. This app will connect the lost African Americans, Jamaicans and others back to their roots. It can give you a picture of your past, the trends in your family, the medical conditions that affect your genealogy. It can be co-populated by several actors in your family and interlink all marital relationships. I am sure it will show that xenophobia is not necessary, for we are one interconnected people in South Africa and across Africa.

This app makes memory eternal. It will make everyone forever young. It will be an App in every phone, we all want to know ourselves more”

The room stirred. Some staff leaned forward, their eyes wide. Others scoffed, rolling their eyes.

“Interesting,” said Director Mr Zara, his voice measured. “I get its utility. But how will it make us money? Where is the business model?”

Peter clicked to the next slide. His voice grew stronger. “This app can be monetized through subscriptions for families who want to preserve their heritage. It can partner with schools, churches, and cultural institutions, it can be monitized through adverts. It can even integrate with genealogy databases worldwide. People pay for memory — and this app makes memory eternal. The story, the video, the voice of your family members is at the click of a button. You will know who you look like, who shares your behavior traits, where they fell, and what you can avoid. It will make families immortal in knowledge, and nations unbreakable in unity.”

The room erupted in murmurs.

One programmer whispered, “Breathtaking… may I see?”
Another sneered, “this janitor wants to glorify a history textbook, he wants to be a programmer now.”
A third muttered, “Stick to mops, Peter. This is serious talk, we went to university for this, I don't see the money.”
One manager smirked, “Maybe he’ll clean the bugs out of the code with his mop.” He felt the criticism and the jealousy.

Peter stood firm, though his hand trembled. His eyes burned with quiet fire. They don't know me, he quietly remarked.

Mr Zara raised his hand. “Enough. I’m convinced you’re on to something. Let’s see how it works. Since this is an independent project, we’ll need an agreement. The meeting ends here. Peter and the Directors will remain so we can finalize this.”

The app was tested that night. It worked flawlessly — ready for launch. A generous proposal was made to buy it from Peter and keep him as head of development of the Kuunga App, which was a Senior Management Position.

That evening, Peter sat alone, celebrating silently. His life had changed. Ziktechno had offered him a future beyond mops and buckets. Yet he resolved to keep it quiet for now, continuing his janitor duties until a replacement was found.

Deep in thought, his phone buzzed. It was Trish. Her voice was shaky, almost broken.

“Peter… forgive me. Please. You don’t know the truth. Kwindi and I were trying to set you up. Yesterday I was testing the waters. We wanted to trap you — to accuse you of r**e. But I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Peter sat frozen, the words echoing in his mind like gunshots. His chest tightened. Betrayal, relief, and anger collided inside him. Yet he remembered God fights his battles even those he didn't know. He kneeled to thank God for protection and breakthrough.

The next morning, the office was alive with gossip. Staff debated the app, the scandal, and Trish’s absence. Some whispered that Kwindi was plotting revenge. Others said Peter’s app could save the company.

Yet as Peter walked through the corridors, mop in hand, staff assumed the app failed since he continued his position. Some decided to redicule him.
“Janitor, clean the kitchen — it stinks.”
“Hey, don’t forget the toilets.”
“Peter, fetch us tea.”

They barked orders, mocking him, not knowing that he was now part of senior management. Peter obeyed quiet

15/05/2026

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13/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 4: Saved by a Scandal
By Skwad Entertainment

Peter, as was his habit, woke at 4 a.m. and prayed for an hour. By seven, he opened the office and began cleaning before staff trickled in at 7:40. His hand lingered on each desk like a soldier planting invisible landmines of prayer. He avoided Trish and Mr Kwindi during the day — yet he prayed for them too, touching their desks with quiet authority. He spoke little to his team, keeping his silence like a cloak and working on his own project.

One day at break time, Trish knocked on his back quarters and pushed the door open. Peter, shirtless, looked up startled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m so tired of this life.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

“As you know, I’m in a relationship,” she sighed, tears swelling. “My boyfriend doesn’t respect my privacy. He wants to see my phone, check my messages. I feel exploited, abused.”

“Is he suspecting anything?” Peter asked cautiously.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Are you doing anything to cause that?” Peter pressed.

“Hell no — it’s just typical reverse psychology!” she snapped, then broke down, sobbing.

Peter froze as Trish suddenly leaned forward, hugging him tightly. Her tears soaked his shoulder. He stiffened, unsure, then gently patted her back. She cried for what seemed like a life time. Peter did not know how to react, whether to hug her back or enjoy the hug.

“You might be a janitor,” she whispered through sobs, pulling back slightly, “but you are handsome, tall, and muscular.” Her hand brushed his bicep, lingering.

Peter’s heart raced. She leaned closer, her breath hot against his chest. “You were painfully distant this past weeks, you don’t know what you do to me, I missed you yet you were around.”

His chest tightened, his thoughts tangled between faith and temptation. Surprised by the incoherence of the sobs and the missing him part “Is this a trap? Or a test?” he wondered.

“But if you were your boyfriend,” Peter murmured, struggling to steady his breath, “what would you do knowing you?”

Trish pressed her head against his chest. “We should do this more often… if you don’t mind,” she murmured.

Peter’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” He looked down, unsure what to say. Finally, he whispered: “I am not good at counselling, but you can try professional counselling. This might help with your boyfriend.”

Trish pulled back, wiping her tears — though her smile betrayed her. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk tomorrow at lunch. We’ll have more time.” She walked out, her steps light, her eyes gleaming. It’s possible after all, she thought.

The next day, Mr Kwindi arrived at the office with a black eye. Whispers spread quickly: he had been caught with Trish by both his wife and Trish’s boyfriend. The scandal exploded — photos of their bruised faces leaked online, memes spread like wildfire, and Ziktechno’s name became a punchline.

Staff were scrolling through their phones, laughing at Kwindi’s swollen face turned into a cartoon villain. Ziktechno wasn’t just trending — it was being mocked.

The company was tarnished. Management scrambled for a turnaround. The two were suspended, but it wasn’t enough to save the company’s image.

A meeting was called. Directors sat grim-faced, demanding solutions.
“We need to deflate this negative attention,” or “Ride on the publicity. Does anyone have applications ready for the market?”

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The room fell silent. No one spoke.

As the meeting neared its end, Peter raised his hand.

“I have something I’ve been working on independently,” he said.

The room erupted in laughter — mocking, nervous.
“Even the janitor wants to be a programmer now!” one sneered.
Another chuckled, “Next he’ll say he’s the CEO.”
A third muttered loudly, “Stick to mops, Peter. This is serious talk.”
One manager smirked, “Maybe he’ll clean the bugs out of the code with his mop.”
Another whispered, “Next he’ll say angels gave him the idea.”

Peter stood firm, though his hand trembled.

“What are you saying? What project? This is serious talk, Peter. And why are you even in this meeting anyway?”

The Director raised his hand. His voice cut through the noise.
“Hold on. Let him finish.”

Silence fell. All eyes turned to Peter. His heart pounded, but his eyes burned with quiet fire. The warzone had shifted — and everyone knew it.

End of Chapter 4
By Skwad Entertainment

10/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 3: The Ripple Effect
By Skwad Entertainment

After Mr Kwindi left, the kitchen was still heavy with silence after the strange discovery. Peter looked at the four staff members. He spoke gently but firmly:

“I don’t know what this is,” he said, pointing to the discarded bundle, “but thinking about it, we should just pray — at work, at home, everywhere else. Let’s pray here, so that angels visit us like they did the shepherds, and the wise men from the East.”

He prayed silently, then left the kitchen, retreating to his back quarters. Throughout the break time, he resolved: everything should be in secrecy. A sniper should not be known.

Later, Peter returned to clean the kitchen. As he passed through reception, Trish called out, “Hey you!”

Peter smiled faintly. “I’m ok, how are you doing?”

She leaned forward. “I mean… what’s up with you? As in the kitchen incident, you know.”

Peter hesitated. “Well, I don’t know what that was, but I burnt it.”

“Weren’t you afraid?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “It looked dangerous and suspicious, but it wasn’t a bomb. I thought since you weren’t going to do it, I should just remove it and throw it away.”

Trish tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully. “But how did you know it was there anyway?”

Peter stammered, “Ummm…”

“You… I am watching you,” she said with a smile.

Peter felt accused, yet strangely unsettled. The problem was Trish was beautiful, and being watched by such a person left him confused.

By midday, the office gr**evine had erupted. Rumors flew from cubicle to cubicle: something in the sugar was removed. Some claimed it was breathing. Others whispered it had beards. A few swore it spoke like an old man. Some even said it whispered curses. Suspicion grew, and people said five witnesses should clarify.

At lunch, Trish appeared again, knocking at Peter’s back quarters. “Peter,” she called.

Inside, loud gospel music played as Peter prayed under the cover of sound. He peeped through the door and saw her. His heart skipped a beat. He dressed quickly and opened the door.

“Come here,” she said, leading him back to the office.

In the boardroom, a group of young employees sat debating the kitchen incident. Their voices overlapped, each describing the item differently — breathing, speaking, growing hair.

One staff member chuckled nervously: “Peter, if you were in school, you were supposed to write about us in the composition ‘The Day I Will Never Forget.’”

The office burst into nervous laughter, but uneasy, as if everyone knew the joke was covering something darker.

Peter raised his hand. “Unfortunately, I burnt it. I think it was just litter that found itself in the wrong place. Those guys didn’t stop drinking their tea. Don’t worry — I think people are oversensationalizing litter.”

The group fell silent, staring at him in surprise. His calm dismissal unsettled them. One staff member leaned back and said, “That’s exactly what someone would say if they didn’t want us to know the truth.”

They exchanged glances, but Peter said, unfortunately I burnt it team, but it's litter, don't be afraid. He knew letting them know the truth he knew is not wise since it will breed fear.

At the end of the day, Mr Vusa, the HR Director, stopped Peter.
“How was your first day? You seemed to be having an interesting conversation with Mr Kwindi, and gelling in well with the team.”

Peter smiled faintly. “I was just getting to know him. He was giving me instructions on how he expected his office to be cleaned.”

“Oh, I see,” Mr Vusa replied. “But you looked timid… well, I see. See you tomorrow. Security should already be around.”

Peter was introduced to the guard on duty, Sgt Ruware, who ensured the doors were locked and motion detectors enabled after everyone had left.

They sat together for a while, discussing life. Peter expressed how grateful he was to be working.

“Are you married?” Sgt Ruware asked.

“No,” Peter replied.

The guard leaned closer. “So how do you see Trish?”

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Peter hesitated. “She is exceptionally beautiful.”

Ruware shook his head. “Your generation is unfortunate. Girls are losing morals. All that glitters is not gold. I suspect that Trish is in a relationship with one of the Directors — Mr Kwindi. They usually arrive together early in the morning and sometimes leave together. I saw them kissing in the car.”

Peter’s heart fell, but he felt strangely armed. The warzone was not only spiritual — it was laced with scandal, ice, and sugar.

End of Chapter 3
By Skwad Entertainment

08/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 2: The Confrontation

By Skwad Entertainment

The morning air inside Ziktechno International was thick with tension. Peter had barely finished polishing the reception floor when the Finance Director, Mr Kwindi, stormed in like a thundercloud. His voice cut through the hum of computers.

“Who hired you?” he continued. “How were you brought here without my knowledge? Why were you not introduced? How can someone trust a stranger enough to give him office keys on his first day? This is corruption! There’s a problem here!”

Peter froze, mop in hand, heart pounding. He could feel the heat behind the words — not just anger, but something darker.

“You must not be here,” Mr Kwindi declared, slamming his palm on the desk. “You must be fired today!”

Before Peter could respond, the door opened. Mr Vusa, the HR Director, stepped in, calm and composed.
“Good morning, Peter,” he said warmly. “The office looks smart already. What time did you get here? Keep it up, young man.”

Then he turned to Kwindi with a polite nod. “Good morning, Mr Kwindi.”

Kwindi stiffened, caught off guard. “Oh… so it’s you who hired him?”

“Yes,” Mr Vusa replied evenly. “That’s what HR also does. Is there a problem?”

Kwindi’s lips tightened. “No problem,” he muttered, retreating into his chair.

“Come to my office, Peter,” said Mr Vusa. “I’ll assign someone to walk you around for introductions. I see you’ve already met Mr Kwindi — you’ll come back later for a formal introduction.”

Peter nodded, packing his broom and cleaning cloths. As he walked away, he whispered to himself, “This is not just a workplace, this is a warzone. But do I tell him he wants me fired. Do I tell him I am praying for him. He decides he won't say anything”

The introductions began. From office to office, cubicle to cubicle, Peter met the staff. But when they reached Kwindi’s office, the door was half-open. Inside, Kwindi was finishing a hushed conversation with a visitor.

“All I can say is we have faced challenges,” Kwindi muttered. “He moved too fast before I could influence the process. I’ll fit you somewhere else.”

The visitor slipped out quickly. Kwindi turned, feigning busyness, his face moody and uninterested. Peter was introduced formally, but Kwindi barely looked up, pretending to shuffle papers.

From office to office, Peter saw beyond names and titles. The workplace was a competition of beliefs: some relied on witchcraft for protection, others used charms against competitors, some were deeply prayerful, others prayed only occasionally, and some drowned themselves in promiscuity.

Peter’s spirit stirred again. “This is a warzone against principalities, I will be the snipper here”

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During break time, laughter filled the kitchen as staff gathered for tea. Trish, the receptionist, was stirring sugar into her cup when Peter felt a sudden urge — sharp and urgent.

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward. “Let’s change the sugar container.”

Everyone paused, puzzled. Peter reached for the container, poured the sugar into a dish — and gasps filled the room.

From beneath the sugar, a strange item fell out, wrapped in faded cloth and smeared with oil. It landed with a dull thud on the dish.

“Oh my God!” Trish screamed, backing away. “What is that?”

Fear gripped the four people in the kitchen. Their hands trembled, cups rattled against saucers.

Peter lifted the item, his voice rising with authority.
“For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind!” (2 Timothy 1:7)

He prayed loudly against the spirit of fear, rebuking it in Jesus’ name. The atmosphere shifted. The four staff members stood stunned, then boldened, their fear melting away. They picked up their cups and continued drinking their tea — but their eyes lingered on Peter. Who is this guy? they wondered.

Peter threw the item into the bin.

Just then, Mr Kwindi rushed into the kitchen. His eyes darted to the sugar dish, then to the faces of the staff. He scanned the room, his voice sharp but controlled.

“Is everything… ok here?” he asked, his gaze locking on Peter.

End of Chapter 2
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What do you think happened to Peter

Pray without ceasing

06/05/2026

The Office Prophet

Chapter 1: The Humble Arrival

by Bomba Skwad Entertainment
Peter had just stepped out of the Christ Followers Church, his spirit still burning from the all-night prayer led by Pastor Jabari and Imara Ngurumo. The Monday morning air was crisp, carrying with it the echoes of worship songs that lingered in his heart.

As he rode home in a rattling Tuk-Tuk, he scrolled his phone and saw an advert: “Ziktechno International — Janitor Wanted. Recruitment on a rolling basis.”

Right there in the back seat, Peter edited his CV, removing his degree in IT. Within minutes, he sent his application by email. By noon, an invitation arrived: interview at 1400hrs.

By afternoon, he was seated in the company’s reception, waiting for his turn. The HR Director smiled warmly, impressed by his humility and diligence. By evening, Peter had the job. He chose to start the next day — he needed the money for his boys’ needs.

Part of his assignment was to serve as the office janitor — running errands, assisting staff, and keeping the workplace in order. He would also stay in the office back quarters and begin work an hour earlier than everyone else. He had no problem with that; he was single and lived with his parents.

Ziktechno International was no small enterprise. With a head office employing fifty people and branches spread across Africa, it was a company of influence and reach. Yet in the midst of its vast corridors and buzzing servers, Peter’s role seemed insignificant.

But he hadn’t realized that his spiritual gift would follow him into this new workplace.

On his first morning, as he cleaned the toilets, his eyes caught sight of two strange items tied with a red cloth, placed on top of the window pelmets. His heart raced. As soon as he saw them, a distinct inner voice whispered: “Pray for the HR Director. This is an evil altar from the Finance Director.”

Peter froze, frightened, scanning the room to see if someone was playing tricks on him. No one. He swept the items into his cleaning bucket, carried them out with the rest of the dust and litter, and burned them quietly. As the smoke rose, he prayed earnestly for the protection of the HR Director.

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Moments later, footsteps echoed down the corridor. The Finance Director entered the office. His face was tight, his mood heavy, his eyes darting as though searching for something that had been lost. He slammed his briefcase onto the desk, muttering under his breath. Is he manifesting Peter wondered. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air grew tense, charged with unseen hostility.

Peter, still holding the mop, felt the weight of spiritual warfare pressing in. The lights flickered above.

The Finance Director turned sharply, his eyes narrowing on Peter. He beckoned him with a cold hand.
“Come here,” he said, voice low but sharp.

Peter stepped forward, heart pounding.

The Director leaned back in his chair, studying him with suspicion.
“Tell me,” he demanded, “who are you? Why… and how are you here?”

End of Chapter 1

Pray at work, at school and at home.

What do you think happened to Peter. Chapter 2 loading

03/05/2026

Adventures with God

Chapter 3 — The Healing Hand and the Lamp of Learning

By Skwad Entertainment

I, Musaemura, continue this account. I am the youngest daughter of King Mhizha, and his youngest wife. I was there when the mission centre became more than a place of prayer—it became a place of healing, of learning, of conflict, and of calling.

After Zampele’s miraculous healing, villagers flocked to the mission. Toothaches, headaches, stomach pains, diarrhoea—ailments that once meant despair were now treated. The Zandere Mission Clinic was born.

Trust grew. Many who once loved tradition now saw its ruthlessness and turned to Christianity. Healing became the doorway to faith. The road to the traditional healers became less populated as more people visited the clinic.

Mama Emmanuel lobbied the American Board for support, and soon bricks and mortar arrived. Gandapansi moulded bricks, builders raised walls, and locals like Chomzeze learned fast—so fast that he continued molding bricks and building houses long after the school was complete. Chigaravatata looked more beautiful, and everyone was joining the new trends. It was the beginning of a new culture—stone houses replacing pole-and-dagga.

The school taught Sub A and B, then Standard 1–6, and later teacher training, carpentry, and building. Many of the first students were from our community and found jobs elsewhere. It was always a joy to watch when they came back. The gifts and the riches their families accumulated motivated many to go to school.

However, early at the beginning of school, not all was peace. Some of the teachers sent from abroad were harsh. White teachers, unfamiliar with our ways, impregnated some young girls and ran away. Ruwa was impregnated by Teacher Boris, who immediately returned to his country.

The community was not happy with this. Many parents stormed the mission in protest, shouting:
“Is this the love of your God? Is this the way of learning?”

Some members of the community did not agree to the ideas of foreigners spanking their children. Yet others accepted the beatings, for in our culture discipline by the rod was already familiar. Some older students dropped out, laughing at those who remained, saying:
“You suffer for nothing. Why endure their lashes?”

Still, many of us stayed. We believed the pain was worth the knowledge. And slowly, the mission school became a place of growth rather than fear.

The mission did not stop at healing and teaching. Pastor Emmanuel began training men and women to preach the gospel. Among them were Zampele, the boy once saved from the crocodile, and his father Zingizi, the former chief healer who had renounced the old ways.

Together they studied scripture, learned to teach, and were sent out to establish churches and preaching points in nearby villages. Their voices carried weight—Zampele as living proof of God’s healing, Zingizi as a man transformed from tradition to faith. Where once they had been symbols of fear, now they became messengers of hope.

I, Musaemura, was among the first pupils. I learned letters, numbers, and hymns. I grew in knowledge, and when I completed school, I became a teacher myself.

With my earnings, I spoiled my family—buying cloth, salt, and gifts that once seemed impossible. My father, King Mhizha, looked at me with pride, saying, “This is what learning brings.”

In time, I married Petros, one of the twins whose arrival had first shaken our land. Our marriage was different. Each family insisted on their culture being followed until the families agreed on following both cultures to the dot. They came and paid lobola. It was hilarious to see a delegation of white men clapping their hands, led by Zingizi. They paid the bride price and left a few items. And there was a feast of song and dance.

A few days after our traditional marriage ceremony we held a white wedding. The warriors wore leopard skins, ostrich feathers, and carried polished walking sticks for the occasion. The women dressed in bright wrappers, beads, and brass bangles that jingled as they danced. The Emmanuel family arrived in black suits and white dresses, their attire shining like another world.

It was a beautiful scene of two cultures coming together. The gifts ceremony was a spectacle—goats, cattle, gold, and crafts. The whites looked envious as I took the gold and left the cattle in my father’s kraal. This was the beginning of weddings in our community.

When Pastor Emmanuel and his family eventually left, I travelled with them, carrying both memory and mission. I would write letters about my new home. When we last came home the environment had changed. I was pained by the misuse of Christianity by the white for colonialism. I like that the liberators who later rose to free us, many of them were from mission schools. I like that some pastors wer active in the fight against colonialism

These were some of our adventures with God.

The End

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