A fearless satire on Africa’s imported spirituality and the hidden truth of a distant paradise
By: Midmark Onsongo
Worth Noting:
- The visit of these gods did not come with a simple welcome. No, they traveled on ships run by traders and colonists who wrapped salvation like an invisible rope around the necks of African children. Think back to 1884, the Conference of Berlin – the day Africa was carved up, cut into pieces, each piece folded neatly for the European empires.
- Along the borders drawn in blood, the languages and gods followed and flowed smoothly like a river through which ancient beliefs were drawn. A game of spirit and land, the English played to win, trading culture for equality and heritage for holiness.
The quiet drum of Africa beats loudest when no one’s listening—an irony, if you will, for a continent that roars silently under layers of imported reverence, wrapped up like foreign goods in cargo crates. “The empty debe makes the loudest noise,” they say, and indeed, here we are, drowned in the echo of prayers shipped from ancient lands, gods born in foreign soils, while our own spiritual wells dry up unnoticed.
Africa, the land of mountains, rivers, and sunlit valleys, yet we import not just clothes and cars but beliefs too. And here lies the paradox: if heaven is a true destination, why must we search for it elsewhere? Look around: Yahweh arrived on the shores of Africa from the sands of Israel, a god tangled in Hebrew scriptures and myths.
We have Jesus, his European image hanging in every church and every mind, a bearded man with pale skin – a far cry from the colors of the country he worships. So, from the deserts of Arabia, we thanked God whose voice was ringing in the churches across the country, a divine presence from lands we had not yet entered. Like Africa, the nest of man has nothing of his own. God, his own paradise, his own truth. But perhaps this is more about power than religion.
The visit of these gods did not come with a simple welcome. No, they traveled on ships run by traders and colonists who wrapped salvation like an invisible rope around the necks of African children. Think back to 1884, the Conference of Berlin – the day Africa was carved up, cut into pieces, each piece folded neatly for the European empires.
Along the borders drawn in blood, the languages and gods followed and flowed smoothly like a river through which ancient beliefs were drawn. A game of spirit and land, the English played to win, trading culture for equality and heritage for holiness.
However, Africa, in all its wisdom, has forgotten the question: Is it the promised paradise or just a prison dressed in a glorious dress? If we wait, if we really look at the humor carved into this tape, won’t we laugh? A god is imported to bring help, but hell remains at home. Poverty, disease, war – these disasters do not require a passport.
They grow from our soil and are watered by the blood of their relatives. Isn’t it time to get rid of this hell, this hell that we have created with our own hands while we look to other gods to forgive us? Maybe it’s time to get into heaven again, cut through the guards, avoid the healers, and get the right ticket to the heaven we want. But here the sarcasm hides the bitter truth. In fact, religion is not just a belief. These opiates are sugar-coated pills that ease our pain even as we become blind to our limitations.
History is holding its breath waiting for Africa to rise. It’s 2024, but we cling to 2,000-year-old stories from dusty deserts, as if our own stories don’t matter. We see churches built like palaces in slums, churches built on dilapidated buildings.
The paradox is – If people are starving, if children are dying with worms on their lips and hunger in their stomachs, what is the use of these temples? It may be a rhetorical question, but it must be answered. Do these imported gods serve us, or do we serve them? We bow, we kneel, we stretch our hands to the sky, but the sky is silent, it does not respond to our prayers. As Africans, we are proud of the energy, strength and spirit of Ubuntu – the belief “I am because we are”.
However, we have abandoned our gods, our spiritual anchors, to foreign gods who do not understand our struggles, our stories, our souls. Ubuntu seems to be self-sustaining, but here we are spiritually dependent on imports. Look at Ethiopia, a country full of ancient Christianity, reasons for the conversion of King Azana in the fourth century. Ethiopia clung to its own Christian identity, a symbol of resilience in the face of colonial forces.
Ethiopia, an African country that refused to bind the body and soul, chose to preserve its sovereignty and pride. But Ethiopia stands alone in this field. For the rest of the country, not only the borders, but also the intellectual borders, are beautifully wrapped in the Bible and the Koran. Synthesis is the narrator here – a country blessed with natural resources, but burdened by the curse of poverty. For every church in Kinshasa, there is a broken school.
For every church in Lagos, there is a hospital without beds. It seems that faith has become a cruel currency, a currency that sells hope but not medicine that promises salvation but not life. So we live in a paradox where we bring the gods to console us for the hell we cannot escape. But how did we deal with this problem? The answer lies in the rhetoric of power. Power, used as a weapon, turned African religions into pawns on the chessboard of empires.
Missionaries came with crosses and promises, but behind them were guns and greed. The victory of the African spirit is not about liberation, but about surrender. The control is simple and easy. And we, the owners of this legacy, bow not to heaven, but to the shadows of the imperial spirits who taught us that our gods are not enough.
It’s time to rewrite the script. We must ask boldly and fearlessly: Who benefits from our sacrifice? The starving child, the farmer in trouble, the widow in her sorrow? Are these pastors, priests, imams working while their students are poor? It’s a bitter pill, but we have to swallow it. For every dollar spent on building churches and mosques, how many dollars are spent on building hospitals and schools?
For every prayer that is prayed, how many things go undone? This, dear Africa, is the contradiction that enslaves us. Heaven is not a place we enter, nor is it a price we can buy. Maybe it’s a human form, a kingdom within our own power to create. Africa, the motherland, the land of ancient wisdom and infinite power, does not need foreign gods to fulfill its destiny. If we can reject the hell we have created, if we can free ourselves from the shackles of imported beliefs that do not serve us, we may find the heaven we seek.
We are not in heaven, but here, on this earth, in the world. to create the warmth of the Community, the power of courage and the beauty of the culture that will not disappoint us. In the end, Africa must choose: Continue the path of faith that was brought or regain the spiritual freedom we had before borders, before the gospel, before the bell.
The choice is ours alone. Heaven or hell – in our hands. We should not kneel before imported gods, but rise up as the creators of our own destiny. This article does not oppose religion. In fact, I remember my lecturer, Mr. Haningtonne Sitati, who, before every exam, would firmly ensure no cheating—“remove those sweaters,” he’d say with a sharp eye.
Then, after his thorough check, he’d lead us in prayer. Yet he taught us that prayer alone doesn’t replace preparation; it was integrity in prayer that mattered. Many may dislike the truth, but as long as your relationship with God is genuine, you are blessed. Long live Mr. Sitati.
This article was scripted by;
MIDMARK ONSONGO, SGS
(Socio-Geographic Scholar)
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