The missing money

One time, my uncle returned home to find the money he had kept on the table was missing. It was on a Sunday afternoon and this happened many years ago. It was at the time when naira meant a lot.

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He was patient, so he waited till his wife was back from church to ask her. It was her. She had used it as an offering in church.
Now, this was why that money was important. It was fifty naira and it was the only money left; the only hope for the family.

It was Sunday, rice was going to happen but some of the ingredients needed for it to happen were supposed to be bought. That was what the fifty naira was for. His wife knew this too but she had to give it all.

My uncle went berserk. And when his voice wouldn't raze down the roof, he climbed his bicycle and pedalled down to the church in all of the speed he could.

Stories carry that he began to roar the moment he stepped into the church. He called the pastor out in anger asking why he took his money when instead, he should be the one giving to his family.

He asked why he would allow a woman whose children he knows barely eats three square meals a day, pay fifty naira as an offering. My uncle was mad. He would've brought down the building if his voice could.

And he said he wouldn't leave until he got his fifty naira back.
'Churches should give to the poor. Was that not what Jesus Christ did? Giving to the poor and hungry and never taking from them.' He barked.
He didn't care who was listening nor how anyone felt. He just went on.

The pastor who was either filled with pity or shame went into the church's private corner and returned with two hundred naira. It all seemed like a miracle and he was grateful.

My Mother shared this story with me yesterday when I mentioned the man who wrote a letter to his church in Nairobi asking for a refund for all the offerings he has paid for the past 19 years.
And I shared to brighten your evening. I hope I was able to make you laugh.