The Horrors of Indoctrination

Chapter 7: The Prophet’s True Face Unveiled

Chapter 7: The Prophet’s True Face Unveiled

Mama Maina sat hunched in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around her trembling frame as she rocked back and forth in numb devastation. How could this have happened? Just four years ago, their humble home had been a place of joy and laughter as their family prepared the evening meals together.

Now, the burnt amount of spilled blood mingled with wood and shattered glass in their living room. The strange, eerie feeling in the air made her feel uneasy. Mama Maina squeezed her eyes shut, but the memories played out on the backs of her lids in lurid flashes. Mumbi fell into the chaos, terrified to death.

The faint gleam in the old woman’s last eye vanished as her b****y scalp was ripped off. Her beloved daughter Sheri, taken over by something evil, twisted into a horrifying gateway for strange things to come through…

A choked cry broke free from the woman’s throat as she gave in to another round of heavy sobs. Why? Why had she ever allowed Baba Maina to lead them down this path of damnation with the Heavenly Gates “church”? She always felt uneasy about their weird cult rumors, even though her husband tried to reassure her.

An unwanted memory surfaced, rising from the painful depths of her mind…

It was nearly twenty years ago when Baba Maina came home later than usual, eyes alight with fevered zeal and cheeks wind burnt from exertion.

“Mama,” he said softly. She looked up from where she was feeding their youngest by the low-burning charcoal stove. “Ah, there you are,” she said with a warm smile. “The evening meal is nearly ready.” Baba Maina didn’t respond right away, instead, he sat on the floor with a contemplative look. She could tell something had happened.

“Kamau? Is something troubling you?”

He was silent for a moment, and then he started talking. “I have had...a revelation this day. An encounter with the true path towards deliverance and rebirth.” She had clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, feeling uneasy about the intense fervor in Baba Maina’s eyes. His words sped up with growing excitement and the deeper he went with his newfound enlightenment, the scarier it got for Wanja.

At that, he seized her hands in a grip just short of bruising force, his eyes blazing with abject conviction. “I will not have our family drawn into your wild ravings and occult madness!” she remembered hissing in harsh rebuke. “He is weaving a spell of delusion to serve his own self-aggrandizing agenda!”

“Enough of your heathen doubts!” He boomed, making their infant child scream with fear. “On Sunday, we shall enter Mwangi’s church as a family!” With that, he turned and stormed from the house, letting the rickety door slam behind him.

Wanja spent the next few days walking on eggshells around Kamau. The fire that had been lit within him by Prophet Mwangi’s inflammatory words showed no signs of dimming.

If anything, her husband seemed to have been entirely consumed by his newfound zeal, his every other sentence an evangelistic proclamation about the righteous rebirth soon to be ushered in.

“... you shall see, my love!” he had proclaimed over the dinner of brown beans and maize meal. “Once you experience Mwangi’s presence and hear his sermons directly from the source, you will be immersed in the light yourselves!”

Wanja had remained silent, shoulders tensed, simply nodding along to try and minimize any potentially volatile reaction. The truth was, the more she heard about this cult-like church her husband had fallen into, the more her very core clenched with fear. Reports had long swirled about throughout the village of Mwangi’s radical, anti-modern beliefs and the harsh penances he subjected his flock to.

Some of the rumors bordered on the nightmarish tales of his followers who willingly let themselves get locked in underground crypts for days without any food or water, all to break free from worldly ties.

At night when Kamau’s indoctrinated ranting finally subsided into fitful slumber, Wanja would lie awake rehearsing escape scenarios for her and the children should this new fundamentalist obsession be a powder keg just waiting for a spark. She knew her husband – knew that once he fully embraced intense devotion to an idea, there would be no swaying him until its flame had burned itself out.

With a feeling of resignation, Wanja prepared for the important Sunday service. Kamau was full of self-righteous passion, telling Wanja and the kids they had to wear simple clothes when they went to Mwangi’s place.

He said they were there to learn from the prophet about being humble and giving up things. “We’re like empty cups waiting to be filled with his wisdom,” he said, his eyes shining with belief as they walked with the other people. “We won’t mean anything until we’re touched by his teachings.”

As Wanja walked closer to Mwangi’s rundown place at the edge of the village, a sense of deep dread wrapped around her heart. This would be no ordinary church service; she could feel it in her mirror. They were being inducted into something…else. Something potentially irredeemable.

As Wanja walked into the compound’s arched entrance, made of white stucco stained with rust from years of weather, her worries turned into a heavy sense of fear. A few people filled the courtyard, talking intensely or standing still like statues.

But it was their weathered faces and thousand-yard stares that truly sent a crawling uneasiness up Wanja’s spine. They looked…hollow. They seemed haunted and thin like some evil spirit was draining their souls. Children ran around in torn clothes, their cheeks sunken and ribs sticking out the unmistakable signs of severe malnourishment. Wanja felt her chest squeeze as she held her own lively, decently fed kids closer.

“No... this was no environment fit for the innocent.”

“Kamau...I want to leave,” she murmured, tugging at his sleeve urgently as more of the gaunt, skeleton-like followers brushed past them. “Please, something is not right here!” But her husband simply shook off her grip with an implacable look. “Your doubts are born of ignorance, my dear. But fear not – Mwangi’s light shall scour them away and fill your heart with boundless conviction.”

With that, he walked confidently toward the big wooden door of the sanctuary. Swallowing thickly, Wanja clutched their children close and followed. This... this wasn’t just some ordinary cult like the village gossip had said. It was something much worse, a dark power controlling many lost souls behind those old gates. And now, her family was getting involved, setting the stage for their downfall.

For those first few weeks, Wanja always felt nervous when they went to Mwangi’s place for services and meetings. She remained constantly on guard, her instincts screaming at her to shield her children from whatever stealthy undercurrents flow through this fanatical flock. But over time, something changed. She started to make friends with some of the other wives and mothers there, and she felt less defensive when she witnessed their warmth and compassion firsthand.

“We must support one another through these spiritual trials,” a woman named Mary had said kindly when Wanja admitted her difficulty keeping up with the intermittent fasting observances. “That is why we are a family in the light, to lift each other’s burdens.” And true to her word, the other women had rallied around Wanja on the days of prayers when her body was too weary from hunger and dehydration to rise from her bed. They brought her sips of cool water and mashed potatoes and maize, encouraging her that any shortcoming in faith would be forgiven so long as the intent was pure.

Wanja couldn’t ignore the genuine care and acceptance she felt from these new connections formed through shared dedication. Even Kamau appeared to have calmed down his extreme beliefs… no longer railing with fire and brimstone at every turn.

“Do you notice his brightness all around us, my dear?” he whispered one evening as they watched their children happily playing with the other kids. “We’re merging into Mwangi’s brilliant presence.” Nodding, Wanja had surprised herself by allowing a small, wistful smile to crease her lips. She found herself not reacting defensively to her husband’s lofty speeches, thanks to the comforting sense of belonging she had found within their community.

A few months went by and, aside from occasional mishaps and misunderstandings here and there, Wanja had not witnessed any evil. In fact, she had started to assume the gossip that had been circulating for decades was all a lie told by unbelievers. But this didn’t last for long… Her faith was put to the ultimate test one Sunday morning, about six months after she joined Mwangi’s church. As had become a custom, Wanja hurried alongside Kamau and the others, shushing their inquisitive children as they passed through the arched entranceway and into the earth-toned interior.

Before long, Prophet Mwangi paced toward the old pulpit, his wild gaze sweeping over the hushed congregation like a raptor assessing its prey.

“The Creator’s divine light scorches away the cancers of impurity and doubt from our path!” The old fanatic’s voice echoed loudly in the dark room. “No longer shall the serpents of modern depravity be allowed to slither their toxic venom into the hearts and minds of my flock!”

“You... unbeliever!” he snarled, his bony finger pointing towards a figure just a few rows ahead of where Wanja and her family were seated. “Your vile aura of skepticism poisons those around you like a rancid vapor!”

The crowd gasped together as one of Mwangi’s helpers hurried over, holding a basket filled with some of the most dangerous snakes Wanja had ever seen. “Because your doubt has sneaked in and spread among my followers, you’ll be an example of punishment for those who reject enlightenment!” The prophet’s eyes were wild as he grabbed two of the largest snakes from the basket. The wretched man who had caught Mwangi’s deplorable focus was already being wrestled to the floor by altar assistants, his muffled protests being completely ignored. Wanja felt a chill of fear creeping up her back as the prophet descended from the raised platform toward the skeptical person.

“But, Prophet,” one of the men from the crowd interrupted. “If he’s really being too proud, wouldn’t punish him and make him spend time alone help him spiritually more than this...?” Mwangi seemed even bigger as he stopped in front of the trembling figure. “Those who don’t follow the Light must face death; that’s the only way to forgiveness,” he said, lifting a thick serpent high like a crucifixion tool.

Amidst the loud screams of a few congregants, Wanja spotted a furious snake heading for the offender’s throat, its fangs stretching out ready to strike. Kamau stood next to her, his mouth wide open as if he couldn’t believe what he was bearing witness to. Looking into his eyes, Wanja felt a deep sadness, realizing that for him, this cruel religious sacrifice was just part of Mwangi’s strict beliefs.

Images of Mary, Wambui, and the friends she had irrevocably come to care for during her spiritual journey flashed across her mind’s eye. These men and women of this beautiful community were all willingly drinking from the same poisoned well as their exalted Prophet. How many more would be singled out and made sacrifices in the name of preserving faith once the cracks began to multiply?

Wanja could only stare in horror as the black snake struck the man with terrifying accuracy. Its fangs sank into the man’s throat like sharp needles injecting poison into his bloodstream. The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, struggling to breathe as the venom quickly spread through his body. He writhed in agony, muscles tensing and convulsing against his restraints.

Wanja felt sickened and helpless, remembering a similar death years ago when her cousin’s child was bitten by a similar snake. The memory haunted her, replaying in her mind endlessly.

Now, she watched as the man’s body succumbed to the venom. After a few minutes, his movements became rigid, every muscle straining uncontrollably. His breathing turned to harsh, rattling gasps as his body contorted in pain. Finally, his eyes glazed over, and he took one last shuddering breath before going still. A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by quiet sobs from a few congregants. Then, with a majestic walk, Mwangi approached the body and signaled for it to be taken away. Turning his hawkish stare over to the crowd, the old man said calmly, “Let this weak moment pass quickly, and may we return to following the Light with renewed dedication. We won’t talk about or remember this wrongdoing anymore.

It’ll be buried and forgotten as we move forward. On this important day, my children, remember this lesson well from now on. Anyone who speaks against their faith will face consequences,” as the body was quickly taken away to be buried right next to the pulpit without any ceremony. As a bad omen, Mwangi regained his calm after committing murder. He continued with his speech without even thinking about the life he had just taken with his own rough hands.

Kamau’s sudden grip on Wanja’s shoulders snapped her out of her paralyzed state. She wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or just to anchor her against Mwangi’s harsh words. But in that intense moment, Wanja was certain that somehow, their family wouldn’t be involved in the cult’s growing cruelty anymore.