Several years ago I was born in a catholic family (a staunch one for that matter) and my soldier catholic father would never take anything short of his faith.
When I started primary school, he made it a point to see his son emulate him and that resulted in taking me to join a seminary school. (May be he intended to see me grow into a priest and I imagine what kind of priest I would have become!)
I did not spend much time in that school as I was expelled when I met Marita the Tanzanian girl who was in “a sister school” across. Of course I have earlier mentioned the dimpled Tanzanian.
As I grew up, I started losing interest and inspiration in religion particularly Catholicism and the new ones that have sprung up.
When Marita went back home to Tanzania with her family after the King’s African rifle army collapsed following the regional independence, I hooked-up the mother of all Catholics.
Margarita had gone to similar schools and she had graduated as a nun but she opted not to renew her nun-hood vows hence experimenting what the secular world would offer her and there came the “shooter” in her life.
I opted to love this catholic woman because she did not restrict my drinking habits as it conformed to her beliefs but the worst was yet to befall me.
At home and school, I had mastered the catholic calendar by heart and obeyed it but when I met Margarita, it had been long without this religious indoctrination. All men by nature love meat especially when they are still young with a strong set of teeth to bite and chew it.
One evening she came home spiritually immersed and she broke the news. “Shooter, for the next eighty days, I will not prepare you the conjugal meat.”
Being a nun for most of her adult life and lacking romantic tactics I thought she was naively pulling a romantic gesture.
Past midnight at our bedroom “dinning table”, my desire for the late night meat shot up.
Touching my lover to sign the start of the session, I earned my self the hottest slap of my life. “Shooter I said you would be starved for eighty days because this is what I am fasting!”
This ordeal went on for several nights and my frustration would be nursed by cold beers. This made me curse the catholic doctrines more than the days I spent in school following the path of the cross.
Other religions suspend eating bodily food and I have no complaints with that but conjugal meat! No way.
I couldn’t imagine spending eighty days without tasting my favourite dish.
I called it quits when I realized that the conservative former nun would starve me to death. Eighty days seemed like a lifetime, eh!