Let me set the scene for you. It was a Sunday morning, the kind of Sunday when you wake up with the sound of birds chirping, and you try to convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, you can sleep for five more minutes. But, of course, you can't. Because your mum is standing in the doorway, already fully dressed for church and asking why you're not up yet.
"Get up! It's church time!" she shouted.
I groaned and looked at the clock. It was already 7:45 AM. Church started at 8:00 AM. There was no way I was going to make it unless I moved like a cheetah on Red Bull.
Now, let me tell you something. I love church. I do. But I’m also the kind of person who believes that Sunday mornings should be spent at home in your pajamas, sipping on some warm tea, and binge-watching the latest series. But duty calls, and church is where you gotta be — especially when your mum is involved.
So, I quickly jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and tried to do my best "I'm ready for church" look. I put on my best church outfit, which, to be honest, was just something I found in the back of my closet. But I wasn’t looking to impress anyone, right? Just get in, sit down, and get out. That's the goal.
I walked into the living room and saw my little cousin, Kofi, sitting on the couch, eating his breakfast. Kofi is about seven years old, and let me tell you, this kid has no filter. If something is on his mind, he’s going to say it, no matter who’s around. And that's what made him both hilarious and terrifying to be around.
"Are you ready for church?" I asked him, trying to sound all grown-up and responsible.
He looked up at me, chewed his cereal for a second, and then said, “You look funny in that shirt, Kwaku.”
I froze. "What do you mean I look funny?"
"You look like an old man!" he giggled.
I looked down at my shirt. Okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t the most stylish, but it wasn’t that bad, was it? It was just a plain blue shirt and some black pants. A classic church outfit.
"Just finish your cereal, Kofi," I said, brushing it off. "Let’s go, we’re going to be late."
But Kofi, being Kofi, didn’t let it go. He followed me around the house, poking fun at everything I did. I tried to ignore him as I grabbed my shoes and ran out the door.
As we got to the car, my mum was already waiting for us in the front seat, looking impatient. "Why are you two always the last ones to get ready?" she asked, tapping the steering wheel.
"Don’t worry, Mum," I said, trying to sound calm. "We’ll make it. Just a little late."
The drive to church was smooth. The radio was playing some gospel music, and Kofi was singing along, completely off-key, but who could blame him? He was having the time of his life.
We arrived at church, and I thought to myself, "Okay, this is it. Just sit through the service, enjoy the sermon, and get out. No drama today."
But of course, this is when the drama started.
We walked into the church, and I spotted my friend, Kwame, sitting at the back. I waved to him and made my way over to him, eager to sit next to him and have a little conversation to pass the time. Kofi, on the other hand, was running around like a mini tornado, bouncing off the walls, and I was just trying to keep an eye on him.
We got settled, and the service started. The choir began to sing, and everyone stood up to join in. I stood there, singing along, trying to look as spiritual as possible. I glanced at Kofi, and there he was — staring up at the pulpit with the most serious expression on his face. I thought he was really taking the church service seriously for once.
But then, out of nowhere, Kofi shouted loud enough for everyone in the church to hear:
“Auntie Ama, Kwaku doesn’t know how to sing! He sounds like a goat!”
I froze.
The entire church went silent. I could feel a thousand eyes on me. Kofi was standing there, pointing directly at me with a huge grin on his face. My cheeks turned redder than the choir’s robes.
Before I could react, Kofi continued, “And he also smells funny. Like he forgot to put on deodorant.”
I wanted to crawl into the floor and disappear. But Kofi wasn’t done. Oh, no. He was just getting started.
"And sometimes, Kwaku takes the last piece of chicken and blames it on me!" he yelled, causing the entire congregation to burst out laughing.
I could feel my heart beating in my chest, my face burning. I looked around, and everyone in the church was laughing, even the pastor, who was trying to hide his grin behind the pulpit.
“Is that true?” Mum asked, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I mean, yes, okay, sometimes I take the last piece of chicken, but I didn’t think it was that big of a deal! Kofi had just exposed me in front of the whole church, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I could see some of the older church members looking at me with disapproving eyes. I wasn’t sure if they were judging me for stealing the chicken or for my lack of singing skills. Either way, I felt like I had failed miserably.
As the service went on, Kofi’s little “exposé” continued to haunt me. Every time I glanced his way, he was grinning like he had just won a gold medal. He kept making little comments under his breath, like, “Kwaku, why are you still trying to sing? You’re embarrassing yourself!”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the service ended. People started to file out of the church, and I quickly grabbed my things and tried to sneak out without too much attention. But of course, Kofi wasn’t having it. He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the church entrance, his voice ringing in my ears.
“Don’t forget, Kwaku, you still owe me that chicken! You know the one you took from me last week!” he yelled.
I looked around and saw a few people chuckling at my expense. I was now known as the guy who stole chicken and couldn’t sing.
When we got outside, I tried to save face by acting cool, but Kofi wasn’t having it. He leaned in close and whispered, “I think I’ll tell everyone at school how you don’t know how to sing, Kwaku. You might be the chicken thief, but I’m the real star of the show today.”
And just like that, my little cousin had exposed me in front of everyone — at church, no less.
From that day on, I couldn’t look at Kofi without remembering his little comments. He was always reminding me of how I “sounded like a goat” and how I “took the last piece of chicken.”
But, hey, he’s family. And, apparently, family never forgets… or lets you forget.
The End!
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