The Auto-Teller Machine

Esther Liwonde

I was tired, hungry and sweating profusely. The three hours I had cycled from Chamama to Kasungu Boma had drained every ounce of energy I had in my body. I felt weak. My throat was literally dry; my breathing was rapid and laboured.

Kasungu Boma, it being a month end, was abuzz with activity. Vendors, minibus call boys, pick-pockets et al were all making hay. I beckoned a vendor to bring me water packed in small plastic bags and gestured with my finger I needed one.

“K20 each,” he said. I fumbled into my pocket and gave it to him.

“This K20 note is so raddled,” the vendor protested adding: “Give me another one. Just the colour shows it’s a K20. No one will accept this from me.”

“Just shut up man. The water is not even cold.” I said rudely while guzzling the water ravenously. “Actually it tastes like you have fetched it from a borehole,” I added. The vendor, shocked with my response, uttered no word. He simply walked back to where his merchandise was and sat down, looking at me scornfully. 

I did not mind him. Besides, that was the only money I had left in my pocket. I immediately shifted my attention to what had brought me to the Boma.

I had come to the Boma to withdraw money from the Auto–Teller Machine (ATM). ATMs were unfamiliar territory to me, a path l had never trodden.  A technology I had only been exposed to by the stories I had heard; how you insert a card into a machine, punch a secret number and then it vomits some cash. Thinking of all this, I began feeling butterflies in my stomach. Uneasiness engulfed me and I took a long deep breath.

The new Managing Director was to blame for all this. For seven years, I had been receiving my monthly salary by hand, delivered to me and my workmates in a khaki envelope by our lady accountant. But this new boss had come with his own ideas demanding every worker of Chamama Groundnuts Products to open a bank account. All this hassle and bustle, he was to blame.

 

Nervously, I felt for my ATM card and the dozen other ATM cards belonging to my workmates I had taken with me to withdraw their money too. This had been the arrangement from the time the new boss imposed the bank account issue that only one person would travel to the Boma to withdraw his money but also that of his colleagues. This time it was my turn. Their pin codes were written on a piece of paper and it was in my breast pocket.

I reached the bank. The ATM queue was long and moving at a snail’s pace. There were about forty people ahead of me. A well-built man in a dark blue suit before me was talking on his phone telling the other person on the other end of the line that he was in Blantyre. I just grimaced. A moment later, a woman passing by, putting on an outfit that accentuated her curves attracted the attention of every male on the queue who in turn looked at her lasciviously. Especially her wriggling behind made me forget that I was on a queue until someone behind me tapped me on the shoulder to move forward.

After about an hour or so, my turn finally came. My legs felt heavy as I walked to the ATM. My heart was pounding heavily and my hands were shaking slightly as I fetched the ATM cards from my pocket. I also took the piece of paper with pin codes from my breast pocket

As my turn to withdraw money from the ATM approached, a thousand panicky questions were buzzing in my head. I continuously wiped sweat from my brow and kept assuring myself that I could do it

As my turn to the ATM approached, I could not stop worrying. Each time I neared it something melted in me and I kept sweating even more. I tried to boost my confidence by telling myself I could do it but my confidence kept wavering to an extent that when my turn finally arrived, my hands were trembling slightly as I approached the ATM.

I stood facing the ATM not knowing what to do. I was blank. I looked desperately for a slot where I could insert my card but I did not see it.

“Do you need some help?” the dude who was beside me and now waiting for his turn asked. I nodded yes and he came hurriedly. He told me where to insert the card and then instructed me to punch in my PIN, which I did. He asked me the amount I wanted to withdraw and I said: “Everything that is there.”

He smiled, punched some buttons again and money came out. I collected it and deposited it in my back pocket.

However, the Good Samaritan looked astonished when I produced a bunch of ATMs from my pocket. I ignored his look and hurriedly took the paper with PINs from my breast pocket.

“Can you give me a chance to withdraw first?” he asked. There was a trace of annoyance in his voice.

I refused. He politely walked back to the queue a clear indicator that he was no longer willing to help me with the rest of the ATMs. I felt helpless but then I assured myself I could do it. I had seen and followed the steps he had taken me through.

The piece of paper with PINs was dump with my sweat. I noted to my dismay that some PINS had become barely visible. I still gathered courage and inserted one of my workmate’s cards. It refused. I attempted to insert if by force, it still refused.

“You are inserting it the wrong way,” a voice from the queue said. This confused me even more. I changed the card’s position and inserted again. I succeeded. I punched in the pin but the ATM said it was a wrong one. I punched again and again and at the third attempt, the card was eaten up.

“It has swallowed the card,” I said to nobody in particular but facing the direction of the queue.

“It has eaten the card,” I said again almost on the verge of tears. The dude who had helped me before came and assisted me with the remaining ATMs. He instructed me to go inside the bank to inform them of the card. What I was told displeased me. The lady I found at the enquiries said only the owner of the card could come to collect it. I tried explaining to her the arrangement with my workmates but she refused.

As I cycled back home, I was unclear how my workmate whose card had been eaten would take the news. It had been an unpleasant experience.

There Is Need

I had braved the July chillness and travelled to Dedza from Lilongwe to see my uncle Kabudula who had been admitted at the district hospital following a bicycle accident he had the previous day. I had left my home in Area 24 at exactly 6 AM with an objective of reaching the hospital during the morning visiting period – an objective I never accomplished.

The engine of my old ramshackle Nissan Sentra unexpectedly just after I had crossed Diamphwi River stopped running. I did everything I knew to get it started again but after close to an hour of endless toiling, I still had not fixed the problem. My hands were oily, dirty and hurting and I was at the end of my wits. As I contemplated on calling my mechanic, absently I turned the key in the ignition and to my surprise the engine roared into life. I heaved a sigh, engaged gear and started off again.

At Chimbiya, I was in trouble again; this time with speed trap officers and I was charged K5000. I spent half an hour begging for leniency to a potbellied officer with a bloated face who kept telling me repeatedly in an impassive tone that I had to settle the fine. When reality hit me in the face that he would not bulge even if I pleaded until I was blue in the face, I sadly parted with the K5000 which was part of the money I had taken with me to give to my uncle.

It was until 10:45 AM that I reached the hospital a very tired person. I explained my predicament to a finely honed gorgeous looking nurse as to why I had delayed. She looked understanding, nodding her head in compassion at every word I uttered. But when I had finished, I was taken aback when she told me sadly that I could not be allowed in until the midday visiting period.

When I finally entered the ward, Kabudula’s sight immediately stirred sympathy in me. Part of his head had been swathed in bandages. Both his arms and left leg were in a plaster of Paris and hanging in the air. He was a figure in great pain. He forced a smile when he saw me.

“I’m glad to see you, son,” he said with a labored smile. He talked for sometime about the accident and just as I mulled over telling him to stop talking and have a rest, he asked me something which I did not anticipate he could do at the time. It was to do with Maggie, the girl I had been dating for a while.

“Ah, well…well…we partied ways,” I explained uncomfortably and added quickly: “Uncle, Maggie tended to give a lot of weight to opinions of her chronically single and bitter friends and I couldn’t live with that.”

“Oh, really?” he asked and took a long deep breath, shook his head in resignation and fired another question while signaling his wife to assist him drink some water. “What was the reason behind you leaving Grace? The one you dated before Maggie?”

“Well uncle, Grace felt I could not achieve anything I set out to do,” I explained and added: “Uncle, but I think this isn’t an appropriate place to discuss this subject.” Several patients and guardians had already started looking at us and I felt ashamed for him to be discussing that in a hospital.

Kabudula dismissed my observation with an annoyed glance and reminded me viciously ignoring whatever pain he might have been feeling: “The reason you left Christina was because prior to being in a relationship with you she had gone out with a truck driver.”

I nodded yes uneasily and he scoffed.

“Son, you’ve got a damn big problem,” he whined angrily and added bluntly: “I think you need to go to heaven and marry the angel you want. You’ve dated over ten girls and you want to tell me that you haven’t had your pick.” he rattled with a soupcon of derision in his voice.

“What is most annoying is that you’ve reasons to justify each termination,” he said, “There is no perfect person in this world, son. In this life kid, there are other things you just need to compromise. You don’t have to be that strict.”

I kept quiet as what he was saying began making sense to me. Perhaps I needed to separate fantasy from reality. I began imagining how insecure the world would have been if we were constantly surrounded by people who looked perfect, acted perfect, and never made mistakes. It would be difficult to say the least. Perhaps, he was right. I needed to compromise in some areas.

The Old Boots

Kabudula – a childhood friend - immediately developed an aura of self importance about him when he opened an account with a bank that had just assumed its operations at a nearby town – some two or so kilometres from the village I had lived in since childhood.


He could brag at length about the interest his money was to generate and how the tellers whom he described as exquisite works of nature smiled at him every time he went to deposit his money.


“Seriously, Maleka, just looking at them finely honed cashiers, I’m struck with the painful realisation that I should have taken my time before marrying,” he had confessed one time with virile eloquence and added jokingly: “Dude, those cute tellers have beautiful faces I never tire looking at.”


Though, I had never nursed ambitions of opening a bank account, Kabudula’s endless sentiments began to sway me to be in favour of the notion. Without equivocation, I was someone who had grown up believing that banks were for the learned and rich folks and not for people like me who were not fluent with the pen. I had heard stories about the paper work you had to fill to open a bank account and whenever I mulled over that factor I was disheartened straightaway. Of course I was not such a complete half-wit: I could write my name correctly - even a letter when the need arose, but such a task was frustrating on my part as it literally took me the whole day and usually left me with a hurting hand. So whenever the idea of keeping money at the bank crept into my mind, I just laughed it off.


But come to think of it, Kabudula was no better than me. I was able to write down my name but Kabudula could not even spell his name. The only thing I had never bested him on was chasing women and in all sincerity, he had a tongue that women failed to resist. I still recalled how he had proved handy when my present wife was giving me a pretty hard time when I was chasing her. Now such a person had just opened a bank account and I felt nothing could stop me and I did not waste any time to tell Kabudula that I too wanted to have an account just like him.


My ecstasy was surely a plus the day Kabudula took me to the inside of the bank. There was a certain happiness in me I could not put into words and the smile I had on since I entered the bank never left my lips.


As I relished in this rare moment, I was stunned by the confused facial expression on Kabudula’s face that immediately set a bolt of alarm lighting in my chest. Besides escorting me to open an account, Kabudula had planned also to withdraw some money to sort out a financial mishap he had faced unexpectedly.

“What is it Kabudula,” I asked as I approached him.

“The total money I’ve been depositing since I opened my account is K12500,” he indicated not with the earlier enthusiasm that had enticed me to open an account instead he added with a heart breaking sadness: “But they say I can only take K10000 because some money remains with the bank as book balance and some has been deducted as bank charges. Maleka, I was in the dark about all this stuff. I need K12000 to solve my problems, dude.”

To describe Kabudula’s misfortune as a blessing in disguise would have been an understatement, but it just gave me an authentic reason never to entrust my money with a bank. I went back home and kept the money under my bed in my old worn out gumboots that I had stopped using some years back, however I forgot to tell my wife where I had kept the money.

Days passed and one muggy Saturday afternoon, I decided to check for the money when I realised that the gumboots where not where I had left them. Warning bells began ringing in my ears when I could not find the gumboots. I began sweating profusely and moved about the bedroom like a demented baboon and screamed my wife’s name. She came almost immediately looking bewildered as she could not comprehend what had befallen me.

“What happened to the old boots that were under the bed,” I queried desperately looking at her in the face. Tears had started to form in my eyes.

“I got rid of them,” she indicated uneasily, “I was cleaning this room this morning so I got rid of all stuff we didn’t need. They are in the garbage pit.”

I stomped out of the room like a deranged animal and headed to the garbage pit. I looked inside desperately and with huge anticipation and when my eyes saw one of the gumboots, a huge sigh of relief swept through my body. I stretched my hand and reached out for the old shoes and hurriedly looked inside. I felt like screaming with joy when I saw the money in one of the gumboots.

“Kabudula, what in hell is wrong with you, dear” my wife asked helplessly with her arms akimbo failing to comprehend my display of madness.

I did not respond, instead I grabbed her hand with the boots in my other hand and headed back to the house. Once in the house, I took a seat and clasped my head in both hands and said in resignation: “It was the money dear. I kept it in these gumboots and you got rid of them.”

Day of Reckoning

My heart skipped a beat and my eyes bulged in utter disbelief as I stared at the contents of the CD pack that lay before me. For a moment, I couldn’t breath. The shocking feeling that engulfed me was beyond words. My friend, Kabudula, who sat opposite, was equally shocked. He looked at me blankly with a sorrowful mien with his hand on her mouth.

“I’m damned,” I grumbled in despair and heartbreaking sadness. This time I managed to wipe nervously some perspiration from my face with the back of my hand. I still could not come to terms with what was before me.

“Oh, boy,” Kabudula mumbled his hand still on his mouth, “This is a complete disaster. How could this happen?”

I kept mum cursing silently. The realisation that I had given my pastor a CD pack that contained a collection of x-rated movies made me wretched. Finally, he would realise I was just a fraud and a real hypocrite. I was close to tears of humiliation.

I had travelled to America a month ago on official duties. This was just among the many journeys I had travelled abroad. There was something I used to do besides office duties whenever I travelled. I made it a habit to add to my secret arsenal of adult movies. Friends who were also into that stuff would sometimes advise me to purchase the merchandise on their behalf.

How I became addicted to adult movies, I had no clue but I had vowed never to terminate the indissoluble bond that existed between us. I had a variety of collections of magazines, VCDs and DVDs safely locked in a drawer in my bedroom and the key was always safely around with me. No one was aware of this except a blessed few. At church, I pretended to be such a good person and when it was my turn to preach, I did so with astonishment and I was a darling among the flock.

“Kabudula, you’re a devil in a cassock,” A friend one time who saw me preach chided me, “Do these people you’re admonishing that they’ll fly in hell if they sin know that you’re a custodian of x-rated movies.”

“Just imagine,” I had said laughing, “It’s really funny. They’re so clueless.”

So it happened that as I was planning for the journey, that I received a call from my pastor telling me to buy him some Christian music videos. He gave me a list of singers that he wanted.

“This will be done pastor,” I said hanging up. Kabudula, my friend had also asked me to buy him a collection of adult movies.

When I returned from America, I told the driver who had come to pick me at the airport to drop me at my pastor’s house. I did not find him. The houseboy told me he had gone to visit a certain family we prayed with. I left the pack with him telling him to give it to him. Then I called Kabudula and informed him to come and collect his movies when I realised the tremendous boon I had committed. I had switched the packs. The one meant for Kabudula had found its way at the pastor’s house.

“You have to spin a yarn that’ll get you safely out of this mess,” Kabudula advised, “You can blame the airline you flew in for switching your bag or maybe you took somebody else bag. He’ll believe you. He trusts you, Shakina.”

Kabudula was a right. A well woven lie could get me out. There was no reason to cry foul. The bag switch idea sounded flamboyant. I had to tell him that. But then this question kept re-echoing in my mind: why did this whole thing happen. Why had this clandestine activity been exposed? Maybe God wanted me to be a better person. I began feeling that only the truth could set me free.

I set off to his house in a haze. He received me as if nothing had happened.

“Have you seen the contents of the CD pack that I purchased for you,” I dropped my voice and looked away in shame.

“Not yet,” he said, “There was something that was restraining me from checking.”

“Yeah,” I said choked by the strength of my shame, “I want to confess that I have been living a fraud.” I started crying. “I feel great sorrow and shame for what I’ve done.”

“Brother, what is it that you have done?” he asked with concern and added with an authoritative voice. “Oh yes, if you confess your sins, God is faithful and just to forgive you and cleanse you from all unrighteousness.”

I told him everything. How I was into it and the secret DVDs I kept, magazines, how I was a supplier and when I finished, I expected him to rebuke me for being such, for preaching as I did and yet involving myself in the very things I preached vehemently against. I expected him to scold me for being a stinking chameleon and rotten impostor, but instead he said:

“Christ died for sinners. I’ll be a cheat to tell you otherwise, brother Shakina,” he indicated, “The benefits of Christ's passions is intended not only for good people. His grace was meant for persons who deserved nothing? If it were for creatures who have not sinned, what was the need?”

Then he asked me to kneel down and he prayed. After he finished, his concluding remark was: “Never doubt God's promise on forgiveness. Doubt produces fear. It is also a great insult to God…if I don't trust you, it means I think you are a liar, and you can’t think that of God, right?”

That Day Had Come

Mateso Kazembe

My husband’s deeds were killing me. To be precise, I was on the verge of going insane. I had prayed, begged and cried to God to change him back to what he used to be - loving and caring - but to no avail. With each passing day, he grew worse. He gave himself to drink than ever before and kept coming home late.

I reached a point where I began to question God’s inscrutable ways. As I considered the long hours I had devoted to prayer; the many times I had fasted and the myriad prayer requests I had submitted at church pleading with God to do something about him, I began to lose faith. My brethren’s assurances that God would eventually answer my prayers no longer enchanted me.

As I contemplated, I came to the conclusion that God was being entirely unfair with me. I had served him faithfully for many years and yet, He couldn’t honour that little query to bring back my husband’s sanity; instead, he had opted to ignore me completely. That thought made me bitter and I felt there was no need to worship Him anymore.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” I mumbled to myself bitterly, “He’s taken the bird. I’ve nothing. So what’s the need of praying?”

Some weeks passed and the pastor of my local assembly paid me a visit. Possibly, he had come to notice my erratic attendance of fellowship and wanted to find out why. He came with his wife and found me sobbing. My husband had beaten me for complaining over his actions. This was something he had never done all our married life and I was at pains to accept the reality of it.

“I’m so sorry sister Grace,” the pastor said after I had narrated what had happened, “But everything happens for a reason and sometimes it seems God isn’t listening to our pleas but by and by…”

“Well that I don’t need,” I interrupted him, “All I need is this to work out not somebody telling me everything happens for a reason. Pastor, I’m desperate for a miracle. My husband’s beaten me! Something he’s never done. At this pace, I won’t be surprised to hear he’s going after other women.”

The pastor’s face was grave as a professor of philosophy considering the riddle of the universe as he listened to me.

“Your frustrations are understandable my sister,” he concurred and then looked like saying more before his attention shifted to the posters and pictures I had put on the walls of the house. Almost everywhere in the house was a bible verse, or a religious poem or something biblical. This, I had done as a desperate attempt to make my husband change. The pastor appeared shocked.

“Sister, I think you need to cultivate a new attitude in the way you perceive your husband.” He paused for a moment and continued: “Sometimes the thing that makes a difference is attitude. Why don’t you stop pestering him to change about the way he lives? Try changing the way you talk to him... Also when I look at your house, there is no place for your husband to be recognized. Take down a lot of these Bible verses and also some of the pictures. Put up a few pictures that are associated with his life, I believe you might begin to see things take a drastic change.”

“But pastor, aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” I protested, “Why are you attacking me and taking sides with that pathetic drunkard? You’re such a great disappointment!”

“No! No! No! I have taken no sides,” he denied vehemently, “But sometimes as Christians our ideas and approach concerning certain perspectives are wrong. While Jesus loved sinners, we tend to do otherwise. You know the story about that harlot, don’t you? The one who washed his feet with her tears. Did Jesus say, hey harlot get off, I’m the Son of God. No. He didn’t. Just think of his disciples, would you consider He would go for such in spite of all the learned men of that age? Jesus loved sinners and treated them as His dearest friends. That way He won them. All I’m saying is instead of screaming at your husband to change his ways, why not just love him? Become his friend, sister Grace.”

After they had left, I began to contemplate that perhaps I had looked at it all wrong. Yes, I had pleaded, begged and cried but it always seemed like everything I did was just no good. Maybe, I had to try what he had suggested.

I took down the posters and pictures and stopped preaching and saying anything to him about going to church. I began calling him sweetheart. This surprised him at first, but eventually he began responding.

Four months later, he asked me with concern: “What have you done with all the pictures you took off the wall?” My answer was loaded with feigned disinterest: “Ah, you mean that. I put them in the bottom of the drawer. I figured you were tired of looking at them.”

“Oh,” he said in surprise, “Now dear, I’ve noticed you don’t ask me to go to church any more?” At this moment, I wanted to scream with joy. It had been ages since he called me that. I answered unable to conceal my joy: “Well, I figured I had asked you so much that I have worn out your patience.”

That night as I prayed, I thanked God for bringing back my husband. He had not changed for better completely, but he was on track. He was coming home on time. His visits to the pub were decreasing. I had faith he would become better. I apologised to God for my earlier despairing and begged him to grant me the wisdom on how to act when faced with similar situations.

Damn Tradition

[Published in the Weekend Nation of 25/04/09]

My journey to Ntaja to see my uncle-Kabudula-to inform him that I had found someone to marry was, without equivocation, awful. I had boarded a local bus from Zomba Depot and shared the double seat with a wino. Everything about him was nauseating. As well as his body odour and smell coming from his mouth being putrid, he dragged me into conversations I was never interested in a little bit.

“Hey mate, what’s your take on gay marriages?” He popped a question looking me in the face as the bus stopped at Chinamwali, “You know what, the way I see it God wasn’t stupid to create a woman, was He?” He coughed for a moment and added: “If pigs, dogs and even cockroaches respect the order God has given, why not man?”

I snubbed him by looking away to the window and touched my nose praying he would get my message that I was more disturbed with the fetid smell from his mouth than gay marriages, but it seemed my actions only fuelled him. As the bus approached Malosa, he was at it again.

“Do you think Malawi will ever win its fight against corruption,” he queried adding, “because if you were to ask me, my answer would be hell no! I mean you saw what happened at that police roadblock, right?” This time, I just grinned at his argument but kept my mouth zipped. It was until the bus reached Liwonde Depot, when he tapped me on the shoulder and begged to know if Zuma’s deed about taking a shower after having intercourse with an HIV positive woman prevented him from being infected, that I lost my cool.

“Dude, can you find someone to tell your hogwash,” I told him in the face: “Surely, I’ve got my own problems, but Zuma isn’t one of them, but you smelling like a pit-latrine. So please do me this little favour by closing your stinking mouth because that smell has been driving me nuts since Zomba.”

His mouth snapped open in surprise at my attack.

“I never noticed I was offending you, mister,” he squeaked a rude apology and chided with sarcasm, “I really appreciate your honesty scumbag, though I don’t like being likened to a pit-latrine, alright?” He emphasized his point jabbing my chest with his finger.

He derided me for the remainder of my journey. I wished I had used my personal vehicle. I was more than relieved when I reached Ntaja. The two hour journey looked like it had taken ages. As I disembarked from the bus, my mind was preoccupied with how I was to break the good news to Kabudula. I had no doubt he was going to be pleased considering he had preached to me countless times the importance of getting married.

I reached his home and was well received by my aunt. Kabudula was not at home. My aunt explained he had left that morning for the tavern and I was to expect him around midnight.

“At first, he only imbibed on weekends,” she indicated sadly, “But then he slipped into this pattern some months ago when he lost the primary elections. I’ve failed to talk him out of it.”

All this came as a surprise. This description did not fit the Kabudula I knew at all. He had been my quintessence of every good thing I could imagine. I had reached this far in life because of him.

But then at exactly 10 minutes after midnight, my aunt was vindicated. I heard Kabudula singing drunkenly approaching the house. The realisation that it was really him knocked me like a blow from a tomahawk. What had changed him? The loss? Having schooled me that a strong man takes adversities as they come in life and never concedes defeat, I felt ashamed of him. It was now my turn to make him see reason.

I immediately realised there was a problem. My custom never permitted kids to impart wisdom to adults. It was an abomination; there were other approaches I could do it. But then this whole thing was getting out of hand. I told myself with vigour not to stand aside and watch him going astray. I had to talk to him no matter the repercussions.

He reached the door and began beating it calling his wife to come and open. I rushed and opened the door. He was instantly shocked to see me. He gave me one appraising look before exclaiming: “Imran! When did you arrive, son?”

“This afternoon around 1 PM,” I said closing the door: “We need to talk uncle.”

“Take it easy, son,” he said brandishing his arm in the air, “Your father called and informed me that you’ve found a girl to marry. I was so proud of that news. I was worried stiff when you remained single. I kept on asking myself this question: is Imran okay? But you’ve proved it, kid. Let’s spare the nitty-gritty till morning, alright. Right now, I need a rest.” He began staggering to his bedroom.

“It’s not about me, uncle,” I said my heart racing, “It’s about the way you’re treating aunt.” He paused in his drunken step and turned to face me. His facial expression was that of annoyance.
“Imran, you can’t school me on how to run my family,” he pointed out angrily, “How ridiculous. Where are your manners, kid? I’ll inform your father about this. He won’t be pleased at all.”

“Uncle, you are a good person,” I said ignoring his threat, “You can’t let a loss in a primary election ruin your life. Your wife needs you at home. He misses your love.”

“This is rubbish. This woman will surely kill me and walk on my grave. What has this hyena told you, son?” He blurted out furiously, “What is it I don’t do in this house? I buy everything and give her plenty of monies. But what I hate is she doesn’t let me drink my beer in peace. I need tons of freedom, son.”

“But whatever the case,” I persisted, “Aunt did not marry you because of your monies. I believe she had that at her parent’s house. She married you because she loved you and you’re depriving her of that.”

Domestic Disturbance

By Mateso Kazembe
[published in the Weekend Nation of 07/03/09]

Something huge at Kabudula’s home was amiss. Everything, as he trudged into his house from work, indicated that there was a very big problem. His wife, Naliyera, had her head cupped in her hands with a gloomy expression covering her face. She had not heard the car and she was unaware that he was in the house. His daughter, Chisomo, managed a quick glance at him but swiftly looked away blinking away tears.

Kabudula felt panicky and was instantly engulfed with a helpless sensation. He had no clue of where to start from as a horde of questions buzzed in his head. What had happened? Who had died? Why hadn’t he been informed of the death if that was the case? Or may be Chisomo had goofed her MSCE examinations despite his numerous sermons admonishing her to work hard. He immediately dismissed both “schools of thought” when Chisomo came to him crashing on her knees, sobbing bitterly and begging for mercy. Her face was contorted. Streams of tears cascaded down her beautiful face. She had been crying for hours.

“Dad, I’m…I’m…so…so sorry,” she said meaning every word and came apart as if she had thrown a piston in one of the valves of her heart. She looked sick with guilt and Kabudula’s confusion was accelerated a plus. Naliyera now brought back to her senses by Chisomo’s actions, hastily stood up like someone who had sat on live coal and screamed: “You shouldn’t forgive this cockroach. She’s shamed this family and has to be punished.”

Kabudula was unsure of what to do or say. He was getting more confused and restless every additional second. He longed with ill-grace and impatience to know what had happened; just to get a tip of the iceberg of what this madness was all about but to no avail. Chisomo continued her sobs and Naliyera’s mouth was still zipped. He felt like screaming: “can somebody tell me what the hell is wrong here!” but thought against it. Instead, he turned to Chisomo and said: “It’s okay dear.” The only right thing he could do anyway and raised her up.

“Share with daddy your problem. I’m your father, not so? Your problems no matter how colossal are mine too. Say it darling, we’ll handle it together as a family.” Kabudula said with the best caring and considerate tone he could master and Chisomo was nodding her head like a little girl as he pronounced every word. Upon noting that this trick was working, he absently took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped her tears which were still flowing. Naliyera was still silent but appeared more restless than ever before. Her mouth snapped open to say something but Kabudula looked at her with an expression of “you better keep your mouth shut” and she obeyed.

There followed a silence lucid as crystal. Chisomo had cooled and any moment she looked like talking and this was encouraging for Kabudula.

“I’m…I’m…I’m…” Chisomo broke the silence, stammered and looked down biting her index finger. Kabudula encouraged her to speak with an expression he had perfected over the years to extract vital information from people.

“I’m…I’m…pre…pregnant…dad,” she confessed with a sorrowful mien and Kabudula felt his heart melting. The shattering revelation struck him like a series of blows to the stomach. He was shocked to the marrow and for a moment, he could not blink or move a muscle trying to digest the dreadful news. He had heard that the first pain from a bullet wound was numbness, but strangely, he felt the same thing.

“Oh, my good Lord Jesus Christ!” he snorted helplessly, “Pregnant? Why Chisomo, why? Tell me you’re joking.” This time he laboured to produce the words. His daughter had just turned 15 and now she was pregnant. That hit him really hard. His dignity and pride were wounded.

“I told you she has to be punished, didn’t I? She’s absolutely disgraced this family. What didn’t we give this fool? Everything, didn’t we? But see what she’s done.” A bitter Naliyera lamented after eons of silence.

Anger came to Kabudula in black waves. Naliyera was right. Chisomo had bloated the family’s copybook with her act. He had tried as a parent to provide everything she needed to her, but she had opted to repay him with “this shame” -a shame that would pitilessly cripple his status. He, as a church elder, had chastened other parents mercilessly whose kids had fallen pregnant for deficient upbringing but today he was in a similar predicament. Chisomo had failed him terribly. Now, those people he had lambasted would enjoy every minute of this. This realisation drove him mad and bitter.

“Why did you do this, Chisomo?” He asked shaking his head sadly in incomprehension and commenced flouncing about the room gripped with a black rage. His thoughts were the confused orders of a ratted army as he felt too far eclipsed and alienated to be reasonable. A pain that even faith would never relieve bivouacked in his heart.

“I’ll show you that I’m really pissed.” He seethed prowling with raging fury, “I’ll make you wish you had never done this,” he promised shaking like a delirium patient and headed for the bedroom. He came back with a belt dangling in his right arm, but Chisomo had disappeared so was Naliyera.

“She…she bolted away when you went into the bedroom,” Naliyera informed him struggling to get her breath back. “I chased her but couldn’t catch her. I don’t know where she has gone to.”

“I don’t care,” Kabudula said. His breathing was rapid. “Wherever, she has gone let her rot. How dare she disgrace this family? How dare she?”

Three days passed; Kabudula was unconcerned not in the slightest sense of her whereabouts. He kept on saying “let her rot.” But after a week, his anger cooled down and uneasiness gripped him. Where was his daughter, he almost asked himself loudly. On the tenth day, he was more than desperate to know of her whereabouts.

“If not for you Chisomo would have been here,” he screamed an accusation at his wife as guilty-conscious struck him.

“Don’t shift that crap on me,” Naliyera retorted back, “you’re the one who threatened to beat her. Not me!”

“But you told me to punish her,” Kabudula defended himself and added in resignation: “Anyway, the thing is we both didn’t act wisely.”

“I’ve realised that kids sometimes do things you don’t except them to do,” he reasoned regretfully, “We acted as if her being pregnant was the end of everything.”

“I don’t care now what people will say,” Naliyera added with vigour, “but Chisomo needs our support more than anything in this world. She’s needs a companion. She needs someone to give her comfort and hope. I regret my earlier actions.” She confessed with virile eloquence.
“Let’s go and look for our kid,” Kabudula commanded at last

Somethings In Life

Mateso Kazembe

I had boarded an express bus going to Mzuzu at Limbe depot at 6 PM and had the double-seat to myself until a young boy of about 12 got in and sat next to me. He, for a minute or so, concentrated on settling himself comfortably and then offered me a greeting to which I responded with a smile. I was about to ask him where he was going when he abandoned the seat for another one that was behind me.

I hardly spared the boy any more thought and shifted my full attention to the interviews I was to attend in Mzuzu the following day in the afternoon. This was to be my very first interview since graduating from college the previous two years. A bulk of my classmates had landed themselves jobs in various government and private institutions and it seemed I was among the unlucky minority that was still languishing in joblessness.

Casting back in my mind, I recalled to have applied for over a hundred jobs, but for some mysterious reasons, I was not called for interviews. As I marvelled why fate had chosen to treat me in such a way, I offered a silent prayer to God to give me this job, as it was my only hope and lifeline.

Finally, the bus pulled out of the depot leaving behind a cloud of black-oily smoke from its exhaust pipe. As it made its first stop at Kachere, just some 5 km from Limbe, the 12 year-old boy who had initially sat by me amused everyone when he asked the conductor if we had reached Salima.

The conductor wearing an amused smile on his lips answered the boy with a flat no frivolously and continued issuing tickets. At Namadzi as the bus stopped for the second time, the boy was at it again. He hesitantly asked from the lanky conductor if this was Salima. Again, he got a flat no, but this time the conductor’s tone depicted some annoyance. Considering the boy’s age, my earlier surprise began to fade. I realised that it was just a safety precaution from him to make sure that he was not lost. After all, as young as he was, he was alone in the bus without a guardian.

But still, I began questioning the motive of his parents at allowing a small boy like him to embark on such a long journey alone and at night and to a destination he did not know. I felt sad for the boy and told myself I had to do something. As I reflected on how I was to assure the boy that I would tell him when we reached Salima, he was at it again when the bus drove into Zomba depot.

“Son, let off the pressure and cool down, I’ll personally tell you when we get there,” the conductor promised impatiently, “just take a little sleep.”

“Worry not kid,” I added assuredly, “Salima is a long way. I’ll tell you. Just sleep.”

The boy humbly obeyed and truly went to sleep.

The driver never allowing the engine revulsions of the bus to drop drove into Balaka two hours later from Zomba. From the way the bus was moving, I was impressed. I had not anticipated being in Balaka by 10 PM. This meant I would arrive in Mzuzu at a good time and fully prepare for the interviews.

The little boy was forgotten. Half the bus was asleep and those who were still chatting were in the dark about the little boy’s fate. The conductor was preoccupied with issuing tickets to passengers that had just boarded. Even I myself though I was fully awake at Salima depot, I had completely forgotten about him.

Now as the bus made its next stop in Nkhotakota, the boy woke from his slumber and asked again. Immediately, I was conscious stricken, so was the conductor and everybody that knew the boy’s fate. Guilty was written all over the conductor’s face. He tried to force a smile but it dissolved into an affecting grimace. He had betrayed the boy. I too kept silent in shame for letting him down. I did not posses the courage to look at him.

There was only one way to help the boy. The bus had to return to Salima and drop him. Despite there being protestations, a consensus was reached and the bus set off for Salima. One and a half hours later, we reached Salima again.

“Son, sorry for everything,” the conductor apologised, “this is Salima.”

The boy made no move, to everybody’s surprise. But instead he unzipped his bag and started fumbling for something.

“Hey, little imp,” an old man close to the boy, said angrily, “You’re wasting our time. Didn’t you hear him; he said this is Salima as you wished.” And the response that came from the boy resulted in a silence that was heavy and lucid as crystal for a moment before the whole bus exploded into gales of laughter. The little boy confessed in a calm voice that his mother had given him some food that he was supposed to start eating when he reached Salima, but he was going to Mzuzu.

I was the one who laughed most. But the conductor laughed all the way and he was not ashamed to brag the story to anyone who boarded the bus along the way. The old man who was close to the boy had tears running down his cheeks. Everyone was amused.

The bus finally arrived in Mzuzu at 5:30 AM.

And as if by coincidence, in the interviews that afternoon, I was asked to say any story when I confessed that I was a writer and I diligently said this one. I was told that I had gotten the job the following week.

The Moment of Truth

By Mateso Kazembe

It was a few minutes before midnight and Kabudula had not eaten anything since morning. An almost empty bottle of kachasu and a tumbler stood on the untidy floor within reach of his dangling arm. He reached down for it and poured what remained of the kachasu into the tumbler, raised it to his lips and guzzled the contents. He shuddered as the raw spirit went down his throat.

His house was in a mess like a garbage pit. The floor was unswept and gritty with sand. Dirty plates and mugs lay higgledy-piggledy on the table and a column of black ants was climbing one leg to reach them. To his left, there was a frying pan and pots which were greasy with congealed leftovers.

Kabudula was in helpless bondage to earth’s cruelty. His life had been ransacked of every good thing it used to have after his parents died intestate. Kape, his uncle had pounced savagely on what they had left. He had taken up everything even the bric-a-brac leaving him with practically nothing. His life had turned topsy-turvy then. Financial problems had become acute. Every plan he had in store had crumbled to dust and his prospects for a good future had vanished.

Pain that even faith would never relieve had bivouacked in his heart. He had slided into drinking then and his life was now a mess. He had become bibulous and an inveterate sot.

As he sat on his only chair with the empty tumbler in his hand, he glanced at the empty bottle of kachasu and instantly began conceiving plans of refuelling it. Beer was his only acquaintance who lessened the sharp edge of problems and gentled down the pitiless sun of reality that beat down on him.

Next morning as he was coming from refilling his bottle, he met Burandi an old friend of his father who was shocked to see him in such a state.

“Oh! Kabudula, why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked struck with pity at how he looked.

“When did it become your business how I look?” he dismissed him and swallowed some beer into his mouth. “Just leave me alone old man or do you want some?” he asked with a soup-con of malice in his voice as he swished the kachasu through his teeth, rinsing his mouth with it and Burandi refused by shaking his head. “This is the only solace I have after everybody has deserted me,” he confessed helping himself again and marvelled: “Nothing like it.”

“I understand you, son,” Burandi said with a sorrowful mien, “I know it’s painful to lose parents and everything. Really painful. But don’t be so disheartened by it. You’ve to acknowledge that death is the final phase of life; everybody will go through it. You see, life is never ‘all beer and skittles.’ Sometimes, you need to be a brave man that smiles in the face of adversity, who learns to take the smooth and rough as they come.”

In his drunken stupor, Burandi’s words revitalised his hopes. His tongue was a hermitage of hope and inspiration for Kabudula. He was a soothing voice he had needed, offering words of comfort that bandaged his wounded being and assuaged his pains.

Miraculously, Kabudula’s life took on a new pattern. He sponged out the past bitter memories and looked forward. He entrusted his faith in books just as the saints put theirs in God. There developed something in him that constantly demanded more and he fought for it. He studied with unfaltering determination and unflagging energies; tackled problems with unswerving devotion and became a voracious student for more knowledge. As studying became a quenchless urge in his quest for gold, exams found him armed to the teeth. He made it college and graduated with flying colours.

Twelve years later, on a sombre weekend, Kabudula was at the veranda of his magnificent home when he saw a gaunt reed thin man coming towards his house. The stranger, with lips that were chapped and rough, had a wizened face grimed with dust. He was really a pitiful sight. As he concentrated on his face, he was struck by something familiar about it. When he struggled with the memory, he was breathless to realise that this was Kape, that meretricious rascal now emaciated by illness. The disease he was suffering from had reduced him to a tiny shrivelled figure without juices or vitality.

“What’s it you want from me you heartless old man?” he heckled with asperity when Kape reached the foot of the veranda.

“Son,” he said rubbing sweat from his cadaverous face with his fetid clothes, “I know I don’t deserve to be here. You’ve every right to chase me for what I did to you. But Kabudula, I’m here for your forgiveness. I’ll soon kick a bucket and I wish to die a happy man. Would you forgive me, please,” he confessed and each word came hard.

Kabudula kept mum, short of words. Kape’s state aroused compassion in him. Of course, he had sworn never to forgive him for the injustice he had done to him, but he had not conceived he would die like this. His body had surrendered to a pearly withering and he was nothing but a bag of bones.

“I’m ashamed of my avarice, son. I don’t know what came over me. I was a fool,” he scolded himself shaking his head in incomprehension. “I apologise to you. I’ve been thinking about the life I’ve lived these past years. There are things I did that I don’t even know who that person was that did those things; he doesn’t seem related to me. Son, it’s a shame you’ve to be dying to know this,” he said weak voiced and edgy and began crying. He came apart as if he had thrown a piston in one of the valves of his heart and absently, Kabudula approached him and embraced him.
“It’s ok, uncle,” he said, “It’s ok.”

Privatise Water Boards

by Mateso Kazembe

Tension has started brewing upon recent media reports that government is advancing plans to privatise the country’s water services in particular Blantyre Water Board (BWB) and Lilongwe Water Board (LWB). This has generated concerns and debate about government’s wisdom of wanting to privatise the water services both from individuals and the civil service organisations.

There is no gainsaying that lately, privatisation of state owned enterprises (SOEs) has become both politically unpopular and detestable among most Malawians. This is evident from the rising tides of public discontent that emanate from rumours or reports that government is privatising a certain firm.

One then may tend to wonder why government despite constant protests that privatisation is harmful to the poor masses, it still continue privatising SOEs.

From my point of view, it appears, most Malawians out there do not have a complete vivid view and understanding of the activities embracing privatisation; that is why the most quoted “evils” of privatising SOEs are job loss, company closure and unemployment. Everything said against it is taken as gospel and creates its own panic.

However, it ought to be noted that privatisation is not black as it is painted and the debate surrounding privatisation of SOEs obscures the variety of roles private enterprises play. This article then will act as a glimpse why government has kept its ‘chin up’ and said it want to privatise water boards though there are fears that this would put the poor Malawian in a very awkward situation.

It is to the knowledge of every Malawian that good water services are crucial for both public health and national economic development. However, water services in the country are characterised by a huge disparity between the urban and rural areas. Most areas in Blantyre and Lilongwe suffer from a deficit of coverage. Thousands and thousands are still unconnected to piped water. On top of that, despite the country having one of Africa’s largest lakes and a horde of rivers that run all year round in all three regions, there comes a time when piped water becomes a real problem. Industries using water as a raw material in their production process have their operations ground to a halt and in the process, a lot of billions of kwacha being lost. All this is because of lack of government capacity.

Hence, by privatising water boards, the government is looking for a lasting solution. It has a desire to have improved water services to the satisfaction of every Malawian; the constant grumbling about water boards being inefficient to be forgotten and become history. Industries’ operations will ground to a halt from other problems but not water shortage.

The precarious state of the country’s water services-if one is to judge from the traditional yearly acute water shortages or the presence of faeces in treated water, as was the reported case in Ndirande-can be attributed to government’s lack of funds necessary to carry out the improvement and expansion of water services and water boards in general. Our water boards have also been affected by indebtedness and other financial problems. Often times, they do not have access to sources of commercial finance, as they lack such requisites as creditworthiness: this consequently posses growing pressure on the public budget.

This being the case, I do not see any reason why the government should not privatise the water boards.

There is mounting evidence that private sector participation has provided significant improvement in public sector delivery. Bakhresa Grain and Milling (G&M), Mapeto (DWSM) and Mchenga Coal Mine are some of the quintessence of the goodness of privatisation. There was a time when production of wheat and maize flour at Bakhresa G&M was zero, but barely some months after private hands took over, production rose to 24 697 metric tonnes of wheat milled and 3 400 metric tonnes of maize milled respectively. As for Mchenga mine, coal extraction was a mere 85 metric tonnes per day, which later increased to an outstanding 560 metric tonnes a day when a private firm took over. Similarly, Mapeto (DWSM) is currently enjoying a production of 70 000 linear metres of cloth a day from a meagre 1 200 linear metres, all this due to privatisation. This entails that Mapeto (DWSM) can now produce export and as a result bring in the much-needed foreign exchange.

I have every reason to believe the very same thing would result from the privatisation of our water services because private enterprises are more efficient than public enterprises. They also increase the financial resources needed for service improvement. Private operators seek the highest possible efficiency in order to maximize commercial returns and reduce possible losses from inefficiency and non-paying customers. In return efficiency gains benefit all service users, in particular, the poor.

It is also without question that the country’s water boards are characterised by too much political “interference” and corruption. The management also, most of the times, is an unqualified and mostly chosen based on political appeasement policy. The consequences of such actions are that the standard of work is compromised and gross abuse of public resources in form of unpaid bills and use of vehicles to ferry party loyalists. We can only say bye to all this if the water boards are in private hands.

In addition, by being in private hands, it means the government would no longer subsidise operations of the water boards which entails they will no longer be using tax payers money to survive. This implies that the government would be dishing fewer subventions. The saved money will in turn be used on other pressing social needs.

Lastly, it is quite sad that only the shortfalls of privatisation of SOEs are highlighted. People do argue that private firms driven by the lust for more profits would retrench workers to achieve this motive. As I agree that there might be some grain of truth in these claims, at times the opposite happens: jobs are saved and others created. There is an insurmountable evidence to back up this. At one time, Bakhresa G&M and Mapeto (DWSM) were in a very convoluted situation. Government had halted production, retrenched workers and was only maintaining a skeleton temporary staff. Creditors were filling injunctions and petitions to wind up the business. However, barely a few months these companies were privatised, a great many of these jobs were saved and all the creditors secured. Above all, there were increased investments. Mapeto invested K475 million in new machinery and repairs while Bakhresa G&M invested about K900 Million in a new mill. This I believe again would likely follow privatisation of water boards. New investments will come in, a lot more jobs created and water services will improve both in quality and quantity.

As an endnote, privatisation of water boards as well as bringing in new investments, creating new jobs and providing water services of improved quality and quantity will benefit every Malawian abundantly. Privatisation of water services should not disturb our peace. There is nothing to be jittery about; it is for our own especial benefit, not an economic suicide as others envisage it to be. Hence, let us all support the privatisation of water boards.

Who Was To Blame

By Mateso Kazembe

Kabudula had been on the hospital bed for months and his body was cruelly wasted. He was frail and engulfed in enormous pain. Stubbing pains had bivouacked in his chest and a constant numbing pain was in his legs. His entire body was present to him in a variety of aches and severe pains.

Doctors had already confessed to him that there was utterly nothing they could do. Even friends and relatives who visited him had such terror in their eyes. As they offered their “get well soons” their facial expressions vividly revealed to him that just a matter of days remained before he died.

He was HIV positive. The circumstances that had seen him contracting the virus were phenomenal. Five years previously when he was at college, there had been a certain lovely girl, called Berita, who without equivocation was an exquisite work of nature with the profile of a finely honed hatchet.

Kabudula fall in love the moment he set his eyes on her. He asked her out for weeks, suggesting lunch, drinks or just a mere chat, but his attempts were barren of results. Every effort he applied went down the drain, as Berita kept saying no. And more disturbing was the inattention she gave her. On many occasions, she would take a swift look at him and look away without the slightest hint of recognition in her eyes.

These unfolding events disturbed Kabudula’s equanimity. Many-a-time, he wanted to quit, but he just could not get the wonder of her exquisite beauty. A raging void in his heart ached for her to fill it. He was desperate to win her.

However, Berita confessed openly upon his insistence for a date that he was not a type of a guy he would go for and Kabudula felt like a drowned rat. Her vividness damaged his personal pride and bruised his heart greatly.

And to cap his desolation, Berita fall in love with Chinge. Chinge was a son of a certain business tycoon and nothing about him was attractive expect for his money. He, as well as being vain as a peacock, was a spindle legged, bigheaded bumptious student whose love for ladies was a mere sham. He had a reputation of using and dumping them at will. Most students detested his vile habits and supercilious demeanour.

Kabudula painfully suffered his fate silently. He could not fathom why Berita had opted for Chinge of all people. In every respect he was the better man. Even money-wise, he could compete with Chinge. Finally, he came to believe that ladies were fastidious.

Months passed by and his wounds refused to heal. He could not gather his bruised thoughts and look forward positively. He could not forget Berita. Rather than hurting her, he liked the girl and wished her well in life praying for a second chance that finally came in very peculiar circumstances.
It was on a muggy Saturday evening when Kabudula left for the classes to study for a History exam that Monday. He splurged into his favourite class, not realising Berita was in the same class. In fact if he had known she was there, he would not have gone in. Kabudula preferred this room because it was not a darling to most students. It was close to the college bar and TV rooms. When Berita saw him, she gave him the mildly annoyed and momentarily glance that she had perfected to ward off him and looked away.

But Kabudula absently trudged to her desk to say hi. But, Berita’s response came as though from someone whose chest was in a vice. She also had difficulty breathing as she looked at him.

Kabudula remained stationary, confused. He knew Berita well. This was not how she talked to him. She looked uncomfortable. He figured that something was wrong. Then in a moment, Kabudula saw Berita hiding something-a green book

“What are you hiding from me?” he asked reaching for the book but Berita pushed him away and in the process the book collapsed to the ground. His heart made a tumble when his eyes caught the title of the book. Memories flooded into his mind quickly. It was a History book that had gone missing from the lecturer’s office some months before. The lecturer had put up notices pleading with whosoever had taken it to return it. But the plea was unheard and because of its missing we had ceased learning the History course.

“I can’t believe this,” he said out of breath, shattered, “This can’t be true. Oh my. You’ve transgressed the bounds of decency. You serpent!” he added accusingly.

Tears welled up in Berita’s eyes.

“Don’t tell anyone, please,” She begged helplessly and desperately with a sorrowful mien. “My grades goaded me into this.”

“Stop niggling dear, I have finally nabbed you,” Kabudula said accusingly beginning to enjoy every moment. “I can’t grant amnesty to nincompoops like you.”

“Kabudula, please,” She flopped down on her knees begging. Her cheerful appearance was gone. She was sweating at every pore and on the brink of tears. “I’ll do everything, just ask…”

“What do you mean everything?” he asked in feigned incomprehension. He wanted to shout victory. This lady, had felt was untouchable but she was now hankering for his sympathy. What was he to do? Report her? Well, he felt that was not the best option. The cup had come within the grasp of his fingers and he decided to pull the trigger right away. He asked her for a one-night stand and got Aids in the end.

He had been the happiest man on campus to peg such a beauty, but that happiness was replaced with despair when he tested positive.
Who was to blame for his predicament anyway? Was it Berita, love or himself? Kabudula felt that this was a question he would take with him to the grave unanswered.

Who Is William Marrion Branham

NOTE: Whosoever might happen to read these notes must realize that this is the revelation I got from the messages, some readings by Message Pastors and the Holy Writ. God bless you. Amen!

Who Is William Marriom Branham (Malachi 4:5-6, Rev 10:7)

As a Christian, I realize that I don’t know everything; and that’s so right. And never will I stand up and say I do. On the other hand, that which I have said, I know it is right and I am not about to take it back. The reason I can talk like this, is because I will keep my mouth shut until I know what I am talking about.

[Laodicean Age]
61 Now, this angel that comes in this day, I want to... I've got something written here; I'd just like to read it. But he will be known the last part of the age. And because we are so close to that, so close to that Light age, that probably he's on earth now. We don't know him. He will be a--a mighty prophet that will be rejected by the church world, for they will go right on in their sins and finally be spewed out of the mouth of God, out of the mouth of God's Presence. I believe it will be one like Elijah. I'm going to give my reasons why. Now, let's just turn over here in the Book of Malachi, just a moment. I'm going to give you why I think it will be one anointed with the Spirit of Elijah. Now, I want you to put on your--your grace cap now. Malachi the 4th chapter, now, listen as I read, and you in your Bible. Now, think real close now for the next few minutes now, 'fore we go into the church age.
70 [A brother says, "Luke 1:17"--Ed.] Luke 1:17. Thank you, brother. That's right, Luke 1. Mark... Luke 1:17, instead of 2. I want to get the 14th, that's where... That's it, brother. That's exactly right, Luke 1:17. All right. Now, now you can mark it down. Now, what it is, it's out of the blessings of the Lord, that it was blessed.
Now, we realize that that wasn't John, 'cause it wasn't the dreadful day of the Lord, was it? And neither did He burn the earth. So it must've meant a preview, or--or another future coming of John--or of--of Elijah. Is that right? 'Cause He said, "I'll send Elijah, and I'm going to burn the whole earth, and I'm going to just clean it off, and you'll walk out upon their ashes." That's the millennium; we know that. After the atomic bomb shall blow it from pieces, then there'll be--the earth will straighten up. And there'll be a great day here on the earth, and the church will reign with Jesus on the earth for a thousand years. Is that right? "But before that great and dreadful day of the Lord, when it's going to be blowed up, I'll send to you Elijah the prophet." Is that right? So it did not mean John the Baptist in that state, because the dreadful day of the Lord wasn't then: two thousand years off. Is that right?

Now there is a two-fold fulfillment of this spirit of Elijah. It is a very short little scripture, but God does not have to talk all day to get something said. Intellectuals can write volumes FROM WHAT GOD SAYS IN ONLY A FEW SHORT WORDS. ONLY THE HOLY GHOST CAN REVEAL THE DEPTH OF TRUTH THAT IS ACTUALLY HIDDEN IN THE WORD OF GOD WRITTEN BY HOLY MEN OF OLD INSPIRED BY GOD FOR THAT PURPOSE. God is His Own Interpreter of the Word.

Now Malachi was the last Old Testament prophet of Israel and he closed his writings with the words we are using for the text.

[Revelation part 1]: The spiritual condition of the 7 churches typed or represented the spiritual condition of a certain age of time in the dispensation of grace. The church at Ephesus was as different from the church at Laodicea, as night is from day. Ephesus was the seed church. It was on fire for God, but Laodicea was lukewarm. Now as we stand at the end of the grace age every one of the things that Laodicea was rebuked for are present in this very hour of time. This is an age of materialism, and luke-warmness toward God. Almost everyone you meet claims to be a Christian, but one cannot help but notice that the fruit of the Spirit of God is absent from the lives of most of them. Why? These so called Christians do not have the reality of the new birth in their lives. In the first century of Christianity, a person would not dare admit they were a Christian unless they had the genuine product. In other words, something inside them that was so real it would even cause them to stand for Jesus Christ in the face of martyrdom.

But in our day, being called a Christian is good for business, life partners and politics. It doesn't matter what church, for the spirit of this age promotes going to the church of your choice. But there is only one church, and it is a universal body of true believers that hold an apostolic revelation in their hearts of the word of God, and they are not a denomination. The true body of Christ (the church) is made up of people from every nation, that all believe the same thing concerning the basic doctrines of the word of God.

Now the faith of the fathers is recorded in the pages of this precious old Bible. God’s purpose in sending that Elijah spirit was to get His children back into the book of all books where the faith of the fathers is clearly taught. That is why every “spoken word book” you might read preached by the prophet it will point you back to the bible. The Holy Ghost wrote this book, and it was the Holy Ghost that caused Bro. Branham to preach what he did, from this book, (the Bible) and if he were still with us today, preaching, he would still take his text from the Bible like he always did before. Now this Bible we carry is the sole source of authoritative scripture and there is no other books all equal in authority with the holy Bible.

Mal. 4:5-6 reads “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord: And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to THEIR fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.” There are two things that stand out, both in the first, and the last advent. It is FATHERS, and CHILDREN, then CHILDREN, and FATHERS. Saints, you have to realize that in the mind of God every prophecy is as a finished thing. Everything was spoken from the positive point of view, for with God, there is no doubt, nor hope so. Many of those Jews that looked for Elijah, failed to understand that it was only the Elijah anointing that God was going to send. This anointing always dealt with apostasy. It was a God identifying spirit that always led men to repentance from out of apostasy. Now let’s look at the words heart, and fathers. Well the physical heart in man is only an organ that pumps the blood of life through the physical body, so this can not be turned to anything.

But many a time you hear something with your ears and it just seems to have a quickening effect within your innermost being. I am sure you all have experienced that. Also sometime you would hear something that would cause a little feeling of fear or fright within you, something of a negative nature. Either way though, you hear it with your natural ears first, and your mind must then decide whether it is of a benefit to you or not. In other words, your mind is like a transmitter, transmitting something that your whole being is affected by, and that is why those Judiastic fathers reacted as they did. I believe you are beginning to see what John’s preaching did to those old Judiastic fathers. For hundreds of years they had been on the same old repetitional merry go round, spiritually speaking, and all the time they were getting farther and farther away from God with their traditions, and their interpretations of the scrolls.

But then word came to them, that there was a wild man down by the river, preaching about the kingdom of God. This caused their ears to prick up. What they were hearing was not necessarily a joyful report on their part, for they would first of all; question the authority of any man who would do what John was doing. Naturally the most prominent ones hesitated to go themselves, to investigate, but they did not hesitate to send others of their number to stand in the crowd as spies. Day after day, John stood at his post of duty down by the Jordan, “Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” As time passed and the news spread, they were coming by the droves, and John was baptizing them right and left, as they repented and confessed their sins. Now, who was being baptized? It was not the fathers, yet. It was the down and out class of Jewish society. Spiritual dropouts, you might say. Jesus spoke of how publicans, harlots, and sinners believed John’s preaching, repented, and was baptized, and entered into the kingdom, and said to those others, But you are left without. It was not the Judiastic fathers that first came to him. It was the down and outers, that had just about lost all hope, spiritually speaking. Because of apostasy, spiritual death had set in, so God made the first move. He sent John (Elijah anointing) with a message to restore something, and that something was spiritual reality, and hope in God. John built that highway for the Lord while standing right there in the old Jordan River.

It did not matter how high, nor how low they were; according to man’s standards, or how crooked their lives were before. When John raised them out of the water, the high ones were made low, the low ones were elevated, and the crooked lives were straightened out. That is how the mountains and hills were made low, and the valleys lifted up, and the crooked made straight. It was a highway in the hearts of repentant sinners, where the Lord would have full right of way. God was not coming down, to ride up and down a highway from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea; He was coming to dwell in the hearts of a people that had been made ready to receive Him. Who were they? They were the children of Malachi 4:6. It is true that they were the children genetically, of that Jewish society, but that is not what gives them that identity in Malachi’s prophecy. Their Malachi identity is that they were going to be children of God. Potentially they already were, in the mind of God, but the manifestation of it came about there at the Jordan River (Isaiah 40).

Now John did not make them children, but he prepared the way for them to become children of God. That is what got the attention of the fathers. They had to find out what was really taking place down there. When those Judiastic fathers began to come into the crowd, he started blasting the tops of those mountains. With one huge blast he brought down a bunch of them; “O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” John could not have cared less about honoring anyone but God. Therefore He said also, “Bring forth therefore fruits worthy of repentance; and think not to say within yourselves, (Be sure you get this point here.) We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.”

John knew that because of their natural heritage, these Jewish fathers were depending on the fact that they could say, We are Abraham’s seed. We believe in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We keep the law of Moses. But who are you? I’m just a voice. Hallelujah! The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord. You hear the same spirit speaking in our day. I have heard people say, My mother was a saintly old Methodist, and so was my grandmother. Therefore I was born a Methodist, and I will die a Methodist. What was good enough for them is good enough for me. Listen to me, people, No born again child of God will say that, for we know that God does not judge us, nor favor us, just because our parents were a certain way. This is an individual walk with God. Your genetical background does not mean anything to God, as far as your soul’s salvation is concerned. Yes, those fathers came out to look John over, believing all along that they were children of God, just because they could trace their heritage back to Abraham to whom God promised a blessing to him and his seed after him. Saints, do not ever forget what the scriptures say about Abraham; He believed God, and it was counted to him for righteousness, and that is the only was any of us can stand before God, righteous simply by believing His word.

We do not inherit righteousness from our parents, and neither do we earn it by any of our works; it is imputed to us when we believe properly. Not just any old man made doctrine, but the revelated word of God. So John called those big shot religious leaders exactly what they were, a generation of vipers. They did not know the first thing about the new covenant that was ready to be put into effect. Only those that were truly repenting, and being baptized, would be receivers of that new covenant. The only way any of those Judiastic fathers could ever become children of God, was to repent, and be baptized, for just simply being able to say, We are children of Abraham, would no longer be looked upon as having any spiritual benefit.

There was a day when God would honor them as believers, if they wrote the law upon little emblems, and hung it on the door posts, and so forth, so they could see it both going in and coming out of their homes, and they honored it as God had instructed them to do. But here is a new dispensation coming into effect, with a new covenant that will replace the old one, and now God will only honor it. Notice what Paul wrote to the Hebrews about it, chapter 8; verses 6-13. We will not read it all now, but you can later. In verse 6, he speaks of how Jesus is the mediator of a better covenant, which was established upon better promises. “Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah.” On down farther we read, “I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people: and they shall not teach every man his neighbor, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for all shall know me, from the least to the greatest.”

Now, notice verse 13. “In that he saith, A new covenant, He hath made the first one old. Now that which decayeth and waxeth old is ready to vanish away.” In other words, God took His law down from the door posts, and was putting it in through the door of man’s heart into his innermost being. But it has to pass through the mind before the heart can receive it, and that is what God was preparing this lower class of people for. They were to be the children of the new covenant, when the old covenant was cut off completely. What do you think John meant when he said, God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham? He was talking about revelation faith from among those stony hearts. am not making a new covenant with you; I am simply announcing that the time is at hand for God to do it. John was not seeking to make a name for himself; he was only fulfilling something that God had raised him up to do. Now that did not keep some of John’s followers from trying to make him something more than what he was, but John himself did only what he was anointed to do. Those religious fathers who had always been in charge of every religious activity resented John, and resented what he was saying. No, let me rephrase that. They hated John, and they hated what he was saying even more, but there were some tender buds standing there, that would soon spring forth into life, taking the place of those trees that were being cut down. They did not know that, but God knew it. God knew what was going to be said that day, even before He ever created the world. Therefore to those Jewish fathers John was saying, Until now, you have read Isaiah, Jeremiah, the Psalms, and all the law of Moses and you have twisted everything to fit into your traditions, but from this day on, you will have to submit yourselves to God in a different way in order to be accepted to Him (fruits of repentance).

Did they do it, you may say? No, because they had another spirit on them. It was not the Spirit of Jehovah that had led them into all those religious traditions. It was not the Spirit of Jehovah that caused them to have murder in their hearts. They washed their feet and hands, and went through all those Levitical purification exercises, but their hearts were far from the God that gave those laws, therefore their religion was vain. They had clean hands and feet, clean pots and pans, and they said all the right things, but God was looking for some people whose hearts could be made clean also, and those fathers were too proud of their traditions and accomplishments to humble themselves, so they rejected God’s new covenant, and pronounced their own destination by doing so. That left the way clear for God to raise up some other men who would one day be looked upon as fathers, but first, they would be “the children” of Malachi 4:6, in the first advent of Jesus Christ.

Judiastic fathers were so proud to listen to John. They loved being referred to as Dr. So and So, Rabbi So and So, and all of that. Religion is full of that sort still today, but not true Christianity. We are living in a new era of time. God will never call another young man to enroll in a Bible school to study theology. As a matter of fact, God has never called anyone to do that, but I will have to say, We have passed through an era when God worked through such men, allowing some of them to be carriers of certain Bible truths that were to be restored to His true body of believers in due time. This gospel did not start out being preached by the great learned men of that first age, and it will not end up being preached by that kind either. Let me read you a few verses from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, and we will see what he had to say about the wisdom of learned men. (1:19) “For it is written. I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent. Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this world? For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believed.” The preaching that gets men saved is something more than just a bunch of theories hatched out in a seminary someplace. Divine revelation is not something that can be published in three, or six month courses, and sold for so many kwachas. It is free to all who will receive it, and it is preached by some of the most uneducated men upon the face of the earth, and no matter who preaches it, nor how much anointing they have, it still takes the Holy Ghost to make it a revelation to you. Notice verse 26. “For ye see your calling brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called. But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.” Why did God choose to work through such simplicity? Verse 29, tells us exactly why. “That no FLESH should glory in His presence.” If God allowed degrees of education to have any bearing on the effectiveness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, then men who attained to certain levels of achievement in life would have somewhat to glory in aside from the pure grace and mercy of God. Hallelujah!

I am so glad that God is no respecter of person. If He was like we have a tendency to be, then all the educated and important people in the world would have first chance at God’s bountiful gifts, and the rest of us would just simply have to get at the end of the line and beg for crumbs. That is not to say that there is not enough of God for everyone, but I think you know what I mean. It just simply comes down to the fact that God receives more glory working through weak and seemingly unimportant vessels. Praise Him! No wonder Jesus said, “Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” Notice that next verse, (Matt. 18:4) “Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” That lets us see why those ecclesiastical fathers could not become children of God. They just simply could not humble themselves and come God’s way. They could not accept the idea that God would speak to the people of Israel without going through them first. I can just see some of them, with their head high, and their chest puffed out, “Who does this wild looking critter think he is? We have gone to school for many, many years to learn all the law and precepts of God, and this fellow, with no educational background, comes walking out of the wilderness claiming to be the voice of God. What kind of fools does he take us for? Does he really think anyone will believe him?” Brothers and Sisters: You have probably heard that very kind of boastful talk in some of the places God delivered you from. They still do it. The blind will lead the blind, as long as this dispensation stands.

The religious Pharisees, Zealots, Scribes and those holier than thou Essene Jews, that dwelt in caves down by the Dead Sea, who in the natural seemed to be the holiest, the purest, the most undefiled by the world, the most dedicated to God of all were the fathers of Malachi 4:6 in the first advent of Christ. Now the Children were the nobodys, the down trodden. Now if you do not see who the fathers and the children were in that day, you will never be able to receive a true revelation of who they are here at the end of the age. I will say this also; If you do not know what the faith of the apostolic fathers was, you will never know whether you have been turned back to it or not. In other words, you just simply cannot pick up a few remarks here at the end time and be looked upon as a revelated son of God, if you are void of understanding concerning all that proceeds a true revelation. John the Baptist knew what he was looking for. He was only carrying a message sent forth to separate them from apostate religion, and get them ready to receive the one that would initiate a new covenant with them. That was God’s way of rescuing a spiritual seed from an apostate system of death. John separated them from their old religious system, washed them up, got their minds open, and their spiritual eyes cleared up so they could begin to look forward to a greater unfolding of the purpose of God. After Pentecost, when the church really got its birth, and the new covenant was in full force, certain men from the ranks of the new covenant children began to stand out as leaders in the church. Peter took the lead on the day of Pentecost, when false accusations were laid against those who had just received the Holy Ghost, but there was James, and John, and Stephen, and many others that stood to defend the faith of this new covenant that Jesus had activated and made effective by His death, burial, and resurrection.

Jesus was gone from the scene, and so was John the Baptist, but those Christians (the children of that day) had something in their hearts that kept them going on. Of course we understand that the gospel was first preached to the Jews, and God let it continue to be administered to that nation of people for several years, but He saw that the spirit of that old Judiastic system would never change, (He knew it all along by His great foreknowledge, but He allotted them sufficient time and opportunity, in order that they would be without excuse) so He began to unfold this great redemption plan to the Gentiles. The covenant He had made with Abraham would be fulfilled. Not only would Abraham have a natural seed, he would also have a spiritual seed. All who believe God’s word, and walk with Him in truth are the spiritual seed of Abraham (Colossians 2).

What those Scribes and Pharisees were holding onto in the days of Jesus, was all God required from their forefathers who had followed the law of Moses out of a pure heart that desired to please God, but after Calvary, no salvation was wrought by keeping the law of Moses. The scriptures make it very clear that, in the first advent of Malachi 4:6, only those who were turned to children by the word of God, were accepted of God.

Therefore I say to you saints in the name of Jesus that in the second advent of Malachi 4:6, only those who are turned back to the faith of those first century, apostolic fathers, by the word of the Lord delivered in this age, will be accepted of God. The Word of God delivered to us by that Elijah spirit in this age was supposed to turn children to fathers. Now the prophet William Marrion Branham is the fathers of Malachi 4:6. He was sent by God when God knew it was light to fulfill his scriptures, with that Elijah anointing, to preach against apostasy, identify the one true God, and turn our attention back to what Peter, James, John, Paul, and all those early church fathers preached. He did that for me, and for a lot of you. Now you should not follow the man but follow the word of the Lord that he was trying to get us back to.

Bro. Branham, who came to this age with that Elijah spirit, to turn us back to those apostolic truths, was not a tare, but those who glorify his flesh, instead of following the truth he stood for, are tares without a doubt. He delivered the word of God to this generation, and you can do with it whatsoever you choose. You can either follow that truth and be one of the children of God that he was sent to restore to the truth, or you can be a tare. One thing I do know for sure, is that all who are truly children of God in this day and hour, will see Paul, Peter, James, John, and all of those apostolic fathers who defended the faith in their day, and they will love the man that pointed them back to the truth, and will defend his character, image, and purpose, but they will worship God, according to the apostolic truth that he pointed them back to. Let us read Malachi 4:6, for it is important that you remember what we are dealing with, so you do not miss the main points. Talking about the Elijah that was to come, it says, “And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, (that was John the Baptist) and the heart of the children to their fathers, (that was Bro. Branham) lest (or before) I come and smite the earth with a curse.” Now that is what we are looking at. Bro. Branham was that Elijah which was to fulfill the second part of that prophecy. It is only necessary that we understand what is meant by turning the heart of THE children, back to THEIR fathers. I have tried to help you see that the fathers of John’s hour were the last of the old law age covenant teachers. That is why they had to be made to see what John was doing, even though they could not find it in their hearts to repent and become a child, a child of God. Looking at the history we see, that as Jesus came back to Jerusalem just before He was crucified, every day He would go into the temple and preach. But then, one day, as He was leaving, going out over the Mount of Olives with His disciples, He looked back at that beautiful city, and the temple, and wept over it.

In Luke 13:34, you read where He said, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.” Why would He say that? Simply because every time He went into the temple to preach, here would come that bunch of Pharisees and elders, questioning Him as though they really wanted to learn something, when really, all they wanted to do was trap Him. They wanted Him to say something they could use against Him. These are the ones that delivered Him to Pilot, to be crucified. Now a tare is a make-believer, a child of the devil, pretending to be a child of God, and the churches are full of them today, but there were none of them among the ranks of the believers in the book of Acts, for those early apostles guarded against any attempt of Satan to pervert that true gospel, so he had to wait until after they all passed off he scene, before he could actually successfully sow his tares in this field of God. (The church) as early as 54 A.D., Paul wrote to the Thessalonians concerning that man of sin that would come upon the scene in the end of the age, and stated even then, that the mystery of iniquity was already at work (Ephesian Church Age).

Then in 90 A.D. John wrote, in his little epistle, “Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whither they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.” John thought the end was getting close, because he saw that spirit of Antichrist at work, but little did he know that it was only the beginning of what God would allow Satan to do for the next 1900 years. It was really in the second church age, that Satan actually succeeded in placing his tares in the congregation of the saints. How did he do it? Without those staunch guards of the faith to detect them, make-believers, falsely converted to the faith, were able to slip into the fellowship, and naturally, after they were in, the same Holy Ghost that fell on the true seed, also fell on them, and they could shout and dance right along with the rest of them. But they never could receive a true revelation. Instead, they began to inject their own ideas little by little until the church was plunged headlong into the period known as the Dark Ages. It did not happen suddenly; it actually took several hundred years for it to reach its worst hour of time. You know, that according to the 2nd parable of Matthew 13, once that tare spirit gets inside, it will grow just like the true crop, and actually the Lord said, “Let them all grow together until the harvest: and in the time of the harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.” (you can get all this in the exposition of the 7 church ages)

Why did God allow Satan to get by with a thing like that? It puts true believers to the test. Will they walk with God, or follow the crowd? Those tares were allowed to attack, and pervert every true doctrine of the New Testament church, and the first thing they went to work on, was the one God revelation. They got that perverted into a trinity. The new birth experience (the baptism of the Holy Ghost) was changed into a formalistic ritual, and a holy way of life was pushed completely out of the picture. That does not mean that everyone was like that, for God has always preserved seed, but the ruling spirit in the church was like that, for it was tares running things during those Dark Age years. No true child of God would throw out the truth, but when your are outnumbered so badly, all you can do is live your own convictions, and let the rest do what they want to do. Therefore coming out of the Dark Ages was Martin Luther, a monk that God revealed an apostolic truth to. The just shall live by faith instead of by the word of the pope. Now remember, God was not restoring the faith of the fathers, He was restoring His children back to it. It took almost 500 years for Satan to rob the church of that true faith, and God has now been in the process of restoring His church back to it for about the same length of time. It was the restoration of God’s children to these apostolic truths that brought the Dark Ages period to its end, for every scriptural truth is light, and people simply cannot dwell in darkness, and light both at the same time. No, Satan had his millennium of darkness, and now the church of the living god has been restored to the light. The vast majority of world religion is still in spiritual darkness, but God’s true church is walking in the light of His word once again, HIS NAME, HIS WORD, HIS WORKS. God restored the church back to the faith of the fathers by degrees, just like she left it. The church did not go from light to darkness suddenly, so God did not bring her from darkness to light suddenly. He restored her to one truth at a time, and He did not have to use a tare to carry that truth. Luther was not a tare himself, but the moment he started to preach faith, the tares started gathering around him, Hallelujah!

We have faith. Hallelujah! Faith is wonderful. You see, the tares will rejoice right along with the saints, and they will grow right along with the saints, but they can never become children of God. Once a tare, always a tare. You may have heard people say, I used to be a child of the devil, but now I am a child of God. But that is not correct. A person that was foreknown of God, was never a child of the devil; that person, before they come to a true salvation experience, is simply a servant of the devil, a prisoner, you might say. That is why they are referred to as LOST; they are lost from their heavenly Father. That does not mean that God does not know all about them; it simply means, that such a lost soul does not know where his true family is, and God always makes the first move, to draw that lost soul to Himself. Alright, so the tares began gathering around those true children of God that had embraced Luther’s revelation, Oh, this faith is wonderful, but we had better get organized, so that we can better administer it to the world. It has never been the true children of God that founded these religious organizations; that tare spirit does that, in order to keep the truth they have from moving any further, or to keep those who have a certain truth from moving any further with God.

[The Restoration of the Bride Tree] Do you know why they can never move any further with God? When they organize, they write up their bylaws and articles of faith, and that is all they will allow, in their organization. Every one of them looks at themselves as exactly what God wants his church to be like; therefore they leave no room for God to add any further revelation of His word to them, so they rally around what they have, for a while, and then death and decay begins to strike their system. But all the while, they are affecting some people that are true children of God, and even though death strikes the system, the truth they organized around, never dies. It was the same pattern all the way through the Reformation. God would reveal an apostolic truth to a chosen vessel, Luther, Calvin, Knox, Wesley, and on down the line, and the followers of that man’s teaching would take that truth, and build a denominational fence around it. That is exactly the way the devil wanted it. That is how these daughters of that old Roman Catholic whore were defiled. Now do not get disturbed at me for saying that, for it was the angel talking to the apostle John, in 96 A.D., that first called her that. He showed John the final judgment of that great whore, before the whore ever even came into existence.

You can read it in Revelation 17:1-5, and you will see there, that this great whore had some daughters, for she is called, the mother of harlots and abominations of the earth. Those daughters are all of the religious organizations that have come out of the Reformation movement. When those daughters embraced a truth that separated them from the old Roman Catholic mother system; they were clean and pure, but before too long, that old tare spirit would get in, take over, build an organization, and cause the whole thing to commit spiritual fornication with the world. That made them harlots; they were no longer in a place where a holy God could entrust, nor impart divine revelation to them. Methodism, founded off of John Wesley’s holiness teaching was built into the most wonderful, and largest Protestant denomination upon the face of the earth, and that brings our little summary up to around the dawning of the 20th century, a point in time when Laodicea was just about ready to be activated. Laodicea is the age of materialism, the industrial age that has lifted the standard of living from where it remained you might say, for hundreds of years, to where it is today, in only a few short years.

God had restored the church little by little, back to the apostolic truth that she had let slip away from her, but the tares were still running things. Here was all those beautiful truths that the New Testament church was founded upon, all fenced in and divided up, and if God did not do something those tares would sap the very life out of those true children of God that were scattered around in those systems. He could not perfect His church as long as it was divided up like that, and He could not call her to glory before she was perfected, so what did He do? Hallelujah! He raised up a prophet messenger, and anointed him to call His children out of those places, and lead them to see that the true church of the living God is not divided, nor built into a denomination. Who was that prophet messenger? His name was William Marrion Branham, born under very unusual circumstances, in a simple little cabin near Burkesville, KY. He was not a theologian. As a matter of fact, he did not have very much of society’s formal education, but he did have the hand of God upon his life from the time that he was a very small boy. We will not go into his life, for that is recorded in ever so many publications that can be obtained [u can read, my life story, a man sent from God, a prophet visits RSA].

What I want you to see from this message, is what his ministry fulfilled in the redemption process of God. We do not need to lift up his flesh, in order to lift up the purpose of God that his ministry fulfilled. I truly thank God for the day He allowed me to get across this message, for as I read the books, he pointed me right back to the apostles Paul, Peter, James, John and all of those other New Testament writers. He made that Bible that I once was afraid of, talk to my soul. Hallelujah!

It was in the year 1933, when Bro. Branham, as a young evangelist, was baptizing some converts in the Ohio River that God spoke to him, and commissioned him for his role in the fulfillment of Malachi 4:5-6, of the Old Testament. We started our message with this scriptures, because it is the most quoted, and seemingly the least understood of all scripture, among the following of this humble servant of God that fulfilled exactly, what he was called of God to fulfill. While he was baptizing, there in the river, just like John the Baptist, he heard a voice say, Look up. Look up. When he looked up, there was a great light hanging right there over his head. Then a voice spoke, and said, “As John the Baptist was sent to forerun the first coming of the Lord, so are you sent with a message that shall prepare the way for His second coming.”

What he would do, had to be worded a little different than what John did, for John was sent to introduce a physical man. But Bro. Branham was not able to introduce a physical man. It is the message Bro. Branham delivered to this generation, that is forerunning the second coming of Jesus Christ. John prepared the way and actually introduced a physical person in which dwelt the very God of all creation. There in the Jordan River, that day, stood both messengers of Malachi 3:1, one messenger introducing another one. But when you look at Brother Branham, you do not see two physical messengers. You see one messenger, with a message from the throne of God, sent forth to this generation, for the purpose of calling God’s people out of denominational bondage, and allowing them an opportunity to dress themselves up and get ready to meet the Lord. All of this had to be accomplished before the Lord would return in person to smite the earth with a curse, as Malachi 4:6 states, (or to smite all wickedness with judgment) Gentiles have never been privileged to know Christ after the flesh, but they can know Him, for He is living in the pages of a book, but the book has to be read under the leadership of the Holy Ghost, in order for the reader to see Him, and before Brother Branham came upon the scene to cry out against it, Satan’s shrewd tactics prevented that.

God’s people were more or less forced to read the Bible through the eyes of their denominational system. Those who were so blessed as to see one God, and water baptism in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, were blinded to most of the other great truths of this new covenant that was introduced by the Lord Jesus Christ in His first advent, so that left God without a crop that He could reap from the pure seed that was sown. All of those first age Christians understood that, but they were not the crop that God would harvest, they were the seed, so to speak. When you plant a seed, you make sure you plant the kind of seed that you want a multiplied reproduction of at harvest time, and you cultivate and care for that crop until you do everything you need to, to get it ready to be harvested. Therefore I ask you, Do you think God, who is the author of perfection, would plant a church in the earth different than the kind He intended to harvest? That would be a careless perversion of His own law of reproduction, and only the devil is a perverter. But any person with spiritual insight could plainly see, that the church of 1933 was not like the church in the book of Acts. It was a long way from it, even after almost 500 years, since the Reformation started. What was the answer? How would God ever get an exact reproduction of that first age church? There was only one way, short of starting all over again. (And there was no scriptural provision for that.) He would have to do something to get the end time church back to believing exactly what that first age church believed. There is scripture for that, Malachi 4:5-6, our text. But who was there in the land that had a universal voice of authority, of the caliber that could turn the universal body of Christ around, and get them all going in the same direction? The Pentecostals had the greatest light, but that was still not what the church of the living God was to reflect back to Him. Some of those Jesus name Pentecostals that had the same evidence as the trinity element, were so set in their way, and so sure that they were what God wanted: they referred to the trinity as false brethren. When some of them came out to investigate Bro. Branham, they were heard to say, IF THIS MAN TRULY IS A PROPHET, WHY DOES HE ASSOCIATE WITH THESE ASSEMBLY OF GOD TRINITY PEOPLE?

They were like Peter, before God sent Him to the house of Cornelius. You must remember he was not the messenger just to the Pentecostals; he was the messenger to the whole age. God still had children in all those denominational systems, and they had to hear their call to come out, and be separated from man made traditions. As Bro. Branham preached from place to place, the big bishops and presbyters came out to look him over. They would sit there so proud, but they would see a display of the power of God that they just simply could not understand, and you would see tears come into their eyes as the light of God reflected from that man. I am not talking about the light of truth that he preached. Do you know what happened? They looked right into that light, and it was so bright, it blinded the. Why? They were tares. They were sold out to a tare system. The light of truth did not blind God’s true children that looked into it. No, it illuminated their souls. What was he doing out there? He was delivering a message first to call God’s children out of those systems, and secondly to turn them back to the faith of THEIR fathers.

He was one of the end time children that were to be turned back to the faith of the fathers. God raised him up from among the ranks of those who were to be turned back, and placed an anointing upon him that had never been displayed in that magnitude upon any man, since it was displayed in the life of Christ without measure. That still did not change the fact that he was one of the end time church children. God raised him up at a time when a lot of the predestinated children were getting so fed up with manmade traditions; they were ready to become spiritual dropouts. I had just about come to that place myself, before I received the Holy Ghost.