In the small village of Kwazibantu, nothing ever surprised anyone — until Mama Thandi’s chicken got saved.
Yes, saved. As in baptized, hallelujah, Amen!
Let me explain.
Mama Thandi was a proud woman. Proud of her garden. Proud of her cooking. And especially proud of her chicken named Gloria.
Gloria wasn’t just any chicken — she was clever. She knew how to open the gate with her beak, she knew how to avoid stew pot season, and she laid her eggs right next to the radio because she preferred listening to gospel.
One Sunday morning, while Mama Thandi was at church shaking her tambourine like her rent depended on it, Gloria snuck out of the yard and waddled her way into the church behind a group of ushers.
Now, let me paint the scene: The pastor was halfway through a passionate sermon on “The Spirit Descending Like a Dove,” when Gloria marched straight up the aisle, flapping her wings like she was ready to catch the Holy Ghost.
The choir stopped singing.
The pastor blinked.
Someone shouted, “Demon chicken!”
Gloria, unfazed, jumped onto the pulpit, squawked twice, and pooped on the pastor’s Bible.
Gasps filled the room. One old lady fainted. Another started speaking in tongues.
But instead of throwing her out, the pastor said, “Brothers and sisters, let this chicken be a sign! Even animals are coming to the Lord!”
The church erupted.
By the end of the service, Gloria had been anointed with cooking oil (mistakenly), and Mama Thandi had to carry her home wrapped in a church bulletin, while muttering, “I just came here to pray, not to raise a pastor.”
From that day on, Gloria was known as Sister Gloria the Holy Chicken, and not a single hawk ever touched her again. In fact, the village swore she laid eggs that tasted like they had already been blessed.