skin deep - belated thoughts observed

A South African Christian in a Chinese temple.

Nothing wrong with that. He could be a tourist whiling away his requisite itinerary in a foreign land.

Distinction is that he almost never smiles and is, I hazard, a rather devout Christian, as most South Africans are. I overheard their loud declarations on the unassailable truthful origins of (wo)mankind and left it at that...

But he's the silent type who doesn't trumpet his fucking faluting faith in annoyance to all around them. (He barely even smirked or grinned when he blew his surprise birthday cake while the rest of the troupe sang their hearts out in merriment. This is a heart that has never sighted a sleeve.)

Not rambunctious or loud or noisome like the most of the rest, quite the opposite. He has a reticent demeanour and a pair of very very severe eyebrows. Imagine a very round faced and tacit but tall Lawrence Fishburne with vulture eyes, pores oozing vaporous menace. Don't mess with me. White men and the whole world, beware.

Needless to say, I avoided him like the plague. The irony (or lack of it) is that he is the head of the delegation.

And irony turned on its head that morning, for me at least. It was what Oprah calls with thick cliche, my 'Crash' moment, a slap in the face of preconceived notions.

The 84 year old geezer of a tour guide rounded us at the Chinese temple. On hindsight, most of the Africans were fired up by the mention of the gods, in particular the god of wealth and prosperity and the goddess of mercy and peace. On hindsight, most things always fall clearly into place...

So they wondered in, religiously reading the plagues explaining the heavenly powers of each deity and taking photos, me busily fanning myself silly, wondering when we could scoot out of here, this stuffy humid wooden box, to the next perspiratory pitstop.

I was rounding most of them up when I approached Mr Reticent, Ms Shorty and Mr Rambunctious at the heavenly wooden entrance. (You want to be polite and nice, seeing that it's the last day and I'll be done with it and them in half day's time.)

- It's time to leave, fellas. Come on, let me help you with that last shot. Why don't the three of you gather...
- (Ms Shorty in desperation and panic) The guide didn't tell us the truth! Where is this god of wealth?? We went all over the place but we couldn't find him!! (Find him? Have you made an appointment??)
- Really? Why would you need...
- (Ms Shorty) Please, please. We really need to find him. Can you help us?
- We really need to go but...
- (Mr Rambunctious) Yes, we really want to see him before we go. Your god of wealth and prosperity.
- (Mr Reticent mumbles something I didn't catch)
- (resigned) Fine. Why don't we go over this side? You start here with these gods and I'll cover those that side.
- (Ms Shorty) Yes, we must hurry before the bus leaves. Thank you.
- (after a while, calling out) I think I might have found him! Or someone close to what you're looking for! He's here.
- (Ms Shorty and Mr Rambunctious running over, reading the plague) Are you sure? He is the god of economy, he's is not wealth! Is he the right god? We don't want to pray to the wrong god!
- (I thought you guys believe only in one god...??!!)
- (winging it while walking away) Well if you have good economy, we get wealth, won't you? It's the closest anyway, I can't find the Wealth anywhere else. (This is turning into a bloody farce.)
- (Ms Shorty calling out to Mr Reticent, her boss) He's here!! Come over here, we found him!!

(You have to be there to understand - the whole scene is much more desperate and rushed and loud and weird than I describe it.)

Mr Reticent ran over from another god and without missing a beat, knelt right down on the red cushion, clasped his hands together, took off his cap, clasped his hands again in prayers, looked straight at the the idol of the Chinese god of economy and jobs and muttered some chant or prayer aloud in some African dialect I can't make out, while the other two continued reading aloud and talking at the same time.

Three Africans in front of a Chinese god idol.

Earnestly praying. Needing something.

I just stood there rooted on the spot for a beat or two. Then I walked off to give them privacy.

* * * * *

After a while, we are standing together outside the entrance gate again, me not saying anything at all, them muttering in African among themselves.

Mr Reticent turns to me out of the blue and says in a strange tone.

- How does one get wealthy? Tell me.
- (mouth agape, mind blank, a stupid smile after a beat, shrug shoulders)
- I want to be rich... I am tired of being poor... I am tired of all this poverty.

He turns away and we walk off separately.

It wasn't so much his tone was strange as in he spoke in a subdued and confiding tone, with such despondence. It was also the only time he spoke the most to me, throughout the whole week. And the most expressive moment one would ever witness from this man.

And for a very brief moment and for the first time, I detected something in his hard eyes and severe eyebrows.

And I think it was that something which he had to keep to himself in order that his subordinates and underlings laugh and sing and joke and shout and smile in abandon.