I have known Mzee John Misanga (not his real name—though, between us, if I had to pick an alias, it wouldn’t be “Misanga”) as a farmer par excellence and a skilled orator. This is the kind of man who can turn a casual goat auction into a Ted Talk about life. But today, as I visit his homestead, he opens up to me a side of himself that leaves me equal parts intrigued and reflective—a side shaped by his travels and his nuanced views on religion.
It has been months since we last crossed paths, and my calls to him had all gone unanswered. Determined, I show up unannounced. Turns out, he’d lost his phone along with every contact. “I guess that’s one way to practice forgiveness,” I joke. He laughs, though I suspect he only got the joke hours later.
I am here to record footage for an assignment I’ve been working on for weeks. The crown jewel of his farm is a tree nursery—rows upon rows of seedlings, each so perfectly aligned that even the trees seemed disciplined. His wife, who I find busy tending to vegetables and preparing the land for the rains, greets me warmly.
“Oriena papa,” she says in Olubukusu, a Luhya dialect. She promises lunch before vanishing into the kitchen.
Mzee and I settle under the shade of the big trees in his nursery, where our conversation begins as all good ones do in this part of the world: family updates, weather complaints, and polite attempts to ignore the goat eavesdropping nearby. But then, as if pulled by some divine hand, our discussion veers into religion—a topic I always find fascinating because, let’s face it, no two people experience faith the same way.
Mzee Misanga starts recounting a church-sponsored pilgrimage to the Middle East in 2018. He has visited Mount Sinai, the Red Sea, the River Jordan, and even the site of the Burning Bush. What floored me was his claim that Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene may have been married—with kids, no less.
“Between the age of 28 and 30, before his ministry, Christ had a wife and possibly children. They lived in Nazareth with his mother,” he says, and so casually.
I am stunned. Here I am, expecting some holy anecdotes, and suddenly I’m in a live-action version of The Da Vinci Code. Trying to keep my face from betraying my disbelief, I ask if such “theories” are ever discussed in church. He responds with a knowing smile. “These are not things you bring up in church. You’ll leave with more enemies than blessings.”
Mzee then pivotes to his observations about religion during his pilgrimage. “Every site we visited required payment,” he laments, shaking his head. “Even in the most sacred places, religion has become big business.” He pauses for effect and added, “I half-expected them to charge us for breathing holy air.”
“What struck him most, however, was the poverty in the Holy Land. “I never imagined seeing beggars there,” he said. “But they’re everywhere. Life’s struggles don’t take a vacation, even in holy places.”
As we dive deeper into the topic, I realize how rare it was to meet someone so grounded yet willing to question the things most people accept as gospel—literally. Mzee Misanga’s insights reminds me that religion, for all its ceremonies and doctrines, is a personal journey. For him, faith is like his farm: it needs constant care, occasional weeding, and the courage to let it grow in unexpected ways.
As I leave his home, I carry more than just footage for my assignment. I leave with the words of a man who has shown me that faith isn’t just about answers; it’s also about embracing the questions—whether they lead you to ancient mysteries, new perspectives, or just a very opinionated goat.
