adminIT is a common for people, women mostly, to document in writing or in song their personal experiences . . . experiences laced with unfortunate love stories and challenges that they faced in relationships.
Recently a South Africa-based Zimbabwean woman penned a heart wrenching novel about the “damning” experience she had while in a relationship with a prominent Mutare pastor.
Plaxedia Mgandani, originally from the mountainous city of Mutare, narrated in her book, the relationship as the gloomiest and nastiest experience any woman could experience.
The 12 chapter novel in her self-published book — The Man of God, is testimony to the popular saying — “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”, as she jabs at the pastor, exposing even some of the most delicate details about their short-lived relationship.
Mgandani hopes the novel will be edited and published before the end of the year and availed in Zimbabwe not only for a good read but to spite the pastor.
“AND for you . . . who showed me what it was to cry . . . you were like gasoline on fire, a blessing and a curse,” wrote Mgandani, who hopes that the book will be an eye opener not only to women but to Christians across the world.
With no experience whatsoever in writing and having no published works, Mgandani gives a detailed heart wrenching story about her malevolent experience with the pastor (name supplied), whom she described as the devil’s reincarnate.
In a no-holds-barred interview, Mgandani revealed that she nearly died of stress-related issues from the relationship.
Mgandani also claimed that she had a miscarriage, as her relationship with the pastor, whom she pseudo named Pastor Tinashe in the novel, soured.
“This was one of the most awful experiences in my life, we had planned on getting married. I was pregnant and he did not want anything to do with me. He went to the extent of denying that he knew me, when asked about our relationship by his fellow men of God,” said Mgandani.
She said while she was skeptical about the relationship it blossomed into a fairytale experience, as the pastor continuously assured his love for her.
“The relationship blossomed; he constantly told me that he loved me. Though I was a bit skeptical at first about dating a Man of God, I found him to be quite loving and very attentive. This was a far cry from the men I had dated in the past,” said Mgandani.
She also alleged that the pastor did not work and solely depended on the church for his upkeep, which she too supported by sending money constantly.
“I always sent him money, I would even dig into my savings at times to keep him pleased all for the sake of love but look at where that left me, scorned and heart broken,” she said.
Mgandani said she was pregnant at the time when the relationship completely soured and the pastor completely shut her out and she thinks that could have led to her miscarriage.
“I got violently sick on the plane, wondered what could be wrong, I was paralysed with pain. I prayed to the God of my fiancée, to spare the little life growing inside of me. I had recently just found out I was pregnant. When the plane landed in East London, it had taken a turn for worse, I was rushed to hospital. I flipped through magazines. I was called back. I peed in a plastic cup, undressed and slipped into a cotton robe.
“The doctor squeezed clear jelly into the palm of her gloved hand and rubbed it over my middle, pale and rounding belly. She placed the wand near my belly button and squinted at the screen, at the little shape. ‘I no longer see a heartbeat’, the doctor said. She told me I could wait to bleed or have a surgical procedure. The thought of waiting broke my heart even more, so that afternoon I put on another gown. A kind nurse whose face I cannot remember asked how far along I was. Eleven weeks, I said, all business, my eyes dry” reads a page from one of the chapters in the book.
She went on to write, “In the operating room, I lay flat on the table. Creatures in scrubs scurried about. As the anaesthetic began to work, my doctor held my hand in both of hers and looked at me. She mumbled something kind, something wonderful, something I can’t recall, and everything went black. At home, I climbed into bed. I was cranky, I cried and cried some more. I ate a tuna sandwich because I could. Now I can, I thought. In all this Tinashe never called, instead he was shutting me out. I sobbed as I went to my computer and unsubscribed from my BabyCenter emails, but in a cruel twist, they still arrive week after week, stating: “Your baby is now the size of a plum. An orange. A melon”
“I cried. I still cry a lot, for Manasseh, the son I will never know and for Tinashe, the man who never cared.”
For the past few years pastors across the world have come under the spotlight for not walking the talk. Instead they have earned a reputation among many people as swindlers of money and womanisers hiding behind holy robes.
Bongani Ndlovu