Sista Bessie
© Hazel Campbell 2105
( This is exactly how the sister presented herself. She liked to laugh at her
adventures.)
Jamaica has the most 'churches' per square mile of any country in the world. (
Sista Bessie was one of the
followers. She was a card. A real joker card. If she got a lift to the
crossroads after church, she would keep the passengers in the car laughing so
much it was almost sinful. Mostly she talked about her exploits as a roving
preacher woman. Her assigned role was 'street warrior'. She preached at crowded
bus stops in the densely populated areas of the city, and woe be unto any lurking pickpockets hanging around. Her nose could smell them out like
rats and if they gave her any lip, she would use her 'sword' to slap them. Her Bible-sword
was large, thick and could give a good clout. A youth slapped by a Bible is hardly
likely to carry out his plan to rob, sometimes at knifepoint. Her targets would
slink away cursing (under their breaths). For Sister Bessie could call down
fire and brimstone on them, she would plead the blood of Jesus against them and
although many didn’t exactly know what that meant, it didn't sound like something
they wanted to experience.
Regular commuters welcomed her
presence and put up with her preaching and even humoured her by listening and
nodding and murmuring amen and singing a chorus or two with her.
When the transvestites, who
travelled in groups of four or five, exaggerating their eccentricities to annoy
or disgust the people at the bus stops – when they saw Sista Bessie they
tiptoed past on the other side of the road, hoping she wouldn’t get on their
case, for her voice was loud and authoritative and self-righteous and shaming
and always spoiled their fun.
And she was only five feet
tall.
So, when a new hustler
at the bus stop saw this tiny woman carrying the big bible, he ignored her. Nobody
had warned him about Sista Bessie. Clive had no affiliations to any criminal group.
He was just a disgruntled youth, out of work too long, and desperate to feel
some money in his hands. He was passing Sista Bessie's bus stop and seeing the people,
all of whom looked well fed and prosperous, a sudden wave of anger overtook
him. He didn’t stop to lurk and stalk a victim. He just walked up to the nearest
buxom woman and grabbed her purse.
The cries of "Tief! Thief"
scattered the crowd except for a tiny woman who put out her foot and tripped Clive.
He jumped up, pulled out his knife, flicked it and lunged at this audacious
woman who held up a book to shield herself from his assault.
The knife plunged into the book and Clive watched in shock as the blade broke off
and fell to the ground leaving the handle in his hand. Only then did he see the
words Holy Bible on the book Sista Bessie was still holding up. There wasn't
even a scratch on it.
Clive threw away the purse. Clive
fled. The people cheered while Sista Bessie did a kind of victory dance as she
sang 'No weapons formed against me shall prosper. Halleluyah!'
***************
There was a tent church near
to where Clive lived. When the gospel music started that night, it seemed to
pull him towards it. He crept into the meeting and sat in the semi-darkness in the back, which was
empty. He hoped nobody would notice him. He didn't know why he was there. He
didn’t even see her until she was standing right before him singing and holding
out her hand to lead him forward - a
tiny little lady not more than five feet tall. Sista Bessie was a regular visitor
at the tent meetings on Sunday nights.
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