A small tiff between Pastor Paseka Motsoeneng and a company he rented space from has given us a glimpse into the secret world of the burgeoning charismatic churches in South Africa.
Apparently Motsoeneng, or prophet Mboro, as he likes to call himself, tried to swindle Franjenron out of its dues when he stopped paying rent for the premises he used to house his Incredible Happenings Ministries church.
The man who claims to have healing powers, and portrays himself as the son of God, allegedly entered into a lease agreement with the company, but decided to withhold payments after Franjenron decided to increase its rent.
Mboro is particularly naughty for pleading poverty each time questions are raised about his source of income, despite his impressive portfolio of state of assets and tailor-made business suits.
Petulant arguments
Who can forget his petulant arguments with the Commission for the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Cultural, Religious and Linguistic Communities, when they only asked him to hand them audited financial statements of his church during their investigation into the commercialisation of religion.
Mboro claimed that disclosing his net-worth would make him vulnerable to some who do not quite like him.
But his luck ran out when the sheriff, armed with a court order and accompanied by the police, evicted this irascible prophet and threw him on to the streets.
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Now evictions in South Africa are a sore reminder of a painful past and should, therefore, not be celebrated. But for people like Mboro, the eviction should serve to show that even conmen are not above the law.
And that in a civilised democracy like ours, well almost, every working and business person who makes money above a certain threshold should declare it to authorities and pay taxes.
But what caught my attention was Mboro letting us in on his finances as he tried to defend a decision that he called daylight robbery.
He told us that he paid R276 000 rent every month and only stopped when Franjenron shot the rental up to R576 000.
Now he wants the company to refund him the R11 million he had already paid towards the R14m rent-to-buy agreement they had entered into.
And mark you, the man is not lying – R276 000 over three years amounts to R9 936 000, and with the rent-to-buy money paid, means that Mboro’s income amounted to the region of more than R3m a year over the period.
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And who will not believe him when he is also a star of his own television show, where he displays his miraculous demon-bashing skills in a charade that includes what decent people would call multiple incidents of sexual abuse.
His followers also swear by whatever is most sacred to them that the self-styled one went to Heaven during the Easter weekend and brought back pictures taken with Jesus to prove it. To see the selfies you should be prepared to pay more than R5 000.
Yet with all his riches, the might of the law has now turned him into another public nuisance, who will erect a huge marquee on some unoccupied space to irritate law-abiding residents in Katlehong.
But Mboro is not alone in this lucrative money-making business. There are those who have become property magnates and literally snatch every available building in decaying parts of most cities and towns with abandon and nonchalance.
And while Mboro was busy involved in his alleged tête-à-tête with God, they were filling the FNB soccer stadium to its fullest capacity.
Some do not even bother with the poor and target particularly the moneyed. Their places of worship resemble a luxury car showroom or fashion parade instead of a religious institution.
Dubious characters
Yet others, like Fransis Anosike, revel in regal gifts, such as the R1.9m luxury car gospel singer Sifiso Ncwane bought for him last year for allegedly saving him from a heart attack.
And it does not end there.
We have even managed to import dubious characters, like the Malawian-born Shepherd Bushiri, who in a moment of absurdity, tried to prove that he could walk on air with hilarious results, and Chris Oyakhilome, one of the pastors with the most questionable credentials.
And our collective indifference to these shenanigans allowed our very own to be lured to their deaths in some shoddily-constructed building owned by a shiny-shirted prophet called TB Joshua in Lagos, Nigeria.
But can we really blame these impostors when they see the desperate, not as people seeking redemption, but as – in the political parlance – challenges that can be turned into business opportunities?
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Can we really hold them responsible when they do not use illegal means and violence to enrich themselves?
Is this not what the dog-eat-dog world that is called a free market economy is all about. Smart brains which can con thousands into buying pyramid-like schemes that only benefit them?
The gospel according to them has one script: arrive in flashy cars, surrounded by well-muscled bodyguards, pray for the poor and make them pay for the service in hard cash.
That way their income statements and donations cannot be disclosed to the taxman and the tax inventory will just list them as non-profit or public benefit organisations.
South Africa once had an investigations outfit that was capable of seeing through such organised and the complex structures of these impostors. It profiled and audited individuals whose declared income was not compatible with their lifestyles and went after them.
Dave King, President Jacob Zuma’s son Edward, and convicted mobster Radovan Krejcir can all attest to its sting.
Sadly, like many of the crime-busting divisions who once graced post-apartheid South Africa, the unit was crucified at the altar of political machinations.
So in an election year none of the prophets should loose any sleep over their tax liability.
After all, politicians will bow to them for a blessing that will make them find favours in the eyes of the electorate. In the meantime, the fiscus will loose valuable revenue at a time when the poor need it most to fight escalating food prices and inflation.
It would, however, be wrong to paint all the religious institutions with the same brush as these shenanigans.
Splendid work
The Salvation Army and Gift of the Givers have done splendid work the world over for the poor.
And a few metres from Mboro’s now erstwhile abode, a young priest, Reverend Mogomotsi Diutlwileng of the Methodist Church, is working tirelessly to raise funds for underprivileged school children to help them to obtain university education.
They stand out as the true messengers of what not to be in the name of religion, and remind me of the old man who used to walk past my parents’ house everyday to pray for the sick at the old Natalspruit Hospital, many moons ago.
But with the quest for instant gratification, Mboro’s star has once again risen in Katlehong.
On Monday, as the township tried to come to terms with the deaths of its sons and daughters who perished in the tragic bus accident on their way back from the ANC elections manifesto launch in Port Elizabeth, the master manipulator arrived in his usual convoy of fancy cars and feigned sympathy with the bereaved families.
He cried crocodile tears and made his usual offer to help in anyway he could. And the politicians embraced him as one of their own.
So much for the Prophet.
* Sechaba’s Shake-Up is an opinion column.
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