Finally we arrived at the new home that Dad had found for us. It had been a farm, with a large colonial farmhouse and a few other smaller houses nearby. Dad took me round and showed me the large sugarcane field at the far end of the property, and rows of strawberries and green and red chilli bushes.
The main house was large, with a huge, vaulted living room with a white marble floor. Our little family got one of the best rooms, a big, airy bedroom with an en suite bathroom that the five of us shared. In the back garden of the main house we built a swimming pool, and within a few months I learned how to swim the breaststroke and the crawl. Dad established his studio as quickly as possible so his work could continue without interruption.
On our Freeday Dad and I would always do something fun together. Sometimes we walked down the mountain to the local town, which was twenty minutes away by foot. It was easy going down, but quite a haul going back up. All the women dressed in colourful saris and the men in lungis, a kind of long cotton skirt, tied in a knot at the waist. Their chests were bare, and gleamed in the heat and humidity. I tried not to stare, but I was put off by the sight of the women’s earlobes, which hung down almost to their shoulders. I whispered to Dad, ‘What’s wrong with their ears?’
‘Oh, they’re used to wearing really heavy gold earrings for special occasions,’ he explained. ‘The weight stretches their lobes. It’s quite common in many parts of the world.’
I liked being with Dad when we were just alone, because he acted different; he was relaxed and there were no rules to follow. We’d head out on our own to ‘seek adventure’ he would say playfully. We’d pack a little picnic lunch and set off on the mountain trails around us. The sights were breathtaking, with waterfalls tumbling down from sheer cliffs, rocky little rivers, thick undergrowth filled with birds and huge butterflies, and the most incredible ancient trees hundreds of feet high.
The leeches were the only things I dreaded. They would burrow their way into my socks and I would find at least three or four on each leg, sucking my blood. Dad showed me how to get rid of them by putting salt on them and they would melt away. I hated having to come home, because it meant going back to our commune routine. After a shower, we would join everyone in the main living room for Sunday fellowship, led by Paul Peloquin and Marianne. We always ended our fellowships with the Christian tradition of Communion.
One Sunday, Paul read to us a new Mo Letter, called ‘Come Union’. Mo had received a revelation that our fellowship ceremony had a sexual meaning. We were all one, and part of each other, body as well as spirit.
Do we have complete full communion? Come-union? Common-union? All things common Communion in the flesh as well as the spirit? How long has it been since you’ve given your body to someone, a brother or sister – or even a fish? Jesus gave his body even for the unsaved! Have you? Maybe you need to get liberated from your selfishness and fears – fear of love, fear of sex, fear of pregnancy, fear of disease, fear of commitment, fear of the future, fear of the unknown, fear of flesh!
Paul stopped reading and stripped off his clothes. Everyone, including the children, obediently followed. He broke out into tongues, ‘Haddeda, Shedebeda, Hadaraba, Shadbrada. Praise the Lord. Thank you Jesus–’ and the whole room suddenly erupted into loud chants and babbling, praising the Lord with their arms raised in the air.
I looked around in amazement, baffled at the sight of the adults with tears streaming down their faces. I could not understand the sudden outburst of emotion and euphoria.
I was young, but I had a seeking mind. None of it made any sense to me. What had stripping naked to do with showing dedication to Jesus our Saviour? Everyone sat together naked, arms around each other, while Paul finished reading the ‘Come Union’ Mo Letter. But worse was to come when Paul went on to demonstrate a new way to pass the wine.
‘“Now we have signified we’re all one body,”’ he read, ‘“the bread, and one in spirit, the wine. That’s why I like to drink from one cup, which is what they did. These Protestant churches that have a bunch of little tiny cups, they never get the point. And they’ve got the bread all broken up beforehand, so they don’t get the point of that either, that you’ve got to be one body. Boy, there’s a hot one for our Family! One in the flesh, one body, one spirit! Sexually as well, really one Bride of Christ, One wife, One Body!”’
Everyone partnered up, and the men were instructed to take a sip from the communal cup and pass it on to the mouth of their female partner. When the wine came round, my adult partner took a gulp and then fixed his mouth on mine. The warm, red wine mixed with his saliva tasted awful. For a seven-year-old this was as yuck as yuck gets, and I swallowed as little as possible.
Because Jesus had turned the water into wine in the Book of John, Mo had always said that it was permissible to drink alcohol, and in Greece wine was always served with food or enjoyed in the evenings. Now Mo admitted in a Letter of Confession that he was an alcoholic and had ruined his oesophagus and stomach through heavy drinking. But he blamed his drinking binges on those who had deserted and betrayed him.
‘See, I’m not like other preachers who hide their sins,’ he would write in his confessions. ‘I’m a terrible sinner, but God has chosen me to lead you. God still called King David of Israel “a man after his own heart” even after he had Uriah murdered so he could marry his wife. I’m just a man with many faults, but when I’m in the spirit, I’m God’s prophet and King.’
This show of openness and false humility was swallowed hook, line and sinker. Dad would tell me, ‘He’s so humble, if only we could be more like him.’ But slowly I began to see the glaring double standard, and that the adults seemed to readily excuse his indiscretions because he was ‘God’s anointed’.
Maria was constantly sending out prayer requests for his health and would blame us for our lack of fervency in prayer when he became seriously sick and unable to eat solid foods. We had to fast and pray for our prophet’s healing on many occasions. During these three-day fasts, no solid food, sex, or alcohol was allowed. Children like me who were under twelve were given minimal food, usually liquid soup, and the hunger pangs were just as difficult to endure as the long prayer and prophecy sessions.
Up until this time, our cook, Antonio, made wine by fermenting grapes in large containers. This meant that alcohol was free flowing. Some apparently could not hold their drink. One morning, on the day after an orgy, I could see that the adults were on edge as we were all summoned to the living room. Paul Peloquin rolled in, his face like thunder.
‘There is sin in the camp! The Devil has been allowed to get in!’ he roared.
I knew something must have happened to get him going like this and listened carefully. From his ranting, I pieced together that one of the men, Paul Michael, had done some ‘perversion’ in the bedroom with Endureth, the mother of Renee and Daniella. I tried to imagine what it might be. As his ranting escalated to the frothing at the mouth and arms waving level, I sat there terrified at what he would do next. I wondered why the children were in trouble too. I did not drink wine. I had been in bed asleep.
‘There has been too much partying and drinking, damn it!’ Paul shouted. ‘Antonio, I want you to bring all the wine containers here right now and line them up on this table,’ he ordered.
Antonio scuttled back and forth as he brought out every last wine bottle and container from the storage room. There were at least fifteen of them.
‘Is that everything?’ Paul yelled.
‘Yes, sir,’ Antonio replied, and sat down.
Paul picked up the first of the large containers. He could barely lift it off the table. ‘There will be no more drinking. Period! If this is what is causing the poison in the camp, then it’s going to go. And if you think I don’t mean it, then…’
In what seemed like slow motion, I watched him throw his arms back and hurl one container after another out on to the patio. The sound of crashing glass continued for ten minutes, as he chucked every last bottle out.
I looked in horror at the