Black Church, White Church: Finding My Home As A Black British Christian | Black Ballad

When I think back to the Sundays of my childhood, I think of the minibus that my dad drove every Sunday. I remember him navigating the hilly roads of the island countryside, picking up smiling, chatty and immaculately dressed passengers along the way. I remember the children bickering in their frilly frocks, wrinkled men in their fresh pressed suits, and beautiful women with accessories so flamboyant they put London Fashion Week to shame…

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