The Legend of the Seeker II

I felt sedate again, just like the other times: after I watched my grandmother die and after I beheaded the "amili" priestess. I shivered in fear as I looked at what I had done. The machete in my hand was dripping blood and on the floor lay two lifeless bodies. I killed the king! The queen joined him in the great beyond when she wouldn't stop screaming for help.

My heart began to race, the hair at the back of my neck stood up and I faded again. By the time I jerked back to reality, the whole palace was covered in red. I had killed every single inhabitant including children in another fit. The bodies of the palace guards littered the ground and the paths along the palace seemed to be unusually deserted.

I was still wondering what was going on when I blanked out yet again. This time I struggled not to fall into sleep but a hand pulled me away from my body. My body went angrily into the village and killed everything that breathed. Every creeping being, every tree, every farmland, in fact every living thing died by my hand. 

For the first time i saw my body do the things I was responsible for. In a split second, my body came back to where I watched helplessly and I felt the same hand push me back into it. I woke up sweating, this time my arms and legs ached. The entire village was desolate.

I was scared, I didn't know what to do. Everyone was dead, every tree was uprooted, every animal laid lifeless. I threw the accursed machete onto a pile of bodies and went to the stream for a thorough wash. I left the massacre and headed down south towards Izundu. Perhaps this was a chance to visit the famed no-go area.

The people of Izundu used to be very weak and were vassal to our village despite their access to better weapons. Their luck changed when they accepted the white man's god: they defeated our cavalry with just 30 men. The great men of our village fell in battle like over-ripe mangoes even though the men of Izundu didn't throw a spear or raise a machete.

From that day on, everyone feared Izundu and the white man's god. Nobody ever stepped foot in Izundu again. We were forbidden to marry from them or trade with them. I had heard tales of the white man's god and I hoped to seek refuge in him, deep down I hoped he was real.

After walking for 3 days and 3 nights, I finally set my eyes on a compound; the sight alone strengthened my weary legs. I saw baby-strapping women pounding the foo-foo and the grey bearded men drank lots of palmwine, laughing loudly as they told tales to the dreamy eyed youngsters that surrounded them. People walked about beaming with smiles, dressing strangely and carrying big black things; everyone seemed happy.
Full of hope I approached a teenage boy who was dressed in funny clothes and asked him where the white man's god was. The boy looked surprised but pointed eastwards and mumbled 'Revren'.

The Legend of the Seeker

My Grandmother used to cane me thoroughly when I erred as a child. In situations where it wasn't proven that I erred, it wasn't alien to be at the receiving end of thunderous slaps and mean knocks.

The path was like this: I did something wrong - my grandmother got angry - I got caned - I screamed to elicit the neighbours' pity - they scolded and caned me further - I cried uncontrollably - I stopped crying - I did it again some other time.

By the time I was 12, strokes of cane against my bare back thrilled me. It was a time to display my ability to resist the cane. I sometimes withstood heavy flogging from my grandmother just to frustrate her. I laughed hysterically during flogging sessions or sometimes stood lifeless like a log till the proceedings were over.

I recall frustrating my grandmother so bad that she flogged me till she collapsed. Despite the intensity of the flogging, I didn't shed a tear. I was out of control, nobody could caution me or give me instructions; I simply did what I wanted, when I willed and how I wished.

By the time I was 15, I stole a cockerel and sold it for 5 cowries to an unsuspecting woman who thought my sick father needed the money to pay a physician. A few years later, I joined a gang and officially became a miscreant. I later killed my grandmother in a fit of anger because she questioned my whereabouts.

I recall planning my own grandmother's death. I tied her hands, legs and gagged her mouth with a dirty cloth before I beheaded her with my machete. Her head was sent flying at the strike of my machete and her body jerked violently for the next few seconds. I don't know what came over me or why I did what I did.

My grandmother was the only family I had left as every other relative I had were either killed in the legendary war against Izundu Village or didn't want to have anything to do with me because of my reputation. I sulked for a few days and later went on a rampage to pacify my bleeding heart, I beheaded the priestess right before the shrine of "Amili", the god of purity.

In my short life, I had killed too many people, stolen from too many people, raped too many virgins and defiled the shrine of too many gods. The whole village whispered that "mozumba", the god of vengeance would avenge the sacrilege I committed at the shrine of his estranged wife "amili". I was accursed because I killed my own blood and was renamed accordingly.

For once I was scared, the rumoured wrath of the gods that awaited me made me shudder anytime I thought about it. I was scarred by the death of my grandmother as I kept hallucinating; I hadn't got any sleep in 10 days. I was losing my mind.

One windy market day, I got up, picked up my machete; the same machete that beheaded my grandmother and the 'amili' priestess. I made my way into the palace and killed the king in his inner chambers. Two strikes against his neck, the king's blood was gushing like a Japanese fountain.
                                                    (The story continues next week)

Saturday Special

I bumped into an ex-girlfriend at Cold Stone creamery and I couldn't help but write my about encounter. My one-time African Queen had grown to become a colossal nightmare in the space of barely 5 years. She looked like Nemo as she walked back to her seat with 2 large cups containing scoops of different flavours.

 With my eyes, I traced her to her seat and watched her eat. What I saw was shocking, if I decide to narrate, things would definitely get awry. Let's just say nobody should eat like that especially as a lady in public.

 I was still watching her eat greedily when she caught my gaze on her. She screamed excitedly and came over to my table 'pizza in hand'. I couldn't have wished for worse; she force hugged me, rubbing her seemingly water-logged body against mine and planted a kiss on my cheek with her ice cream stained mouth. Her breath smelled of onions and I could even hear her breathe loudly.

 After the usual pleasantries which I kept at its briefest, I tried to dismiss her to no avail. She kept talking loudly about old times and asking what happened to our love. The embarrassment was killing me, I didn't want to be associated with her in any way, most especially not before an audience.

 Eventually, she left. I could swear that this same girl who once oozed the pulchritude of Mila Kunis now had a striking resemblance to an Egyptian onion. So much dangling fat and many folds encompassed her corpus. I considered talking to her about her weight but decided to keep mum.

 If this write-up sparks up anger, resentment or makes you feel uncomfortable, so much so that you are asking yourself certain questions or concluding about the writer's position, then the following are for you:

 •Yes I know some of us have it in our genes to be big, this doesn't mean we should go about doing what slimmer people would do especially in the area of food. We are at a risk already, why put ourselves in harm's way?

 •The modification of certain words in the dictionary such as Fat shouldn't delude us. There is a clear difference between being plus sized/thick and being fat. Any misuse would attract great scorn from the public. Hence, be sincere with yourself about how you look and take it from there.

 •The holy book says "if thou be a man given to appetite, put a knife to your throat...". Self control is key. I know you have various slimming teas and shakes, I'm aware you go for detox sessions too. Notwithstanding, make a conscious effort to eat with caution judging from the fact that you're not aspiring to become a sumo wrestler.

 Nuff said.

Never Leave Me

I remember when my wife broke the news of her conception to me; it was like I had won the lottery. So much joy swelled from my inside, I couldn't contain it. My countenance changed instantly; every kid I saw at the mall or on TV suddenly began to look adorable and cute. I couldn't wait to get my fatherly hands on mine.

We discovered that we were expecting quadruplets and we were excited by the news. I publicly acknowledged God's multiple blessings in our lives. "Kids are the heritage of the Lord", I told anyone that cared to listen.

It was all lime and tequila up until the quadruplets arrived, all boys. The first few days after their birth were full of excitement, then reality set in. The provisions shelf would go empty a few days after being fully stocked, there was need to buy everything in fours, my wife suddenly needed a maid, the generator had to be on overnight so the babies could sleep.

This was beginning to get to me, financially and in other regards. Sometimes I bemoaned the situation. Our blessing suddenly became our predicament in my eyes. Finding me staring blankly and sighing thereafter was a common occurrence. I sold my plot of land at Mowe (my only asset) to raise the much needed funds, thus implying that we were going to be tenants till I could afford to develop another plot.

Everything happened so fast, I couldn't even fathom what was going on. Shortly after, I lost my job. I concluded that the kids were not a bundle of joy but a bouquet of misfortune. Then I blamed my wife for having a bad head, an "oloriburuku" as my kinsmen would say. God's issue was on another level, if he truly existed he must have been an evil person.

I was very bitter. Two days later, my body was dangling from a rope tied to the fan in my bedroom. I thought peace from the wicked world and my unfortunate kids would come thereafter. I was wrong!

Looking down from the land of the dead, I saw my unemployed wife live every day in sorrow with 4 infants in a rented apartment. The only assets I left behind were our belongings and my 2005 model Toyota; all liabilities. No real friends to even comfort her; that didn't look like peace to me.

One quick look at my wife's thoughts and I regretted leaving her. She thought I was a coward, that I was selfish and insensitive. Yet she prayed for my soul to find peace. I was really silly to have treated my wife and kids that way. "Too late!” the ministering spirit assigned to me cried.

It is too late for me but not for you.

Never leave your loved ones alone especially in trying times, be sensitive enough to know that whatever decision you make goes beyond you; the lives of others may be made or marred by a choice you choose to choose.

Yimu

I was born into a family of staunch orthodox Christians and was virtually raised in the church premises. Certain things were not a surprise to me even though my friends at school thought it was a weird way to live.

We had a family pew in church on which we sat every Sunday, we waited long hours after service while our parents wasted our precious Sunday afternoons in pointless meetings - at least they were to me, we did harvests/anniversaries almost every Sunday and we were forced to go to church every Saturday evening for one practice or the other. Many other things happened, things I cannot speak of.

I had always hated Church because I thought it was the most boring place to be. Keeping vigil with my PlayStation was more appealing to me than a spirit-filled Sunday with the Lord, after all I wasn’t the one who killed Jesus. Nevertheless, my parents would have none of it so I had to be in church at least twice a week.

Let me share an experience with you, an experience I would never forget. I had just returned from Fantasy Land (it is a place where kids play arcade games and have fun, a kind of theme park), in my hand was a small white nylon branded Mr. Biggs. I was so famished that consuming a whole cow would have been nothing to me.

The bag contained a sausage roll, a meat pie and a can of Fanta. Immediately the driver dropped me at the church premises, I walked briskly to a quiet spot to consume my goodies, alone without any undue interference from green-eyed monsters. Footsteps approached momentarily as I began the activity.

A few seconds later, Mrs Doherty aka Iya Ijo was by my side smiling sheepishly as she peered into my nylon. After greeting her like I was supposed to, she wouldn't take her leave therefore creating an awkward situation. "Come and eat ma", I said. Where I come from, it is regarded as courtesy to invite someone to join in a meal. I secretly hoped that she would politely decline and giddy-up, I hoped amiss.

Iya Ijo's face lightened as she shockingly joined me in my meal. She sat until the end, cutting a half of my sausage and two-third of my meat pie. She shamelessly drank my Fanta too and got up immediately after the proceedings were over. I watched her leave with near bloodshot eyes and my heart silently cursed her.

I vowed never to invite anybody to a meal if I didn't really want them to eat with me. My stomach kept churning loudly demanding for more food. Never again did I say anything I didn't really mean.

A bitter lesson was learnt, a lesson I would never forget.

"Manner are the hypocrisy of a nation" - Honore de Balzac