《A noble blood sacrifice》


 Tragedy

    I probably wouldn''t be doing it if my father hadn''t died. But before I tell you about my family, I have to tell you about Shuma. The only orphan I''ve ever met. At least on a personal basis. His mother, Mmametsi, passed away when we were sixteen. Got caught in the river current during the spring rains. The tide was pretty unpredictable to be fair. If you mistimed your crossing and the rain had just started falling, you could be forgiven to believe you could make it in time.


    Mmametsi''s body was only found 12 days after an exhaustive search campaign. Some teenagers from a neighbouring village were casually fishing when she floated up to their bank. Face down, bloated and gangrened. She still had on her maroon dress with the single sequined pattern around the neck. Authorities had to pry her hand open to loose the marriage beads they used for identification. Her husband, Mashilo, had described THEM with the most detail in his missing person''s report. They were normally loosely tied around her left wrist. The Southern African cultural equivalent of the western marriage ring.


    The pain of losing a soulmate never left Shuma''s dad. He swallowed rat poison a year later. Probably thinking he would join her wherever she had gone. With that level of selfishness, I doubt it. He must not have cared much that his son was still alive. That carried little meaning to his logic. Poor Shuma had to watch the froth envelop his father''s mouth as he held him in his arms. He saw the stomach expand like a balloon. Eyes rocking rapidly back and forth. The cramping and moaning and writhing. Shuma watched the whole thing. Up until his father''s last twitch.


    He told me the story once. Never repeated it again. But I could tell it disturbed him. Even at that inexperienced age I could tell. The internal signs externalized pretty quickly thereafter. We don''t have things like trauma counselling and ¡­ psychology this and that in Bokoni village. Those are all city luxuries that our local councils budget allocations don''t cater to. Or maybe THOSE funds disappeared collectively with the ones meant for the mysterious road construction project that was STILL. TO. HAPPEN. Spanning all the way before my birth. But that''s about the least of our grievances


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    Shuma''s disturbia wouldn''t allow him to focus in school. He dropped out in the Sixth Grade. According to hearsay, the consensus amongst the teachers was that he was a hopeless case who had become unnecessary to the aims of the school system. Based on most of the teachers dwindling patience towards him, certain of them in particular constantly putting him down and losing their tempers at him every chance they could get, I believe the postulation to be true. Nobody tried to help him any further in life after that.


    He continued to live in his parent''s single bedroom house. A half shack half house hybrid. His father had never done much with his life. Holding down whatever job he could for whatever money he would get. Sometimes not getting paid at all. Always talking about the big house he was going to build for his family. That the rest of the community better watch out for his big surprise. His mom did domestic work in the city. Coming home at the end of every Friday. Then leaving again on Sundays. She was the breadwinner of the house. Shuma knew his father more, and wasn''t impressed. He had dreams of being better than him. Becoming a stalwart in the community. Remove himself from the Ramphalane surname as far as he could.


    No longer having parents, Shuma did odd jobs for food and a little extra if he was lucky. He had always been good with his hands. Better than most of us actually. So he was popular with the villagers. Who were more than happy to pay him with a loaf of bread and a carton of milk. That''s about as much as he was worth to them.

 Rumors

    There came a point when jobs were very scarce. In fact, there were none at all for my impoverished neighbor. He maintained the core musculature of hard labor, but he became eerily thin. Bones protruding in the wrong places. Cheeks retracting their puffiness. I felt sorry for him. We had grown up together after all. But, like the rest of the village, he did his best to stay away from my family and me.


    Rumors were abound about my mother and the mysterious circumstances of my father¡¯s death. These rumors were perpetuated by the fact that a funeral service was never held for the body. This being a particular directive from my father himself when he was still alive. That fact mattered little though. His immediate family labelled us a coven of witches who deserved to die. The breaking of age old traditions. My mother refusing to budge regardless of threats and intimidations from my uncles. Uncles who, by the way, proclaimed everlasting love, protection and loyalty once upon a time. All reversed in a single moment. Nobody, relative or otherwise, has ever come to our house since then. And there is apparently an unwritten rule to not walk past our gates after dark.


    But I¡¯m not fazed. I walk where and when as I please. Shop where I please. If I need something I will go and request it from whomever. I mostly get denied but there are people who are still willing to socialize with me. Albeit on a very limited ¡°Hello. How can I help you? Goodbye¡± basis. But like I said, I am not fazed. I get around these annoyances without ever giving my enemies the satisfaction of allowing them to believe I require their affections at any point in this life or the next. To hell with them all.


    Shuma was never my enemy. He didn¡¯t speak so I wouldn¡¯t know if he was anyway. He stopped speaking years ago. It was a gradual process. He devolved from making incoherent speech, to speaking just a few words at a time. Then to grunts, groans and deep throated mumbling. Eventually he just used body language with a short hum here and there.


    I decided to pay him a visit one day since he wasn¡¯t going to pay me one during my lifetime. I entered his yard and found him sitting on the porch. Staring lengthily at something in the magazine he was holding. It was probably the dinner recipe section. I looked at his forlorn figure with sadness in my heart. His surprised eyes darted away as soon as they made contact with mine. ¡°Long time,¡± I said breaking the ice. He turned the page in his magazine. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you. You¡¯re not getting any more jobs. For quite some time now. I think I can help.¡± He turned another page as I squatted down to his level. ¡°I think we can be friends again. Not that we ever became enemies. But I think we should, you know, be close again. If you remember.¡± I tried to express my words with hand gestures as best I could. Involuntarily mind you. ¡°It would not be brotherly of me to stand by and watch you suffer. Let people use you and demean you the way they do. I also know that you hear what everybody else hears. The fact that you¡¯ve avoided me for so long means you¡¯ve taken what you¡¯ve heard to heart. That¡¯s a real shame if you ask me. In my opinion, you wouldn¡¯t be in the situation you¡¯re in if we had never drifted apart.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    He began swaying his knees in tandem. Still ¡®reading¡¯ his magazine. ¡°I want to offer you a job. I¡¯ll make sure you don¡¯t go hungry. Even when you¡¯re not working you¡¯ll always be taken care of. And other benefits on top.¡± He looked up at me. His eyes were pleading on his mouths behalf. ¡°Come tomorrow morning and we can discuss things further. See if you can handle the assignment.¡± He was looking at me without looking. Like holding a chicken bone to a puppy¡¯s nose but pulling away when it thinks its about to take a bite. So it pretends it won¡¯t but you already know it will if you turn the other way. My old friend even forgot to turn the pages in his magazine.


    ¡°There is a condition though and it¡¯s very important,¡± I continued. ¡°Once you start you cannot work for anyone else. You¡¯ll find out why as time goes on. So make sure you are free and available at all times.¡± I could hear his stomach growl during the entire conversation. I just didn¡¯t pay attention until that moment. I knew the deal was sealed. He just tried to hide his joy as best he could. His stomach gave him away. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡± I said. Putting a little more authority into my voice. I stood up, patted his shoulder, then turned and walked out the gate. Down the dusty village road. Continued further still towards the cemetery by the villages end. Then some more. Through the heavy stubborn bush overlooked by the great mountain Badimo Ba Lla.


    Now if I were to describe Shuma, I would say he was pretty much a by the book weirdo. Extended staring, awkward presence, never smiling, recluse. But he had an extraordinary work ethic. His physical attributes, prior to the involuntary hunger strike, consist of a dark skin tone. Squared off natural muscles with rounded edges. Wire like hair with a bushy consistency. Sandpaper hands. Almost chubby cheekbones. Bloodshot eyes and crusty lips. His lack of speech left him susceptible to unscrupulous ¡®employees¡¯. To the point that his humanity was disregarded for the chance to acquire maximum labor for minimal, if any, pay. That¡¯s if food can be considered pay. I¡¯m pretty sure he must have felt good about the arrangement I offered. Knowing he¡¯s not going hungry anymore. Even on his off days. Staying in a proper house with a family. We were going to rekindle our friendship just like the old days. When we were still innocent minded. Before rumors and slander got into his head.

 Home is where the heart is

    I make my living at the plastic production plant. In the neighboring Khesani District. I¡¯m an injection molder with 3 years¡¯ experience. Couldn¡¯t make it to varsity to acquire an associate Degree but still got the position. People actually believe that ¡°dark forces¡± were involved in my getting the job. But it was really just hard work and believing in myself. And following my mentors instructions. I¡¯ve learnt a lot doing this job. I feel like my ancestors chose it for me. To complement my spiritual abilities. And to make a decent income.


    I have a one bedroom apartment I¡¯m renting during the course of every month. It¡¯s a twenty minute walk from the hospital. And a twenty minute taxi ride from work. But home is where the heart is. And I can¡¯t resist staying away for too long. I make sure to work overtime so I can accumulate a considerable amount of days to spend at home on the last week or so of every month. It doesn¡¯t always work out that way. Being that my colleagues are human and all. So I tolerate their short comings as long as I need to. But my patience is wearing thin.


    I have two younger sisters. Lesedi is 6 years my junior and Naledi 7 years respectively. They like to pretend they¡¯re twins. Finishing each others sentences. Dressing identically. Cuddling each other. To the outside eye it might seem strange as they have marked physical differences. But I grew up watching the whole process. They have clung to each other since the youngest one learnt to walk. Their clinginess is normal to me as a result. The only person they cling to more, is my mother.


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    My mother stays indoors most of the time. So of course my sisters do the same. I am markedly darker than all of them. Kissed by the rich sun of the Lenaka Province. I¡¯m not black though. Just a darker, stronger shade of brown. A contrast to the almost pale yellow skin tone of the women in my life. Reminiscent of the oral legends of the first rain queens and their apparent lightened complexions earned through countless years of seclusion. Almost identical stories. Except that my mothers reason for not leaving the house was a less spectacular one.


    She had suffered a great fall many years back. Slipped on a wet rock while coming down from Badimo Ba Lla. They were still fetching water in those days and had to ascend at least a quarter of a kilometer to get to it. It streamed down an icicle stream from the mouth of a cave higher up in the mountain. Nobody knew how the ice was forming in this tropical part of the world. Many theories were abound but none were ever proven.


    If the ice dried up so did the water source. Then there would be an inconsistent line of traffic when word came out that it was back. Bodies rushing up disturbed the ones traversing down, who would by now be carrying heavy buckets of water on their heads while trying to maintain their balance. This while descending down a slippery cliff face. Avoiding shoulder bumps all at the same time.


    These outdated living conditions were before the borehole system was instituted by the municipality. For us and other neighboring villages like ours. We couldn''t fetch water from the river. It had become unfit for consumption a long time ago when mining and industry boomed in the province. As the population grew and the water supply remained the same, fetching water became more perilous. After a bad step while trying to avoid someone, my mother tumbled down at least 13 meters of jagged rock. She stopped with a painful thump on a human sized slab at the bottom of the mountain. We had left my then 3 and 2 year old sisters at a neighbors house and I was literally jogging behind my father as he giraffed ahead of me.

 Like mother like family

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 The garden of eden

    He caught me off guard when he showed up at the yard that Shuma. Almost stopped my heart in its tracks. I was bent over pulling some wild eucalyptus when I stood up to find him just standing there, staring at me. ¡°You¡¯re gona give me a coronary,¡± I said to him. He just blinked. I bent down to pick up the herbs I had dropped. ¡°I¡¯m glad you came. And just in time,¡± I said. ¡°You can see all the dead flowers and over grown weeds from the moment you step through the gate.¡± I straightened up and began a slow walk. ¡°Then you get into a fight with the blackjacks the rest of the way.¡± I tried to sound as concerned and excited at the same time as I could. I needed him to agree to the project. No-one else would be willing to take such a large project. Well, nobody would take on anything from our yard. That¡¯s how it got the way it did. ¡°By the way, did you come in through the gate?¡± I asked curiously. Seeing as I didn¡¯t hear the lock mechanism sound off. He nodded his head once. First thing he ever said to me in years. Actions being louder than words and all that. In my excitement, I rambled on longer than I intended to.


    I was telling him all about how being that I was the only one who came outside, my coming outside not being out of absolute necessity, I did not enjoy the restrictions of movement around the property placed upon by the invasion of unwanted greenery. ¡°The end goal is for it to be returned to its former splendor,¡± I said. ¡°Just like when my father tended to it. Every day tilling and picking and sifting. We could eat from it just as much as we could just sit back and enjoy the sights and sounds. Birds perched on different trees. Bees buzzing from flower to flower. That thick pollen musk mixed with the earthy aroma of moist soil.¡± I was telling him the stone truth.


    Back then It was like living in the wild but without the poisonous stuff you struggled to avoid. Every berry was edible and every insect was useful. Well, everything except rogue snakes that popped up here and there. Especially tree snakes. One would hang around for a day or two. Catch a bird or something if it was lucky. They didn¡¯t bother you if you didn¡¯t bother them. Eventually getting chased away by the constant commotion from my father and his ¡°garden machines¡± as he called them. Whatever they were. We were always sleeping when he was busy. By the time we woke up, land would have been tilled or trees planted or a plan laid out for a new or updated section. How or with who we didn¡¯t know. I always felt I shouldn¡¯t ask. I was just happy to see him at the breakfast table every morning after he was done washing himself. Then after breakfast. I would stare through the kitchen window in marvel. ¡°You¡¯re too young now but one day you¡¯ll be strong enough,¡± he would tell me. Intellectually tapping at his temple.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    My father sold fresh produce straight from the yard to the street. The rest went to market. Ntate Malaisha would deliver it to and fro in his 14 00 bakkie. Getting his cut at the end of each week. We still had friendly neighbors back then. Not many had cars in those days but they helped in whichever way they could. There was never a shortage of smiling customers either. Appreciating the amazingly high quality of goods. Apparently my father¡¯s fruits and veggies had a distinct taste that set them apart from any other. And he grew herbs too. For healing various sicknesses. He was known all over the Bokoni district for his healing work. Our home was a constant hive of activity.


    When my father died, it all stopped. The business. The friendly faces. The comfortable lifestyle. I was demotivated to continue my fathers work as a result. I didn¡¯t have his green finger. I was more into economics and engineering than gardening. My mother¡¯s disability meant she couldn¡¯t do much to help physically. Couple that with everybody who¡¯d turned against us and it was a lost cause. I was forced to stop my studies as there was no income to subsidize my education. And no longer any food to eat.


    My sisters had just entered high school. They needed new uniforms and shoes. The garden had died with my father. Weeds had taken his place. I had taken mine in the city. I worked my way up. My mother and I worked very hard to make it all happen. I¡¯m not where I wanted to be initially, but it¡¯s enough to keep my family from starving themselves into servitude of some kind. And my sisters are the best dressed high school students in the Bakoni district.

 An old friend

    I led Shuma through the front door and straight to the dining room. Sat him down on my great great grandfather''s rocking chair. A real antique. Besides a slight creek and a patched up right arm rest, you could consider it as good as new. Shuma enjoyed the rocking. As soon as he sat down he slouched in and shut his eyes for a couple of seconds. He stopped himself when he realized I was watching him. I didn''t mind, but I knew his shyness wouldn''t permit him to continue. He smiled at me slightly before looking away. Our second interaction in as many minutes. I smiled in dedication of my achievements this day.


    My mother came in the room at this time. Wearing a yellow sundress dotted with red and black flowers. It hugged her buxom figure at the waist, then flailed out into a sequined pattern until it looked like it was unwrapping with each step she took right by the ankles. She wore an assortment of bracelets on both arms and a single necklace made of cow hide around her neck. It threaded through an undated silver 1 cent coin. These had gone out of circulation in ''76. Four years before I was born. Only God knows how old it was. She was followed by my sisters. Still in their school dresses. But with matching lace up tank tops. A thick gold chain on each of their necks with gold earrings to match. And snake skin toe ring wedge sandals. For a pair of young girls who tried with all their might to avoid the outside world, they looked very worldly.


    Shuma had stood up at this point but my mother quickly shooed him back down. He remained standing regardless. So my mother took him by the hands and said, "Sit down my baby. Sit." Guiding him like clouds in the wind. Then she measuredly slinked her perfect figure towards the couch. Tucking her dress as she climbed on. Her feet always stay surprisingly clean for someone who constantly walks barefoot. She is as beautiful as evergreens with an aroma to match. I have personally not noticed any change to her appearance in close to 8 years. She has become timeless. And my sisters are not too far behind. A couple more years to mature and they will be just as beautiful, if not more. They both knelt down on the kudu hide on either side of our matriarch. Naledi placing her hands on mother''s legs, then resting her head on top. Lesedi propping her head on mothers protruding knee. All of them eyeing Shuma. Myself included.


    "It''s been so long since I last saw you my boy," my mother said. Breaking the silence. "You were just a sweet little innocent angel. You still are. Only now you are a man. But you are still a sweet little angel to me. You''ll always be." I saw Shuma''s dark cheeks turn darker. I let out a bit of a chuckle to myself. She was a charmer my mother. I always believed if she had not relegated herself to the house like she did, she would have snagged herself a man from the city in no time. Someone to take care of her. Provide for her. Love her. Maybe even get her back fixed if she aimed financially high enough. The medical procedure to lock her vertebrates back in place, preventing them from shifting out of sync, was possible but extremely expensive. This was according to the medical expert I had taken her to three years ago. I wasn''t making enough for that kind of an operation. I would need to work a little longer to save that much. A lot longer. For now, she would have to maintain her distinct measured upright slink for a couple more years to come.


    If she scored herself a decent sugar daddy and trapped him in her silk tinged honey lipped hypnotism, he would not think twice about parting with his last dime. If it meant giving her the life she had missed for so many years and sharing it with him, it would be his pleasure. I had taken that mantle by default. I was more than happy to keep it. The role was fulfilling. It was nothing sexual of course. I would probably break her apart before we even got to the first round. Tasteless joke I know. But ¡­ It was the love. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. My heart skipped a beat every time she looked me in my eyes. Or spoke certain words in a ¡­ in a specific way. I knew what my father felt. I felt him inside me when I spoke to her. His heart beating fast each time I held her. I felt his every emotion towards her. But I wasn''t my father. Not in the complete sense. I wish I could have him back. We all do.


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    "Naledi, fetch Shuma''s plate in the kitchen," my mother ordered. Naledi stood up and disappeared in the maze of walls. Our house is pretty sizeable for one located in an a "backwards village type" community. If not for the money I''ve been putting away, it could have been bigger than it already is. But four bedrooms will do for now. The distant sound of plates and cutlery was giving Naledi''s position away. She returned with a plate filled to the brim with millie meal pap, a decent portion of chicken, gravy and a side of garnished potato salad. The food was almost dripping off the plate. And this was one of the bigger plates from the guest''s only cutlery section. The section that had gathered literal dust. I wanted to reprimand Naledi for putting so much food on a plate in one go. Especially for a guest. But I didn''t want to make our guest uncomfortable. His hands looked so grateful accepting the meal, I felt I would disturb his mouths anticipation if I spoke.


    Upon tipper trucking his meal, Shuma became drowsy and inebriated. After an attempt to get away with a silent burp, he held the empty plate in both hands with his mouth hanging as if taking a break from a laborious task. Naledi stood up and removed the plate from his hands. I''m not sure if he realized this had happened as besides his hands flopping to a hanging position, he did not change posture or facial appearance.


    Lesedi, who had followed Naledi to the kitchen, returned with a bowl of water and a hand towel. She stood motioning for at least half a minute before she took matters into her own hands. As she held his hands in hers, washing them with tender care, he lifted his head and met her eyes. She gave a light smile and continued her task. He wouldn''t take his eyes off of her. Even as she packed up and walked back to the kitchen. His eyes followed her every move.


    Shuma seemed to be embarrassed by his staring episode just a short while ago. His head dropped to the floor immediatley when Lesedi reappeared. Both her and Naledi took their positions by my mother once again. The chair was rocking slightly from erratic foot play, giving away Shuma''s discomfort even further. "Relax," I said to him. "Lay back in the chair and enjoy the repurposed leather." I had taken it to an upholstery shop in town two weeks ago. It still had the smell of new leather when you got close to it. Shuma obliged me as he took a deep breath and slouched back. The chair rocked again. Slightly harder than the first time as he had placed his feet on each of the rockers and flapped them up and down. He gave out a spirited yawn and stretched his arms out. Then he sighed as his head fell to one side while he scratched his neck. Then he lay his head in his palm while his elbow balanced on the arm rest.

 Rock a bye baby

    "Anybody up for a song," my mother said. She always knew the right things to say. "Let''s sing the song of Sheppard''s," chirped Naledi. "Yes. I''ll start it," added Lesedi. She began humming a mid-tempo tune while swaying side to side. Naledi quickly followed. I exited proceedings in order to retrieve some incense from the prayer room. I returned to find the ladies in full harmony. Lesedi''s gentle soprano, Naledi''s hard tenor and my mother on bass. I placed a saucer half filled with holy oil in the middle of the room. Lighting the incense, I floated it on the top. Then I spun it gently and watched the smoke twirl in unison. I sauntered over to the couch and squeezed myself between my sisters. My mother lowered her hand from her neck to brush my freshly shaved head as I took over the bass part of the harmony.


    The words of the song differ just as seasons are not the same. We always allow my mother to lead. Her experience allows her to find just the right words to say at the appropriate intervals. It always begins with, "The wind blows and the birds return from the north of old. The leaves whither on the branches but the tree continues to grow. Making way for the next cycle after the winter''s cold. Perpetual seasons leaven the land with growth. This I know. Celestial Sheppard''s guide the flock through time that flies unceasing. Flesh deteriorates and rejuvenates through life and deaths breathing." As we continue to hum, mother makes a prayer that only the ancestors can hear. We will all learn it one day. But we must first master finding the right words to the song because we still fumble our way through the important verses. I fumble less than my sisters. But fumbling is fumbling nonetheless. Then the song continues. "The pick to lift and show beneath. The sickle to reap the soul. Provide the flock with the path they seek. I ask you Sheppard''s of old."


    Shuma stared in awe as we sang. Polyphonic harmonies like wind instruments vocalised. He watched with heavy eyelids. Tears drowning his pupils as his brain forgot to tell his eyes to blink. His head collapsed into his palm causing his pose to become distorted. We continued swaying ourselves from side to side, until the rocking chair followed suit. It was slight at first. Hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. Soon enough it rocked in equal sways with ours. Just like my father rocked in it when he and my mother would teach us the song. My grandfather apparently rocked in the same chair when he and my grandmother taught my father. And my great grandfather did the same from what I heard. They always bore one boy in my family. He was always the eldest. And he was always tasked with maintaining family traditions. My fathers sudden death meant I had to learn quicker than I was supposed to. You can''t rush what I need to learn. Mistakes are not reversible. I''m doing my best so only God can judge me.


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    Shuma had passed out much quicker than we had expected. The gigantic meal must have had something to do with it. You learn everyday. There are two people who sit in that chair. Teachers, and born-agains. Born-agains are people with nothing to live for. Who have done everything they were born to do and have now completed their cycle of life. Criminals, liars, people who have lost the will to live. We give them a new beginning. A purpose that they had once upon a time is repurposed for the current and next generation. I would be honored to serve my family once my current purpose reaches its expiration. They can have their way with me however which way it pleases them. I would love them to.


    Shuma''s catatonic body suddenly tensed up. Causing our chorus to grow in franticness. His chest heaved up as his mouth stretched open for a very long breath. We hummed faster. My heart thumping through my breath. I never got used to this part Ever. His posture made him look like he was almost going to levitate off the chair. In an instant, the expanded chest lost all the air it had inhaled. His body collapsed back into the chair in a thud. Head buried in his chest. I never knew if they died at this point. I had never asked. I only follow instructions until such a time as that which is hidden is revealed. Our song gradually slowed down to a humming whisper. Then it stopped.

 Vile of the condemned

    "Prepare the feed," my mother ordered after a lengthy silence. I got up clunkily. Working the pins and needles out of my feet. "Put it in the bathroom. Then come back here and help your sisters carry him," she said staring at the inanimate Shuma. I went out through the back of the house to the storeroom. The lock was a bit tricky. You had to push the key inside, turn it, then kick the bottom. All the while moving your hands out the way just in time. Moving them too early, the key would slide back. Then you have do it again. And again. I got it right the second time around. Upon prying the door open, a spindly figure ran towards the shadows in the corner of the room.


    His name was Lerumo. Once a grade higher than Lesedi at the same high school. About 2 years ago he had tricked my sister into showing up at his house which was unattended. My sisters are very na?ve about the world. They don''t understand that people lie and commit deplorable acts. Then lie some more to keep themselves safe from the consequences of those actions. He had told her Naledi was at his house to fetch some study material and was waiting for her there. But Naledi had been excused to go home after throwing up in class earlier.


    Lerumo had been tasked by the teacher of that class to inform Lesedi that her sister had gone home. He had decided to be clever. He called her out from the class and spun an intricate story about Naledi and a fellow classmate. He made sure the fellow classmate mentioned was a female to ease my sister''s apprehensions. This is where not having anyone to talk to at school becomes a major disadvantage. Had she had at least one friend, she could have enquired further upon the matter and discovered the holes in his story.


    Upon arriving at the house, Lerumo coaxed her inside with promises that her sister was probably studying inside with her classmate. Her innocent mind led her in, at which point she was defenceless against him. He took away her innocence that day. The matter was reported to the police and school authorities. Both of who contended that my sister, who had never spoken to a boy outside of a menial request or two of little to no consequence if unheeded, had gone to this boy''s house out of her own volition. They did not even bother looking into the testing performed at the hospital. Compulsory for rape victims. Of course my mother and I knew the real reason why they showed such blatant disregard to the violations against my sister. And we weren''t going to let them get away with it.


    Like others who were guilty of violations against the family, he was repurposed. His duty had become to supply the essence that invigorates others who required a new lease on life. Lesedi was instrumental in getting him here. I give her absolute credit in burying her feelings in order to subdue him into walking through our very doors. It must have taken everything she had to sweet talk him. The little my mother had taught her. Allow him to sweet talk her back. Touch her inappropriately. Put up with his Evil Rotten Despicable ¡­ let me get a hold of myself ¡­ She maintained her composure the entire walk.


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    He wasn''t going to sit down when he realised she wasn''t alone. So I had to use brute force, unwillingly of-course, to knock him senseless. I was careful not to kill him. God knows I was tempted, but I held back just enough in my swing not to shatter his cranium. I had studied quite a bit of biology during my varsity years in my spare time. Obviously I hadn''t studied enough to consider professorship or anything like that. But the little I had learnt went a long way. We are not killers in this house. That''s for the blackened of hearts with agenda''s tied to demons and insatiable jealous streaks. We don''t follow demons and we are not jealous people. We only do what''s right and what''s necessary. One or the other depending on the circumstances.


    We didn''t even bother placing him in the chair. He wasn''t worth it. We only needed him for one thing anyway. We would find others for anything else we required. Many souls in this village are literally begging for our guidance. Were never short of helpers. We''ve just never found a real gardener before. Only chancers thus far. Unqualified and useless. We kept Lerumo alive through a special soup of herbs and raw meat, added much later when the soup cooled down. The herbs kept his blood healthy. The meat kept him fat just enough to not die during the blood draining. Otherwise his blood would coagulate before it even made it to the specialised container. Deeming Him useless.


    He should be grateful we let him live this long. He doesn''t like the blood draining. His body begins to shake uncontrollably when I pull out my knife. But deep inside, I think his zombified brain somehow understands that his life depends on it. It''s a really easy process. Takes a bit of time because you can''t rush it. You poke them in the stomach really deep. Place a filter by the wound, directing the blood into the Vile Of The Condemned. Then you let them bleed until you''re satisfied with the amount. After that you take a handful of yarrow, pre-mixed with salt water and mud.  Plaster it into the wound and feed them more of that herbal soup. I like to slap Lerumo''s face with the raw meat just to let him know what a vile scum he is. When you''re done you lock them away for another day. Clear, simple, little to no complications.

 From sleep to ressurection

    After filling the Vile Of The Condemned to the brim, I patched up my donor and left him in the dark. Just like his heart. Locking the door behind me I quickly made my way to the bathroom and placed the Vile Of The Condemned besides the bath. Someone had already filled the bath with luke warm water and placed aloe leaves inside which were floating at the top. I came back to the dining room to find Shuma had already had his clothes removed.


    My sisters were sitting on the couch with their hands folded. Looking as if they had been waiting for a while for my return. Even the incense had burnt out. The oil pitch black with ash. They approached the chair and lifted Shuma''s legs so they wouldn''t touch the floor. That was the most important rule of removing someone from the chair after a ceremony. Apparently if the feet touch the ground before the next stage, their spirit is reminded that they are of the earth plane. They begin to have memories which shock them back to the waking world. I haven''t found out yet how terrifying that must be. I hope I never do. I got behind Shuma and wrapped my arms underneath his then around his chest. I lifted him off the chair and we carried him to the bath.


    My mother followed us and as we placed the body in the tub, she picked up the Vile Of The Condemned. "Open his mouth," she ordered. I slid into the tub. Straddling Shuma from the back. My added weight causing the water level to rise until some of it splashed out onto the concrete floor. Then I brought my hands up to his face and pried his mouth open. My mother inserted the curved tongue of the vile inside. Then forced it down his throat. As she did so, the blood began to move. She tilted it in accordance with the speed of the movement. My sisters were normally fidgety and touchy feely. Not at that moment. They stood as still as the walls beside them. It took at least 30 minutes to empty the vile. Rushing the process would cause the blood to clog up the throat then spill out the mouth. Meaning I would have to go and milk the cow some more. Doing that twice could kill the donor. And the receiver. I''ve seen it before. When I tried it with only my sisters and me.


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    I pried open this man''s mouth this one time. We had found out that he was responsible for killing the villagers'' chickens and hanging them on our fence while we slept. We were almost attacked by the mob. The villagers had blindly Believed that we were killing their chickens to perform dark ceremonies. Then rubbing it in their faces as a show of disrespect. A freak flood stopped the amassing mob before they could descend onto our house. Destroyed a lot of property and caused a lot of damage all round. We never had anybody even attempt to raise a hand against any of us after that day. Honestly speaking, we had nothing to with the flood. Co-incidence is a beautiful thing. It can save your life. But they still taunted us every chance they got. Well, when I''m not around anyway. Like I said before, they''re a bunch of weak cowards.


    He died that man. Let''s ignore the fact that he was still snoring when we took to him to the bathroom. Or that he struggled, albeit with weak effort, as the liquid was poured down his throat. We did not know then, just as we don''t now, the secret prayers. Nor were we able to recite the song of the Sheppard''s using just the right words to say during the intervals. Then Lesedi lost her patience and began pouring too quickly. My and Naledi''s inexperience allowed her to continue unhindered. The man reanimated when the blood poured out of his mouth for the third time. He literally choked to death from the blood that was still in his throat as he tried to regurgitate it. Flailing his arms. Trying to scream through the gurgling with no luck.


    I could hear both of my sisters teeth chattering when the silence finally reigned the storm. Mine too. I can''t lie it was the scariest thing I had ever seen. My mother reprimanded us sternly after that. We never tried it again. Not without adult supervision. I understood then why my mother is always so slow and careful when pouring. My father was careful too. My mother used to hold the mouths open then. I have taken my mother''s place just as she has taken my fathers. My sisters have become little me''s. We are happy being our mothers subordinates. Mom knows best. We found that out the terrifying way.

 A new start

    As my mother continued to pour, Shuma''s stomach expanded in size. So much so that when the vile was emptied, his stomach had grown by at least 6 centimeters. I felt a jolt of excitement as my mother stepped away to give me room to climb out the tub. The community would no longer have the opportunity of taking advantage of an innocent soul. Using him abrasively then tossing him to the side like a dirty dish rag. The local kids will no longer make fun of him and give him silly names. And most importantly, he will never go hungry again. Never again will his willing demeanor, hardworking spirit and simple minded innocence be taken advantage of. We have taken away their free labor. Thank you''s and flowery compliments never fed a hungry stomach. Who will they take advantage of now? Ungrateful bastards.


    I washed the blood out of his mouth. Then lifted him out of the tub. My sisters already had towels wrapped around their hips. They disrobed and wiped him down. My mother was cleaning the Vile Of The Condemned in the washbasin. We then carried the corpse back to the dining room and laid it on the floor. My mother handed me the Vile Of The Condemned. I went to the backyard to bury it under a specially marked tombstone. This one sat away from the other tombstones, where all my ancestors lay. And my father lying beside them. This was the tombstone for the condemned. Farther back in the property away from my kin. I dug the hole and buried the vile. Until such a time as we find another born-again with a higher purpose. Then I will retrieve it again.


    By the time I returned, Naledi and Lesedi were almost finished lathering the body with lotion. The lotion smelled of camphor. His skin gleamed under the candle lights. Time flies when you''re doing God''s work. We could not turn on any fluorescent lights as the brightness was too strong. It would blind him before he ever opened his eyes. Then my friend would be a zombie rather than a born-again. Zombies are made by demon worshippers and people with evil agendas. Not our thing at all. My mother had knelt down by his forehead, massaging his temple and singing. When my sisters were done, Lesedi got up and fetched some clothes from the couch. Then they began to dress him up. I was leaning against the wall, watching everything. With my hands and clothes still dirty and bloody, I didn''t want to interfere.


    They dressed him in a scotch shirt, Brentwood pants, a fedora hat and Florsheim shoes. The exact outfit I last saw my father in before he died. My mother was praying again. I could see movement in Shuma''s chest but I wanted to be sure. I creeped closer as my sisters hummed the song my mother was singing. The closer I got, the more I could see that there was a definite breathing motion. I got close enough to see Shuma and my mother staring into each other''s eyes. My heart jumped. Once then twice. Then I smiled nervously when he noticed me. I guess I was hoping he would remember that we were friends. But his eyes didn''t show that. He showed me nothing.


    My mother lifted his head up. Then coaxed him to stand up on his own. He fell down a couple of times before he found his orientation. "Welcome back Shuma. My beautiful child. You are my child that I love so much. Come to mommy" He stumbled closer to her before falling onto his knees again. "He''s bowing to me," my mother said. Motioning with her hands as we joined in her laughter. "We should be bowing to you my beautiful angel. Stand up and come to me." He stood up once again and this time made it all the way. Mother embraced him and reassured him that it was going to be all okay. "Let''s welcome the newest member of our family." We all began to praise Shuma. My sisters ululating as I recited praise poetry in his name. My mother continued to reassure him as we jumped and shouted his name. "All that you have been through. You will feel pain no more. Our home is your sanctuary now. You will cry no more." It was a joyous time for us all introducing him to the world. My mother led him out to the front porch. Taking a deep breath as she did. Our song and dance followed right behind them.


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    They descended the porch and onto the yard. It had been two years since last I saw my mother come out the house completely. I had only heard rumours from my sisters that she did every now and again. I had not seen it with my own eyes. Being away at work so much and all. This really was a special day. "This yard is your playground. This land. This¡­" She bent down slowly. I bent down with her mentally. Guiding her movements with my strained breath. Then she stood back up with a cupped hand. "This soil. Do with it as you will. Make it a captivating garden. One that the angels will want to come and rest in. Created by one of their own."


    The dark brown desert they stood in did not inspire any thoughts of grandeur. Rather, I felt repulsed by it. Like I''d rather stay indoors than come outside. Walking through it was a chore. It just drained me of any motivation to get started in its reconstruction. I was fascinated to see what Shuma could possibly do with a mess of this magnitude. Mother tossed the soil to the side and took his head in her hands. I had to squint to be sure but sure enough it was that other woman again. I must be the only one that ever sees this because my sisters have never mentioned it to me before. Even at that moment I looked at them with purpose but they showed no surprise at all. There she was that strange lady. Pretending to be my mother like she always does. I saw her and I swear it was not an illusion. And why did I feel so uneasy around her? What was her secret that I needed to know? She looked Shuma stone faced in the eyes. "Be the man we need you to be. Be the man you were, and better. For all of us." Shuma was fixated. Not that he had shown any emotions before or after becoming a born-again. But now he was just wooden. An upright plank flatter than the solid white line on the freeway during peak traffic. I could feel her energy trying to fixate me too. But my sisters were still singing together. Their voices distracted me just enough to keep my attention from her. Then just like that, she was gone. There stood my mother again. Like she had never left. I looked at her with great confusion. This was happening on plenty of occassions but the more it happened, the more bothered I became. What if this woman took my mother''s place permanently? What if my mother never came back? Who was this person we would be left with? She was not good news. Not according to the vibes I got every single time she appeared. I had to do something. I didn''t know what or where to begin. But I had to start soon. Before it was too late.


    I looked into Shuma''s pupils as mother guided him past us. They shined. Not a lively shine. But that which one gets when they have partaken in the puffing of the chosen herb of Moses. When your eyes have been burnt repetitively by residual smoke after a hefty puff. Blood red. Irises grey when once they were chocolate brown. I knew my friend was no more. Not in the sense that I knew him before. He was a new man now. I needed to accept that. The expectations I carried into this? Getting my friendship back to what it was all those years back? I had to let that go. For the sake of my own sanity. Naledi, Lesedi, Mother. Those are my friends in good times. My companions in the dark. But theres someone else who resides in the pitch black corners. I notice them mostly when everyone''s asleep. They keep me from sleeping. Because I get that same feeling as when I see that lady. I''ve been doubling up on my education since Shuma''s birthday. I''ve just had this niggling feeling that time is not on my side.

 5th member of the family

    It is now exactly a year after performing our intimate little ceremony and many changes have taken place. The trees have grown their leaves back. The weeds are all gone. Replaced by fruits and vegetables. Blackjacks replaced with healing herbs. The ground no longer stings your feet as you hobble by. We have flowers and green grass. The birds and bees are back. Even our distribution channels have been reinstituted. It''s amazing how fast money can turn you into "good person". I have three couriers slash distributors working for me right now. They park right at the gate. Still won''t enter the yard but progress is a slow process after all. One of them was almost an enemy. Poor fool has no idea how close he was to ¡­ you know.


    Shuma is a phenomenon. He can work twelve hours straight without taking a break. You have to tell him to, otherwise he''ll work himself into collapse. He eats like a cow consequently. But there''s enough food to go around. He''s so good at his job we let him sleep in the house. On the rocking chair. Of course the responsibility of washing him comes down to me. Seeing as my sisters are still considered juveniles and all so seeing a man''s you know what is not yet sanctioned. I can honestly say that If this is what it''s like to have a baby, no wonder I''m single. I just wonder what happens when I''m at work. I think they put him in the storeroom for three weeks then release him on the day of my return. Probably watch me from the living room window as I walk through the gate. It''s loud enough. That or they must be the greatest professional spring cleaning experts on par with man landing on the moon. Because the only dirt I ever see when I come back is him. No offence.


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    Anyway, we''ve never done this before. They never stay in the house after the ceremony. I will find undisclosed areas to keep them. Then retrieve them when needed. A lot of times I find them dead because I forgot to maintain them. Or I was away at work for too long. I''ll admit, there are times when the numbers become too much to manage. And I get lazy to check on them, or I just don''t care depending on who they are or what they did. Then they suffer the consequences. Then Their consequences trickle down to the villagers. Like when they resort to cannibalism and the villagers are the victims. Then the stories come out. That somebody saw my mother eating so and so. My sisters were spotted pigging away on this person and that persons intestines. Were vegetarians. If we don''t eat meat, why in the hell would we eat raw meat. People can be so ridiculous with their hate. That''s why it''s so easy to punish them. But with Shuma around and the business booming so dramatically, I think we can relax our hand of justice for a while. Not that the old nonsense will be tolerated. But I can feel the hate for my enemies dying down every day.


    These villagers had better be praying. Pray that Shuma lives a long and prosperous life. And if he doesn''t, at least pray that it takes longer to find another Lerumo. We had not needed his services in a long time so ¡­ he died. Nobody complained. Well, except his parents of course. And whoever else lived in denial over his er ¡­ personality traits. I fed his body to his undead friends. There was not much of him left. He deteriorated very quickly without the magic soup. Shuma loves it though. Wolfs it down just as we except him to. Without the raw meat of course. He IS one of US after all.

 Bad neighbors need good fences (A retrospect)

    "Gather everyone into the house now!" My father removed his sweat soaked top as he stormed through the shed door. I ran to the cabbage patch to relay his message to my mother who was with the twins. "Ma, papa wants us to get inside the house." Not yet aware of the urgency of the report, she continued punching the soil with a hand trowel. "Is he already inside?" she asked. "No. He was sweating a lot then he took off his shirt and went into the shed." I could see the ice running up my mom''s spine. "Did he say anything else to you?" she asked. Seemingly stuck in her awkward pose. "No. He was just talking to himself." "Saying what smelly? Tell me everything you heard!"


    The hand trowel swung menacingly close to my face as she advanced on me. My frantic mind was trying to sort out the order of my words so as not to aggravate her further. "He said ''Josias thinks I''m a fool. He''s going to regret himself today. This fool is going to deal with Mr smarty pants  once and for all.'' Then he disappeared inside the shed."


    Tossing the trowel to the edge of the patch, she picked up the dirt browned twins. The two packages were causing her to fumble over the maze of spinach and tomato divides. "Let''s go smelly!" she called out. My small legs stumbling and tripping in my attempts to follow her footsteps. As we turned the corner to the front of the house, my father was already exiting the shed. "In the house now!" he reiterated upon seeing us. There was a container gushing liquid in his left hand as it swung back and forth from the pendulum handle. His right hand balanced a spear, some large feathers and a black belt.


    We poured through the front door. "Lock behind you," my mother ordered. The twins were placed on the floor as she ran to the kitchen. We followed her and watched as she pulled out the adjustable step ladder haphazardly from its unstable position. The unpredictable swing momentum knocked her left shoulder but thankfully missed her head by an inch. Without flinching she snapped the ladders hinges and ascended toward the top drawers. Frantically rummaging through the contents, she finally pulled out a rectangular box the size of an average medicine container. She descended the ladder without hardly looking at where she was stepping.


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    The box was opened to reveal a black paste. Dipping her thumb inside, she smeared a cross on each of the twins forehead. I finally felt scared watching her. Maybe it was the look on her face as she whispered something with each line she made. After smearing my forehead as well, she took us all to the furthest room and told us to wait there. Returning with the biggest, thickest blanket, we all scrambled inside it.


    In the darkness with my mind finally calm, I remembered. My Spectraman toy was in my room. I fought my way out of the claustrophobia to the chagrin of my mother. "Smelly, get back in here right now or else." I bolted for the door as her hand reached out. I was using Spectraman''s ultra speed so there was no way her hand could''ve caught me. "If you don''t come back this instant I''m going to beat you so bad you''re going to forget i''m your mother!" I didn''t care about the threat, or the imminent beating thereof. Spectraman couldn''t be left alone while we sat in safety. I needed to protect my superhero at all costs.


    The doorknob almost broke off from my turning it with such haste. My room was quite for a change. Technically it was OUR room. My sisters and me. But i would stay out as much as possible when they were in the house. Not that it helped since if they weren''t following my mom they were following me. They got in the way a lot. Never giving me time and space to fight evil forces with Spectraman in peace. Either that or they were crying like little lost sheep. Or puppies who got locked outside. One would hit the other, then the other would pinch the other. And so on and so on. Mostly they cried for the toys I was holding. So I''d have to give them up upon my parents orders. But Spectraman was where I drew the line.

 Facing my mother’s wrath? I choose death (A retrospective)

    I couldn''t stand my sisters. But my parents forced me to like them. I''d probably get a beating if I didn''t. Spectraman had a forlorn look on his face. His hands and arms were extended toward me. He was almost leaping off the book table. My hands warmed as my fingers wrapped around his plastic waist. One of his arms swung at me because my palm was squeezing the mechanism located on his back. A wave of relief washed over me as i made a silent prayer for the both of us.


    "Don''t worry Spectraman. Were gona get through this. My bum is going to hurt for the next couple of days. But it was worth it to save you. We have to go now but be quite. My dad must not hear us." Father was not in hearing range of anything happening in the house. It was but the urgency of the situation that made it feel like he was.


    I tippy toed out the room. But now I was back to my original problem. The beating I was walking myself into. I wasn''t ready yet. I was still high off the happiness I was feeling from recovering my best friend. I wanted to enjoy the moment a little longer. So I snuck further away to the main bedroom. The door was open which made it easier to keep my location a mystery.


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    The gigantic bed sat right next to the front window. I slithered onto the bed and put my hand to the curtain. ''What if he''s watching me?'' I thought. ''Or looking this way by chance.'' My heart beat increased the longer I thought about it. My hand was shaking. I don''t know if it was in anticipation or fear. It may have been both.


    My hand moved the curtain an inch before stopping itself. Then my mind moved my hand further. Until there was a slit in the window. Enough for an eye to peer through. But my eye was hesitant as well. I needed the assistance of my neck to manoeuvre my head who was at that moment too heavy to move independently. It was a joint coalition but my eye was finally in place.

 Lightning strikes twice (A retrospective)

    I couldn''t make out what my father was doing. I''d never seen him do anything like this before. He was standing on top of one of the rubbish heaps. The one they never let us play on. Well, they didn''t let us play on any of them if they could help it. But they were especially particular about this specific one. The spear head had been thrust into the ground. The black belt was wrapped around both of his wrists. It was long enough to allow him to manoeuvre without serious impediment. He kept using the feathers to dip into the container over and over again. Splashing the contents into the air flamboyantly. I could tell he was chanting something the whole time. It looked so cool I wished I knew what he was saying. A light drizzle had been falling which I had not noticed over the awe of watching my father. When I did notice, I was confused. There were no clouds to be seen for miles so where was it coming from?


    Without warning a lightning flash caressed the sky in a straight line before crashing down towards my father. He crossed his arms just before it landed. Causing the bolt to split in two and hit the ground on either side of him with a tremendous bang. I ducked down in reactive shock. Believing I was hit, I felt my body for injuries. Relieved that I was unscathed, my attention fell back to my father. ''What if he''s hurt. That strike hit him directly.'' I was expecting the worst.


    Discretion fell to the wayside as I pried the curtain open. My father looked like he was laughing as he stood strong while embers smoked on both sides of him. Seemingly taunting the sky or at something in the distance. His body was facing away from me so I couldn''t pinpoint exactly where his head was looking. Placing the feathers down in front of him, he proceeded to pull the spear out of the mound. Pointing the tip to the heavens, he began shouting something with conviction. Just as suddenly, a beam of light formed around the spear head for a split second. A lightning flash shot up towards the sky thereafter. It moved the same way as the lightning flash before but now in the opposite direction. I watched it stop in midair somewhere in the distance then shoot straight down. A distant grumble could be heard.


    This is when I remembered something important. There was a settlement around the area where the lightning strike had landed. My location at that current time restricted me from seeing more than I wished. Not that I was wishing to be anywhere near what was going on. Curiosity would most certainly kill any cat at that point in time. Black or white. But that lightning strike certainly landed on a populated area.


    Was Josias house located there perhaps? If yes then that meant Josias was a powerful magician just like my father. Perhaps he was the reason my school buddies and I were forbidden from exploring past the red gorge. This not so neighborly settlement was on the other side of it. All the parents in our community would have a fit if any of them heard we had even gone close to the gorge. I was finding out why.


    My father was dipping the feathers again. The drizzle was back. It had stopped after my father''s lightning trick. There were still no clouds. Something was telling me to close the curtain and return to my mother and siblings. The other part of me wanted to see this through to the end. Spectraman was with me so I had nothing to fear. I gripped him tighter than I ever have before.


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    My heart had just found its beat when another flash hurtled towards us in the sky before coming down on my father once again. This one sent a sonic boom that caused my body to jolt backwards. Rolling off the bed once before crashing to floor. Spectraman bounced off the tiled floor. Losing an arm in the process. My body loosened up after recovering from the shock. I immediately felt a banging headache in the area where my skull had made impact with the floor. I felt my nerves crawling under every inch of my skin. There was a ringing in my ears and a need to crawl away. Spectraman was just a toy. I needed to save myself before another lightning strike hits. But what about my father? Did he survive that hit? Three times as powerful as the one before. If I just ran away like a coward when I could have helped him, I would never forgive myself if he died. I had to check up on him.


    Vertigo attacked me half way up the bed. The assault continued as the mattress rocked my body from side to side as I advanced towards the window on my knees. The headache was making me feel sick. But my father had no time for that. Every second was of the utmost urgency. I pulled the curtain to the side. The force from the pull brought on by my inebriated state caused the railings to unhinge on one side. The railing guillotined toward me at a left angle. My fathers defensive manoeuvre inspired me to do the same. My crossed arms stopped the momentum in its tracks but my elbow was injured in the process.


    This was war and I was prepared to take all the hits. I threw the railing over my head in fervent bravado. Causing the other half to unhinge and the entire structure unceremoniously clanking against the wall. I crossed my arms over my head once again as the railing swung at me a second time after ricocheting against the wall. The curtain drape wrapped around me once the railings landed on the bed. Frantically, I tore them off of me and was finally looking the through the window at last.


    My father''s clothes were in tatters and his body was steaming. The trees within the vicinity of the lightning strike had all lost their leaves. There was a full out bonfire around the mound my father stood on. But he was steadfast. Chanting and splashing with possessed enthusiasm. The drizzle came back once again. But now it grew into actual rain coming down from nowhere. The sun was still up. The clouds were but thin wisps with no capacity to hold any form of worthy precipitation. But the rain kept falling. Dowsing the bonfire around him.


    I placed both my hands on the window in order to balance my face against the glass. The streaming water was blurring my view and I didn''t want to miss a second of this. "Go father. Show him what you''re made of. Blow him to smithereens," I growled. By now it was clear to me that my father was fighting an opponent with magical powers the same as he had. Someone was throwing lightning at him and he was throwing his own back. This ¡­ Josias, whoever he was, was our mortal enemy.

 Deadly firepower (A retrospective)

    Stomaching my own pain, I sprung off the bed. I couldn''t locate Spectraman''s missing arm. There was not enough time to look properly. "Come on friend. We are fighting a powerful enemy who needs to be stopped before he kills my father. I need your help or we might not win. Hold on to me and don''t let go." Holding him to my chest I returned to the window.


    Father was holding up the spear again. I pushed Spectraman harder into the window so he could see through the rain pouring glass. "This is it my friend. It''s do or die." I squeezed him harder into the window as I did my own face. "Father, I give you my energy. Take my powers and make them yours." My body was heating up. The sweat was beginning to steam up the window. But I could still see the silhouette of his body. I stood up on the bed and raised Spectraman in the air. All the while thinking about the enemy and what force it would take to defeat them. "Lets strike the enemy with the force of a magna charge. Incinerate their bodies to the heavens."


    A magna charge was Spectramans'' most powerful attack when all else failed. Something took over me at this moment in time. I began speaking in tongues. I could hear my father speaking too for some unexplained reason. He was speaking the same language that I was. It felt like we were in the same circle but it was dark. As if we were in a tunnel. Then my feet jerked. Followed swiftly by my legs, thighs, abdomen, spinal cord, arms. When the flinch reached my hands, the spear lit up. The light immediately left the spear and shot up into the sky. But the sky was part of the tunnel and my sight moved with the speed of the light as it reached the ceiling and changed direction.


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    My sight followed the light which had transformed into lightning with sparks flying off the sides. The lightning reached a dead end but did not stop. Instead it blew a whole in the darkness which revealed a settlement of different houses spread apart by cattle kraals and farming units with houses in between. The last thing I saw was a man about the same age as my father. Maybe a little older. He was holding peacock feathers with a rubber belt tied around both his arms. It happened so quickly that I unfortunately didn''t get to see more. But I did see him trying to cross his arms before the black out.


    My attention was drawn back to my searing hot body. It felt like a parraffin fire blazing inside me. I was losing my grasp on reality. Vomiting hurt my throat and it wouldn''t stop. I heard the door fly open. "Smelly! Smelly!" My mother''s voice echoed around the room. I could not find her. When I finally did it was in her arms. Her face was a blur but I knew it was her. "I think we beat him mama," I said. I didn''t know where she was carrying me. I passed out before we arrived.

 Learning the hard way (A retrospective)

    I woke up naked with burns all over my body. And a jug full of water next to the bed. I was terribly thirsty so I emptied it in one go. My skin was stinging everywhere. It stung more when I moved. I didn¡¯t know whether to lie down or look for help. I decided putting on clothes would hurt a lot more than I could take right now. I was also too grown to walk around naked in public so I lay down and waited. Help knew to leave water beside my bed so help knew to check up on me eventually.


    My mother finally walked through the door. ¡°Smelly, you¡¯re awake.¡± She peered inside the jug. ¡°Do you want more water?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I replied. ¡°How¡¯s your skin feel?¡± ¡°It stings a lot,¡± I said slowly. There was a mixing bowl on the dresser table. ¡°You looked a lot worse three days ago. You could¡¯ve died you know.¡± She sat on the edge of the bed with the bowl in her hand. ¡°It was a dangerous thing you did. Your toy is all fried up you know. Half of it was stuck to the floor. We had to pry it off with a spatula. You were very lucky not to follow the same fate.¡± The incredible fact that I had been out for three days was overshadowed by the news of my best friends demise. Spectraman had given his life to help my father and I couldn¡¯t have been more proud.


    I turned my head in silent sorrow. Mourning my companion who carried me through tough times. Who was with me through the good and the bad. Inspired me to be a hero. To stand up against forces of mischief and destruction. Then the sting hit me. I wanted to scream. But I held it in. Clenching my mouth and making growling sounds in the process. Swinging my head side to side as my mother kept applying a grey paste onto each individual burn mark. ¡°You have to roll to the side so I can do the back,¡± my mother said. I agonisingly turned my body sideways and she continued.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°We thought you were dead for sure when your body caught on fire. I almost dropped you you were so hot.¡± Each time she touched me was like a thousand needles. ¡°We brought you back just in time. Another minute of those shenanigans and you were a goner. Thank God our ancestors are so strong. And your strong spirit. You need to be grateful that your father and I don¡¯t raise weak children. And that your grandfather gave US the rocking chair instead of his other children.¡± Right now I was grateful that she¡¯d stopped. My heart was beating simultaneously on all of the wounds. I was beginning to hallucinate from the pain. ¡°I¡¯m fetching your water. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± She placed her hand on my head and stroked my short nappy hair. ¡°You¡¯ve been healing very well. Your skin will return to normal in no time. I¡¯m still mad at you. But your pain is enough of a lesson for now.¡± The bed lightened as she stood up. Her assertive footsteps left the room. I was left with the buzzing in my ears.


    ¡®So my body was on fire? I was out for three days? Spectraman melted?¡¯ I thought in awe. ¡®What an insane outcome to a normal day of gardening for my mother, Shopping for my father and crime patrolling for me,¡¯ I mused. I guess I was glad to be alive. Glad for my father as well. I would not know what to do if I¡¯d lost TWO of my heroes in one go. Rest in peace Spectraman. His legacy lives through me.

 Learning the hard way (A retrospective)

    I woke up naked with burns all over my body. And a jug full of water next to the bed. I was terribly thirsty so I emptied it in one go. My skin was stinging everywhere. It stung more when I moved. I didn''t know whether to lie down or look for help. I decided putting on clothes would hurt a lot more than I could take right now. I was also too grown to walk around naked in public so I lay down and waited. Help knew to leave water beside my bed so help knew to check up on me eventually.


    My mother finally walked through the door. "Smelly, you''re awake." She peered inside the jug. "Do you want more water?" "Yes," I replied. "How''s your skin feel?" "It stings a lot," I said slowly. There was a mixing bowl on the dresser table. "You looked a lot worse three days ago. You could''ve died you know." She sat on the edge of the bed with the bowl in her hand. "It was a dangerous thing you did. Your toy is all fried up you know. Half of it was stuck to the floor. We had to pry it off with a spatula. You were very lucky not to follow the same fate." The incredible fact that I had been out for three days was overshadowed by the news of my best friends demise. Spectraman had given his life to help my father and I couldn''t have been more proud.


    I turned my head in silent sorrow. Mourning my companion who carried me through tough times. Who was with me through the good and the bad. Inspired me to be a hero. To stand up against forces of mischief and destruction. Then the sting hit me. I wanted to scream. But I held it in. Clenching my mouth and making growling sounds in the process. Swinging my head side to side as my mother kept applying a grey paste onto each individual burn mark. "You have to roll to the side so I can do the back," my mother said. I agonisingly turned my body sideways and she continued.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "We thought you were dead for sure when your body caught on fire. I almost dropped you you were so hot." Each time she touched me was like a thousand needles. "We brought you back just in time. Another minute of those shenanigans and you were a goner. Thank God our ancestors are so strong. And your strong spirit. You need to be grateful that your father and I don''t raise weak children. And that your grandfather gave US the rocking chair instead of his other children." Right now I was grateful that she''d stopped. My heart was beating simultaneously on all of the wounds. I was beginning to hallucinate from the pain. "I''m fetching your water. I''ll be right back." She placed her hand on my head and stroked my short nappy hair. "You''ve been healing very well. Your skin will return to normal in no time. I''m still mad at you. But your pain is enough of a lesson for now." The bed lightened as she stood up. Her assertive footsteps left the room. I was left with the buzzing in my ears.


    ''So my body was on fire? I was out for three days? Spectraman melted?'' I thought in awe. ''What an insane outcome to a normal day of gardening for my mother, Shopping for my father and crime patrolling for me,'' I mused. I guess I was glad to be alive. Glad for my father as well. I would not know what to do if I''d lost TWO of my heroes in one go. Rest in peace Spectraman. His legacy lives through me.

 I almost did it at work

    I had just come out of a disciplinary hearing for throttling my manager. He was messing with my schedule. The one I toil so hard to regulate with my strategic overtime work. This ego-maniac was interrupting my life and I wasn''t having it. He had changed the work schedule without my knowledge. Forcing me to work on the last week of the month. The week I consistently plan in advance for my month to month home visits.


    I had a good mind to twist my wrists as his neck sat constricted in my hands. But I knew the outcome of such actions. My grip was broken by my frantic colleagues. Telling me not to do something I''ll regret. They had no idea what I myself was preventing out of sheer will power. They truly believe they stopped the worst outcome. But it''s probably good that they stopped me when they did. That feeling or ¡­ need ¡­ was not going away. That vindictive urge that had been growing for months on end.


    I was at my wits end for all the sick leave and family responsibility leave and general leave that was interrupting my planned schedules to spend more time at home. What this idiot of a manager tried to pull was the last straw. Thanks to that single grain of sane morsel remaining somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I let him live.


    The big boss was not impressed. Neither were the two Human Resources representatives. The three of them had me cornered in the executive boardroom. Faces of stone perpetuated by the incessant drone of the aircon. Staring at me from the door to the chair and for most of my interrogation. Woeful disappointment on my boss¡¯s face complemented by the determined faces to his right. The room had a dusty smell and a lifeless chill. Restricting my personality whilst prodding the unease within.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    I had to give my best sob story to get their sympathy. Put them in my shoes of suffering and mental anguish. It must have worked because they gave me a final warning. They said they understood my reasons for being upset but that my actions were inexcusable. ¡°You¡¯ve contributed immensely to the company and are always willing to sacrifice for the better good. I think you deserve a final chance. This was a once off thing that I don¡¯t believe will ever happen again,¡± my boss said. ¡°It¡¯s not in your nature from my personal knowledge of the kind of person you are, I¡¯m willing to vouch on that,¡± he stated.


    I agreed to the terms they gave me for the sake of agreeing. Using body language to convey the living epitome of remorse. Head hanging low, slumped shoulders, slow measured responses. The whole shebang. That mouse of a manager must have thought I would return with a look of defeat and regret. Maybe apologise for my foolishness. Well, I had no choice. The charade needed to continue for the sake of the sympathetic angle.


    My boss called us both in for a meeting. Had me follow through on one of the ¡°final warning¡± conditions. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what I did to you. It was not my intention to allow the situation to go that far. I sincerely apologise.¡± I said. In actuality, I could have taken the situation so much further than he¡¯d ever know. He should¡¯ve thanked the criminal justice system for his life. Without their laws, he wouldn¡¯t be here right now. ¡°I forgive you. Maybe I should¡¯ve consulted with you about the schedule before changing it so haphazardly. I¡¯ll most certainly do that next time,¡± he said. ¡¯What a kiss ass,¡¯ I thought. Forgetting that I was technically doing the same.


    The next couple of days were spent with me eyeballing him with the meanest grimace my face could pull at every opportunity. I was letting him know subconsciously that next time I''ll do worse than give him temporary loss of breath. Next time I¡¯ll make him stop permanently. He hardly spoke to me after that. He better not mess with my personal life ever again.

 The purple woman

    I had met Damsile before all of this occurred. There¡¯s a reason why not killing that pissant manager was harder than anything I could¡¯ve imagined. Damsile was my first. Now it felt like others needed to follow. She was my breaking point. But I was not a natural killer. Keeping the urge under control was my biggest battle.


    My mother taught me righteousness and responsibility. ¡°Killing another human being is the worst thing you can do in magic,¡± she had once said. ¡°It opens you up to bad entities. Makes your spirit weak. You start falling for lies and you are easily influenced by negativity.¡± She also mentioned how It shifted your morality to favour the darker side of everything. I was feeling that right now. Dark, agitated, lusting for manufactured vengeance.


    The whispers in my head are constant. ¡°Don¡¯t let him get away with it. Why would you let her do that? Are you serious about letting them walk?¡± My sanity is crawling further and further from me with each sunset. ¡°You really don¡¯t remember me?¡± the shadow entity asks me. The longer it hung around was the more I began to hear what IT was thinking. Or saying.


    I¡¯m still not sure if it¡¯s in my head or out loud. It never talks when other people are around. I reply as though I were speaking to an actual person. So perhaps it¡¯s not in my head. At this point of my insomnia I can¡¯t tell. But I certainly wouldn¡¯t want anyone walking in on me talking to a shadow in the corner of the room. Or worse yet somewhere in public. Its voice has a familiarity that I cannot grasp. ¡°After all this time Leshuba. I should feel disappointed but then again, you have always been a disappointment. ¡®I can never hold a candle to my father.¡¯ ¡®I try so hard but I mess up so much. I¡¯m disappointing my family.¡¯ Isn¡¯t that what you used to tell me? Moping on my shoulder like a juvenile. Feeling sorry for yourself.¡± This is all sounding familiar but the back of my mind refuses to unlock the image. At the exact moment of revelation, everything blacks out. This has been happening for the longest time. Followed by frustration.


    ¡°Look at you. Is this what I was attracted to? You did not deserve a beauty like me.¡± The words ¡°a beauty like me¡± echo in my head as my forehead folds. ¡°Who are you please? It¡¯s time you let me know. It¡¯s been how long now? I want to know you,¡± I plead. ¡°Ahh. History repeats itself. Using the same words you used on me all those years ago. That¡¯s so sweet. Maybe this will jog your memory,¡± the shadow says. Peeling itself off the wall in a cloud of black smoke. Morphing into a female figure, the smoke lightening slightly to a muted shade of purple.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Then I see her. Just as I had known her in life. Her image as it was two years ago. Wide eyed, gaping mouth. That crooked tooth on the top row. It¡¯s her. ¡°Damsile,¡± I say. My voice shaky and gruff. ¡°Yes handsome?¡± she says. Changing her appearance to match the condescending reply. ¡°I thought I should return the favour seeing as were recycling words from the past now,¡± she says. Damsile was the first and only girl to call me handsome. I would pull that cheeky smile every time she said it. Besides that, she had a way of making me feel like a real man. Not that I didn¡¯t feel that way already thanks to my mother and sisters. But her way was different. The Damsile way.


    My mother was not too fond of her. I don¡¯t think it had anything to do with the fact that she was not only married, but was cheating on her side piece toy-boy with me. The third piece? Or back piece? Some piece or other in the convoluted puzzle. I never told my mother all those parts for obvious reasons. In turn she never told me why she felt the way she did. They had never met each other so technically the negativity was unfounded. I was infatuated so I ignored my mothers concerns. At the time it felt like she needed a boyfriend so she could stay out of my business.


    Maybe Damsile did manipulate me. Or I was just ignorant to the obvious. The warning signs were screaming in my face when I look back at everything. But I went along with it anyway. Maybe it was the promise of sex. Or the fact that she was into magic. It was the first time I had met someone interested in magic rather than badmouthing it. Magic is like leprosy in this part of the world. Anybody who is even suspected of it is likely to end up charred along with everything that belongs to them. Including children and infants. My mother¡¯s protection spells have kept the animals at bay. The spineless scum who¡¯s only strength is in numbers.


    I use them too. The spells. Just as my mother taught me. Seprem Achem Diawa manesa. The angels on the four pillars of the earth. There is a recitation for each of them. All accompanied by hand gestures. Then a sniff of incense at the end of each verse. The incense is locked inside a miniature jar with a flip lid hanging from the necklace around my neck. If I feel discomfort at all, I flip the lid and sniff. Reminding me of the ceremony I would have already performed every morning. If things get out of hand I close my eyes and physically picture myself in that moment of prayer. Word for word, action for action. Then a transformative wave washes over me and I feel strong again.


    This is a last resort as it takes time and can give you away to an enemy who is familiar with protection magic. Many people practice magic around here. They just don¡¯t show it. The ignorant don¡¯t know the signs so it¡¯s easy to hide. I knew her version was dark but I followed her anyway. Prior to this the only woman who had ever led me was my mother. So I felt Damsile¡¯s power as she took charge of me and it was impressive. She spoke to the dead. Taught me a thing or two about it. I learn so much in my life sometimes I cant keep up with reality and magic. Perhaps that¡¯s why it¡¯s taking so long to master these magic systems. Perhaps if I stayed home more I would learn at a better rate. My knowledge is fragmented over various systems and I get overloaded. Then I lose my mind temporarily.  Like I did that day.