The Deep End (Fiction)

I was terribly frustrated. Everything I had worked for. Those idiots! They took it all away in one night. I found my workshop door open. Nothing inside.

“Tell the police,” one sympathizer suggested. But the police know nothing better than asking victims to cover their fuel costs and buy them soda.

The magnitude of my loss was just beginning to sink in. I knew what I wished for those monsters: Hellfire! Death! Stoning! Castration…Anything that would make them regret this.I didn’t take the small path back home. I walked, instead, down the dusty murram road that passes by the now-defunct cattle dip. I was heading nowhere, really.

Then I saw the torn, faded flag at the entrance. I had been seeing them ever since I moved to this area. But on this day, they intrigued me.

“Oyawre ahinya. But Jadolo is busy this evening.” Said the old woman. “Will you come tomorrow after cock crow? Or wait to see if he finishes early?”

She wore a red gown with a blue head-cloth. She was barefooted. There were plenty of other flags hanging on posts across the compound: red, green, yellow, old and new, torn, sewn…

“I prefer to wait. ” I said and asked her to show me where I could empty my bladder.

The compound had various footpaths neatly bound by whetstones on both sides. Each led to one or more of the many mud huts distributed in no particular order. She pointed at one path that curved behind a hut. It would lead me to the latrine, she said.

I knew where the toilet was. I merely asked out of politeness. It was near the hedge that borders the murram road, where one cannot pass by without covering their nose from the putrid smell of urine. I had heard a man howling and a woman screaming behind the huts in what sounded like an intensive prayer session. The path to the latrines would offer me a better view.

There she was, the screaming woman. Covered in brown dirt, rolling down, screaming, laughing, pleading. Her dress was torn, and her flabby, naked breasts flapped as she rolled on the dust; they reminded me of a propeller with two wings.

He was a tall man in robes. His rather serious face was greasy and sweaty. Each time he waved his sprinkler, he said something. Though his eyes were fixed on the woman, he seemed to be talking to someone else. The extremely shaggy, brownish knots of hair on his head looked peculiar; as if they held captive the demons that he had extracted from his clients for all those years.

I sat outside on a stool that the old lady had provided and waited. It took another hour before the exorcism was concluded. Then I was ushered into his consultation room.

Jadolo: Come in Hesekaya. Oyawre Hesekaya?

Me: Thank you. I’m not Hesekaya. My name is…

Jadolo: Your name is what I call it! What do you want to do with them?

Me: who?

Jadolo: The ones who stole from you. Kwani why else have you come here?

Me: I…I want revenge. I want my computers back. Those heartless people have finished…

Jadolo: Revenge is what you want. Sit, please.

As my buttocks put my weight on the stool opposite him, he sprinkled water on my head and uttered a short prayer. He then continued:

“Frequently, men come to me with problems of this nature. I tell them what I’m about to tell you. I have seen both the shallow and the deep end of the world. Sometimes I wish I was like your kind, who have only seen the shallow end. Your problems are lighter; you sleep better.” Silence.

“The people you are pursuing have seen the dark. They are part of it. Unless they renew sleep charms every night; unless they eat pig meat or bathe in its oil, the spirits cause havoc in their dreams. I personally can’t have a good sleep unless I sprinkle this water on my pillow” He pointed at the half-empty bottle.

“But you can get them. These boys. What revenge do you want? To give them sickness? To kill them? This you can do. But it changes everything. For once you set a foot into the deep world, you become part of it. Anybody can set evil on your path. You have to renew your charms to stay safe. Your children too. If you want to go ahead, you see that cross?” I  saw the cross.

“Kneel there. Tell it your real name, your problems, and what you want to be done about it.  But you can choose to walk away. The spirits don’t know your name. Your gown is clean. Your feet are unblemished. Let go of hatred and rebuild your wealth. The really happy people are those who sleep peacefully.”

As I walked back through the gate, old women's voices from the huts behind me joined in the evening song:

“Oluonga,

Oluonga natine.

Oluonga,

Oluonga natine.”

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