“Exactly.”
“I’ll go to Baboko Market and search.”
Today, as I struggle to control it, I wonder if a baby produced from this ram’s testicles will look and behave like the animal. Gasping for breath, I manage to haul the stubborn beast into the church, my huge beard drenched with sweat. The prophet smiles on seeing me. He doesn’t wear shoes because he has burnt his toes from staggering across a charcoal fire to prove his faith and power.
His giant dreadlocks have never held a conference with water, and his skin is the color of raw bitumen. He has only one eye. One of his church members told me he lost the other in a childhood battle with measles. His followers often say it was the measles that sharpened his remaining eye to the details of the other world. His voice is guttural. I’ve heard he used to be obese, but his frequent dry fasts and prayers have melted the fat away, leaving a spindly neck strewn with veins and the limbs of a marathoner. His once-white gown, now brown from dust and filth, billows around his singed feet. He isn’t married and doesn’t want to marry, because he’s modelled his life after Jesus Christ, whom the white missionaries said had only a platonic relationship with women.
The prophet trots forward and places his hand on my sweating head to bless me. He holds a cardboard-bound Bible as thick as a shoebox, murmuring a strange song. When he’s finished his ministrations, he goes to sit in a cane chair by the altar, facing the empty wooden pews. Save for his verger, a muscular man with a bulging chest, who comes to take the ram from me, there are no worshippers present. Perhaps Prophet Elijah has earmarked today for my special treatment. It’s a dehydrated afternoon in need of a drink of rain, the atmosphere wetting my armpits and the heat wrinkling my forehead.
The verger, still grappling with the ram, tries to tie its front legs with a rope, but it resists. He then grabs its hind legs, ties them, and extends the rope to the front legs. The animal collapses on the ground with a loud thud, bleating like there’s a knife to its neck already, its eyes popping out, its tongue thick and stained green.
‘What seems to be an easy path usually is the most difficult to navigate.’ ~Unknown
An interesting read!
I commend you for this beautiful piece. It was funny and entertaining, yet informative.
I like that you highlighted Tim’s negligence of a possible solution, all because of money, only to patronize a ‘holy service’ offering little or no assistance towards his aspirations. This is the stark reality of many men in Africa who believe in supernatural healing than their scientific counterpart. Running campaigns for awareness for men’s health while making provision of access to finance, will go a long way to solve these simple issues.
At the point I read that Tim had chimpanzee balls for a meal, I reclined and thought, “how many more animals to go?” Lol.
I await your next short story. Well done!
Wow! A beautifully crafted master piece. Bravo!