Ever hear about something and wonder if you’ll ever encounter it in real life? Like, say… an anaconda swallowing a grown man whole? I saw a movie once and I’ve always wondered how life-changing such an experience would be. Watching it, of course, not being a part of it. Unless you’re the giant snake, that is.
One such thing just came to Jiji Ndogo, and while everyone else is scared out of their wits, I’m as excited as a brat with a new toy.
“What’s all the hullabaloo?” Sgt Sophia asks as we near a tickled crowd gathered in what passes for a town square in Jiji Ndogo.
Nyaguthii, our resident Chief Gossip Monger, approaches, wearing a face that speaks volumes even before she opens her mouth. Well, more accurately, before she says anything, seeing as her mouth is seemingly always open and ready to spill one secret or other.
“Thank God you’re here,” she says. “I was on my way to get you.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She points towards The Green Lodge, Jiji Ndogo’s only commercial lodgings with a maximum of three rooms that are often never rented. “It’s witchcraft, I tell you. Witchcraft.”
“What are you blathering about now?” Sophia asks.
“I’ve heard of witches before, ma’am. Men and women who can conjure snakes out of mere rope. But never did I ever think I would be witness to one of their shenanigans.”
Nyaguthii’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “A story is told of one man, a kleptomaniac, who wouldn’t stop ravaging his village. It is said that with the help of a witchdoctor, the villagers could hear the man coming for miles.”
Sophia shakes her head. “Out of my way, woman. I have no time for your tall tales.”
As my colleague stomps through the crowd, I step closer to Nyaguthii.
“What did the witchdoctor do to the man?” I whisper (don’t ask me why).
Nyaguthii whispers back, “She turned his testicles into a bell so that it rang every time he took a step.”
As I go after my colleague, I don’t know if to be flabbergasted or scared out of my skin. I mean, if witches could make bells out of balls… And now they’re here in our small village…
“Out of the way!” Sophia barges through. “Let me through!”
At the door to one of the rooms stands a wrinkly faced woman in a robe adorned in so many cowrie shells, I wonder if there are any left in the Indian ocean. That, and a stack of animal bones and teeth fashioned into necklaces around her neck. Next to her is a man who’s clenching and unclenching his fists. I guess he’s either totally petrified or so mad, he could punch a rhino.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” says the hag.
Sophia points at the crown on her hat. “We’re the police. What’s going on here?”
“It’s my wife,” says the furious (or horrified) man. “The cheating whore finally got what’s coming to her.”
Despite the woman’s warning, Sophia walks into the room. A few minutes later, she walks out whole and healthy. And laughing.
“What?” I ask her.
“It’s Pastor Okoa,” she says. “He and a woman—”
“My whoring wife!” growls the mad man.
“The pastor and his wife,” Sophia says, laughing and tossing a thumb at the man, “got stuck as they were having sex.”
“Jesus Christ!” I make a quick sign of the cross. “It really is witchcraft.”
Sophia brushes past me. “Penis captivus is no witchcraft.” She calls out loud, “Where’s Dr Kanzu? These people need medical attention!”
