THE UNKNOWN HANDS (EPISODE TWENTY-TWO)

STORY SERIES

… tree, I pitched my tent. I had found a large table no doubt the property of one of the traders on which I knew I could conveniently stretched me for the night. And within a few seconds of my climbing that table, I was fast asleep, not minding the uncontrollable chilling breeze blowing as if it had only that day to blow.

I was forced to wake up later as I started to hear the clattering of some strange gongs. I sat up and did a quick survey of the area to ascertain where the noise was coming from. I was terrified by what I saw. Marching in a procession towards where I was were secret cult members all dressed in black apparel with some of them carrying palm-oil clay lamps. In the front, some steps ahead of the others, was a young girl, half-naked, carrying a big earthen pot. The young girl was followed closely by another girl, almost the same age with the first, also carrying a piece of a broken pot containing some items. Next to them was an old woman holding a live cockerel, mumbling some in audible words intermittently while the others were responding with corresponding murmurings. As I watched them coming towards me, fears got a better of me at the thought that they would see me and feel I was intentionally watching their proceedings. Yet, the fact that the side I was, was a bit dark brought me some confidence.

On getting to the big baobab tree, the girl carrying the pot halted. The one with the piece of a broken pot did the same and the old woman danced to them in the rhythm of the gongs, bowed to the trees, and with only the left hand put those things carried by the young girls, on the ground one after the other while the cockerel remained in her right hand. Those girls who had carried the items knelt down beside them. The next thing I saw was that each member of the cult was coming before the baobab tree, genuflecting before it and return to his or her position afterwards.

After they had all this done this, the old woman severed the head of the cockerel she was holding, kissed the neck from where blood was gushing out briefly and then sprinkled the remaining blood and the whole cockerel itself on the items inside the broken pot. Apart from intermittent murmurings, perhaps of approval, from the other members, the whole place was as silent as a graveyard. The woman split an item perhaps kolanut and cast them on the ground, quickly went to where the young girl was kneeling beside the pot, lifted the pot up and carried it to where the baobab tree was and emptied it on one of the roots. Then using one hand, she placed the pot once again on the girl’s head and for a while, the girl remained on the same spot. By now, the girl who was carrying the broken pot was dancing around the baobab tree, followed by the others and the old woman who carried the sacrifice to a particular spot in front of the baobab tree. Having danced round the baobab tree for a specific number of rounds, the woman mentioned the girl carrying the pot who had all the while remained on the same spot to start moving towards the direction through which they came. Then all of a sudden, the woman halted followed by all others as if something had gone wrong. Then she cried.

“Cultists! I can smell a rat. The blood of an uninitiated stinks!”...to be continued on Tuesday.

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