The Amulet of Mukuba: Episode 4

Chilu sighed and handed me the leather journal. It was heavier than I expected. It had an inscription in a foreign language on the cover, and I had begun to toy with it, when Chilu’s hand pressed firmly down on the crumbling leather cover.

“I would not open that if I were you. This is an ancient grimoire. It has been in family for about 90 years, but it is much much older than that,” Chilu said, pacing the room. His movements made me nervous, and I put the book aside.

“In fact, the grimoire has been around since Jesus instituted the Catholic Church through Saint Peter,” he continued.

“You see, wherever great good exists, so exists great evil. It’s not really known when the first vampires came about, however somewhere after the establishment of the Vatican, around 1929, an order of priests was established. This order, often called the White Fathers carried with them a secret, some of their ranks dabbled in the occult. It’s important to note this. Now, as part of his evangelical efforts, Pope Pius the eleventh, sent some of his missionaries out. So of course they came to Zambia. However, unbeknownst to the pope, the members of the occult travelled with them, for the largest part, undetected.

Now, you’ll recognize that there are already some vampiric legends in and around Southern Africa, most common being the tokoloshe, which feeds off your energy -”

I interrupted Chilu just there. “What’s a tokoloshe?”

Chilu scowled and I apologized for interrupting him. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Anyway, the White Fathers eventually settled in Northern Zambia, and of course began to set up their churches and whatever. However, strange occurrences started, a few years in. first, the livestock in the villages began to disappear. The villagers thought perhaps, there was a wild animal that was running amok, yet there were never any tracks. Until one day, a child went missing.”

“wait, Chilu how do you know this?” I asked curiously. I was really getting into the story but the more he spoke, the more questions I had. Especially about the grimoire.

“Kindly desist from interrupting me,” he said through gritted teeth. Perhaps he was really into the story, but the more he told it, the more fervent he became. It’s like he was slipping into a trance, and I didn’t dare to interrupt him again. He cleared his throat a little bit and continued.

“Of course, the clergy were up in arms about the missing child, blaming her disappearance on ‘local barbarians’, as they called it. Interventions were made, church services were held, the chief was engaged and alas, even in the midst of all this happening – strong men, began to go missing. Now you have to understand, at the time the livelihood of the villagers was farming. So imagine the havoc that ensued when the best labourers on family farms ended up missing. The rumours were many. Many accused the White Fathers of killing and eating these men they kidnapped, and had outcries for them to be sent back to Europe, until one day, the first man that went missing walked back into the village.

But something was different – he was unrecognizable. Whereas his skin used to be light, fair if you could say, he was now dark skin, and somehow more handsome than before. His skin was black, and seemed to cast off light rather than to absorb it. And don’t you dare say Twilight,” Chilu hissed before I could interject.

I smiled wryly and let him continue.

“When it was dark, he seemed to glow. And his appetite for meat was…insatiable. More of the missing people returned, and thus the cycle continued. Men and women would go missing and would turn back, fundamentally changed. They began to be known as banyama.  And thus, the life of the village as everyone knew it was fundamentally changed.”

The sun had begun to rise as Chilu spoke, and the last shreds of the early dawn was replaced by the golden and red rays of a rising sun, a sun that ideally should bring hope in the morning. However, as the rays cast a half shadow across Chilu’s face, I knew that our life too had fundamentally changed. Something about the way Chilu spoke, the way the shadows distorted his face, and his impossibly smooth dark skin sent a shiver down my spine. I stood to try and leave, when Chilu grabbed my wrist roughly and pulled me back onto the bed. He pulled me close to him, until he had wrapped me in a hug that felt more like a chokehold. I could hear his erratic breathing right in my ear, and felt his prickly beard grating across my chin.

“Mwangala, I’d be careful from here on out. We have a mystery to solve and only you can help,” he whispered roughly.

“Chilu let me go,” I struggled against his embrace and stumbled onto the floor. “what was that all about?”

I was confused, Chilu had always respected my boundaries- he was more like an older brother to me. He gave me the creepiest smile I’d ever seen, and he approached me on the floor, on all fours, as if to mock me.

“You’re the answer, Mwangala. You are the answer,” he said with a wicked grin.

The Amulet of Mukuba – Episode Three

Photo by Clément Falize on Unsplash

The air was tense as we all stood in the landing. Ketty hung onto Jerome’s arm, and this time he did not bat her away.

“Chilu,” I asked again, breathlessly. I could feel anxiety building in my throat and the more I thought about it, the more nervous I became.

“Chilu, what do you mean there are evil forces amongst us?” I asked again, my voice raising with hysterics.

Jerome cleared his throat loudly. “perhaps, I may add a mirror, as reinforcements to the outside?”

“It’s of no use, Jay, we’re already marked,” Chilu said with a sigh. A dark look passed between them, and a shiver ran down my spine. I was feeling frustrated; no one was listening to me.

Ketty was quiet in a corner, biting on her lower lip, with her brow furrowed thoughtfully. Surprisingly, Jerome approached her and put his arm around her. They sat down on the couch, and began whispering to each other. I smiled quietly to myself, glad that they could find comfort in each other. I was always on the peripheral, but I never minded it, I enjoy watching people. I continued watching them, the way Ketty would carefully coddle Jerome, and how he would firmly put her back in place. I grabbed a broom to start cleaning up the shards of glass, pondering on what the rest of our trip would be. Still deep in thought, I walked outside to dispose the shards. Just as I was about to enter, I heard a growl right at the edge of the garden.

Standing at the edge of the garden, with his eyes glowing a bright ethereal blue, was the man with the obsidian skin. His gigantic dog, sat beside him, his fangs bared. My breath caught in my throat and I backed away slowly, trying to get back into the house. Somehow, I looked right into the man’s eyes and I was…transfixed.

It felt like the world was rushing past me, and as he held my gaze, I was compelled to move forwards towards him. I dropped the broom I had forgotten I was holding, and walked forwards, hoping to touch the man, wondering what would happen.

Photo by wild vibes on Unsplash

“Mwangala!” Chilu’s voice pulled me out of my reverie roughly, “Are you crazy? How could you come out here knowing what’s going on?”

I snapped and wheeled out of it and faced Chilufya aggressively. “That’s the thing, Chilu, I don’t know what’s going on!”

Chilufya dragged me into the house and all the way to his room. On the bed was a tightly bound leather journal. It looked older than rocks, the pages were frayed and bent, the leather was peeling off in several places and the writing could barely be read.

“sit down, Mwangala. This will sound weird but,” Chilufya heaved a heavy sigh, “There are vampires in Kitwe.”

I gripped my head in my hands, almost pulling my hair out.

“Chilufya, do you think I am a complete idiot?” I asked. I looked him square in the face, and his mouth twitched, as if he was about to laugh.

“I actually hold you in high esteem Mwangala, that’s why I am telling you this,” he said gravely. I could hear the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I know you think this is an elaborate prank, but I need to tell you a story.”

The Amulet of Mukuba- Episode Two

Photo via Unsplash

“What the hell was that?” I demanded. My head was still spinning, trying to take into consideration everything that I had seen this evening. We had since reached our apartment, which was actually quite nice, and had the most mirrors I had seen in one dwelling place.

There were mirrors everywhere. There were three large mirrors in the living room, and an assortment on the west wall, with different sizes and designs. The windows too were mirrored, basically, almost everywhere I looked, I could see my reflection.

“There’s something amiss in this town,” Chilufya said, as he carefully set his own mirror down on the mantelpiece.

“Do you just randomly carry a hand mirror around Chilu?” I asked, almost getting distraught.

“Only when I’m in Kitwe,” he responded enigmatically. He sighed and eased himself into the seatee.

I tried to say something but he waved me off, before closing his eyes. His brow furrowed, as if he was deeply concerned about something. I stood up to get to the room, I was sharing with Ketty. From the hallway, I could hear her arguing with Jerome.

“I just need to stay with you tonight, I’d feel more calm!” I could hear her whining.

“Ketty, you’ll stay with Mwangala, what’s the problem?” Jerome said, irritably.

“But I feel safe with you!” Ketty wailed pitifully. Jerome kept quiet for a long while. And then he suddenly burst out laughing.

“Ketty, don’t be silly,” he said, still chuckling.

Ketty didn’t respond, instead I heard her whimper pathetically, and eventually I heard a door close. It seemed like everyone was getting ready to call it a night, so I walked around the house, checking that everything was well. I stood in the kitchen, and gazed out the window pensively. The landscape was dotted with small bright lights, that I now knew were lanterns. A strong wind blew across the landscape, making the small potted plants on the window sill sway. I tutted my tongue and turned away with a sigh. We had two weeks in this city, and I had no idea what the next fourteen days would bring me. Shaking my head, I went to my room, where I found Ketty sleeping peacefully.

***

I was startled out of sleep by the sound of glass breaking. In a haste, I ran out of Ketty and myself’s room, leaving her tangled in a heap of sheets.

“what happened?” I asked, running into the hallway. I had to stop right in my tracks, to avoid cutting my bare feet on the shards of glass in the hallway. One of the mirrors had fallen from its frame, and standing in the midst of the debris, was Chilufya.

“Chilu, what happened?” I asked, incredulously.

“Evil forces are amongst us, Mwangala. Evil, evil forces,” he said cryptically.

The Amulet of Mukuba- Episode One

I am not a people person.

Which is why by the time the company bus slid into the glittery lights of late afternoon Kitwe, I was frizzled out and my social battery completely drained. I refrained from partaking in the awestruck ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of my companions, as they counted off many similar landmarks around the country. It was a six hour drive and my patience wore thin, as we wove in and out of the many towns seperating Lusaka and Kitwe.

I could practically hear a collective sigh of relief from my three colleagues, as we passed the infamous Black Mountain and slid into the meandering end of day traffic in the mine town’s CBD. Despite my exhaustion from the long journey, I actually liked Kitwe. It had a different sense to it than Lusaka, somewhere between lackadaisical and urgent, the story of city where still waters truly do run deep. We reached the city as the sun was setting, and almost as if a reminder went off, lights sprung to life almost immediately.

“Kitwe is organized, huh” Jerome remarked.

“Oh, I know right,” Ketty purred, agreeing with him as always.

I rolled my eyes and ignored them. Ketty’s crush on Jerome was painful to watch. Chilufya, who was driving focused his eyes on the road, as we turned off into a dusty gravel road, where our accommodation would be for the next few weeks.

“Lights or not. We ought to be careful,” Chilufya murmured, as he drove slowly, navigating the dips and bumps of the road.

“I thought jerabos were a thing of the past,” I said lazily, watching the landscape outside my window fade into dusk.

“Something is amiss in this city,” Chilufya replied evenly, “ There’s a lot worse in this world than a thief.”

As I gazed out the window, I gasped in surprise as I saw people lighting lanterns outside their gates and fixing mirrors right next to them. I caught the eye of an old woman, who hobbled slowly away from her makeshift gate, a small hand held mirror attached clumsily to its frame. She looked at me searchingly, as if suspicious of our presence.

“Whats with the mirrors?” I asked no one in particular.

“It’s a stupid ritual that was done away with in the 80s,” Jerome said. “People put up mirrors to ward off evil spirits. My grandmother used to do it. I never knew it made a come back.”

“I bet your grandmother had the most beautiful mirror outside her gate,” Ketty said, in a disgustingly sweet voice.

“What?” Jerome said, batting her away with irritation. He rolled his eyes. “It seems it’s become a shared superstition, city over,” he continued, joining me in gazing at the dusky landscape.

“Like I said,” Chilufya growled, “there is far more worse than a thief.”

I started to laugh, Chilufya was far too young to have such superstitions. My laugh ended in my throat and was replaced by a scream as the car lurched suddenly to the side, and careened off the gravel road, hurtling uncontrollably to what appeared to be a large ditch. I grabbed frantically at whatever I could as I felt the car tilt sideways. Chilufya grunted with the effort of trying to control the car, and by some miracle we made a round spin and the car rested in the middle of the gravel road. Ketty had taken advantage of the situation and was holding onto Jerome, who was trying desperately to free himself from her clutches. I exhaled shakily, glad that for the most part, we were all unharmed. I tried to open the door, but Chilufya stopped me.

“Look,” he whispered, so quietly I wouldn’t have caught it had I not been next to him. Crouching in a tumble of weeds and unkempt hedges, was a man with what could only be described as obsidian skin. His skin was flawless and darker than the night, yet rather than absorbing light, it cast it off in an eerie glow. He had his hands on the collar of the largest dog I’d ever seen in my life. Both were baring their fangs at us.

“Fangs?! Humans don’t have fangs!” I thought frantically. I turned to point this out to Chilufya, who shook his head silently, as if asking me not to say anything. I turned back to get another look of the beautiful black man, but he was gone.

“Chilu, what the hell?” I demanded, as I turned again. With a stoic face, Chilu was pointing a mirror at where the man and his dog once were.

…

Sprut Octupus via Pinterest.

Sunshine Wanes To Rain

What about me wasn’t enough?
I bled through three hearts
trying to be the one
who was the
red-streaked cloud
at the sunset,
that welcomes home the fiery disc
but instead, did my smother make you sick?

What happened to the long river
of compassion
that made my tears
rend a length wise slit
in your heart?

Remember when you said
you didn’t want to hurt me?

Instead you killed me.

The sweet innocence
of tasting sunshine
on a December day,
has scorched my tongue
and burnt my teeth.

But please,
as I nurse my wounds
answer me;
what about me wasn’t enough?

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Photo by Llyncish via devientart|www.artstation.com/llyncis

Episode 2: The Perfection of Five
My older sister once told me that numerology governs our lives in ways we often can’t understand. I’ve always been interested in these sort of things, astrology, the different Zodiacs, and so on. So it made sense to me. I was born on the 5th of May, at five past five in 1995. Five, five, five, and five. And it made sense, all the good things happened to me somehow involved the number five. After five months at my job, I got a promotion. When I was in fifth grade, I won a school wide award. Five was my number and I swore by it.

My sister tells me a lot of things. It’s a sister-sister thing. When we were small she’d build a pillow fort and whisper to me to enter her world. In it she would craft worlds, create scenarios and build me dreams. I held on to her every word, not caring about the five years between us. We were the best of the friends.

When I was 25, the number five began to line up for me in mysterious ways. Even though I set my alarm for six, I was always awake at 5.55 am and would reach my office at five past seven. As soon as the clock struck five, I was out the door but I figured that was fatigue, nothing supernatural.
As much as I was enjoying the divine intervention, I somehow found myself driving a couple of miles away from my usual route to a near abandoned park. I never knew why I was drawn to it, but I would sit there for some time, just taking in the atmosphere. I spoke to my sister about and she laughed.

“You should tap into the supernatural power,” she laughed. I kept feeling like there was something I was missing, so I glanced at the clock. It was a mundane 12 past 8. No hidden meaning there.
“Maybe there’s something, I’m meant to discover, Ariel,” I suggested, hoping she’d help me navigate this confusion. “I mean, five is my angel number. And it’s been like five months that something good happened to me.”
“Didn’t you win a stake on a football bet last month?” my sister chipped in, sounding amused.
“Well, that’s not major,” I huffed looking at the clock again. It was not 16 past, and nothing of significance had happened.
“Look. Don’t read too much into these angel numbers. I just used to tell you that stuff to entertain you.” Ariel said laughing gently at me.
“It still doesn’t make sense though, sis. Everything good has been happening to me in batches of five!” I said, feeling like I was clutching at straws.
“Good things happen to you because you work hard, that’s it. And you always ignore the stuff that doesn’t happen in line with five,” Ariel replied languidly, “which park is it anyway?”
“It’s the one on central street, Jesmondine,” I said wearily. The clock had now struck half past. Wasn’t it weird that time was flying by?
“Whoa…” Ariel breathed out shakily. “I don’t want you to keep going there. Bad things always happen there.”
I laughed at my older sister, what could possibly go wrong? We exchanged a few more remarks and said goodnight to each other. I pondered over everything she had said, could I really be over thinking every stroke of luck I’ve had in this life. I laughed it off, the idea was as ludicrous as the idea that the perfection of five kept me going. I settled into bed, too tired to read. As my eyes began to shut, heavy with sleep, the LED display on my bedside clock was bright: 05:00.

I woke up disoriented and very late the next day; it was 7.30 and I needed to rush to work. I found myself crying in the car, as I asked my angels why this was happening. Was it because of my doubt the previous night? I slid into my usual parking spot at a very convenient 8.05. I breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked my lucky stars or whoever, was watching for their favour.

The rest of the day rushed by in a blur, all I could think of was the park and as soon as the clock struck five, I was out of the office like a bat out of hell.
I sat in my car, for what seemed like forever, waiting for the big thing to happen. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but I knew it was coming. After what seemed like ten eternities, an old and stooped women hobbled into the park. The dress she wore hang about her body, like rags that had been stripped off a scare crow. I was afraid, she looked too frail to walk around the park like this, especially not in the weather that was increasingly getting colder. I rushed outside, and helped her to settle onto a park bench.

“Ma, are you lost?” I asked her politely, after she had caught her breath. She had sharp beady eyes, and long claw like fingers. She drew her shawls around her, and looked piercingly into my eyes.
“Do you believe in the perfection of five?’ she asked me. Her voice cut into the already chilly wind and sent a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, I do!” I gushed enthusiastically, “I believe that it is my angel number…” I prattled off, not noticing the way her cold eyes regarded me. I excitedly looked at my watch, 5:25 pm. Balance was being restored to my world. A short laugh cut my rant off.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked, the ice in her voice thickening.
“I am a djinn, and I grant wishes. There is a deep seated desire inside of you, and I will answer it,” she continued, without waiting for my answer. I began to speak, but she held up a wizened hand to stop me.
“Answer me truthfully, how many days have you been coming to this park?” she peered at me through her beady eyes.
“Five,’ I said without thinking, and immediately regretted it. The truth was that I had only been at the park for three days. Something took hold of my tongue and blurted out a lie. I clasped my mouth in horror and the old lady laughed gleefully. Right before my eyes, her face seemed to contort, into that of a beautiful woman, the loveliest I had ever seen. I blinked and there was the same shrivelled old lady, grasping her shawl, peering at me with bird like eyes.
“Go home,” she waved me away. “And come back tomorrow, at the hour.” She shooed me off, and confused, I walked to my car. I glanced back, and she was still rocking herself back and forth on the park bench. I began to drive off, but as I pulled into the main road, I saw her hand gesture strangely at me.

The next day was an abundance of fives. My heart sang, as I sailed through the day with ease, rising to the occasion. My angel number popped up for me in abundance, and as five pm approached, I was excited.

But then things went wrong.

Suddenly, work began to pile up on my desk, and I could barely pull myself away. I tried to leave work early to meet my djinn, but it felt like something dark was holding me back. When I finally managed to break away, I tore down the highway to the lonely little park on Central Street. She was sitting there, wrapping her shawl around her, her face as cold as the bitter wind. I ran to her, sobbing, begging for her forgiveness and she laughed cruelly in my face.
“Didn’t they ever warn you not to take up a djinn’s offer?” she cackled and grew taller, her shrivelled fingers grew longer, her claw like nails sharper. “Your deepest desire is to know the full extent of so called angel numbers, now you shall now what happens when they go wrong!” like a crack of a whip, the djinn had disappeared. I fell back, confused, wondering if I was living a sick nightmare. I glanced at my watch; 5;35. I shrugged and walked back to my car, feeling deflated. A sudden and huge fatigue swept over me, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I blinked back the sleep, trying to remove the number five from my mind. Ariel was probably right, it was just mere superstition.
That’s probably why I didn’t realise that five minutes had passed before I jerked awake, my car running off my lane and head on into a ten wheeler truck. It felt like forever, when we made impact and all I could hear was the djinn’s voice, “didn’t they ever warn you not to take up a djinn’s offer?”

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Episode 1: My Father’s Smile

image by obsidianentity on devientart

“Son,” my father said very seriously, “if I ever smile at you in the middle of the night, don’t smile back.’
I was five at the time, and very perplexed.

My father is the most jovial man I know, he always has a smile on his face and he’s always laughing. He’s also never taken to superstition, so I didn’t understand what he meant. I shrugged and didn’t think anything of it. After all, my dad rarely checked on me in the middle of the night, it was my mom who did that.

Thus, as I grew up. I didn’t pay much attention to the fights my parents had concerning who would check on me at night. In fact, I didn’t see why I needed to be checked on as I reached my teenage years, but my mother insisted all the same.

“I don’t want you to be initiated into something you cannot handle,” my mom replied cryptically when I asked her why she insisted on checking on me. I was 17, young and burly, and often stayed up till odd hours of the night. I was doing a wide range of things, and I didn’t understand why my mom would barge in at two am and say go to sleep.
I often did begrudgingly, but it still didn’t make sense to me. Most of my time spent at odd hours of the night, was researching local legends. For the most part they explained away mundane things, like why the grass grew a certain why or why the crows flocked in certain trees. They were entertaining, a few were chilling, but mostly harmless.

One night, I stumbled across a very old folklore book on the internet. It said it was published in 1929, and judging from the language and typography, I could tell it was very dated. I began to comb through, when I eventually came across a passage called the Ritual of The Smiles.

“The Ritual of the Smiles is an ancient ritual in which young men are initiated into the Clan of The Dead. Indeed it seems that the aforementioned clan is nothing but a fictitious work of superstitious minds, however, evidence suggests that the Clan is a supranatural body that seems to transcend regular human understanding. One cannot simply join the clan, but must be initiated into it by smiling at an elder clan member at The Witching Hour. Specific details of the clan’s activities have not been availed to this party, as there is a swearing of secrecy upon initiation.”

A cold wind seemed to rush about the house, and I wondered if I had opened a Pandora’s Box. I did something, which my mother would generally call unusual for me, I slept just before midnight. The sleep was fitful at best. I tossed and turned, ruminating what I had read in my mind, thinking and rethinking about the Clan. At around 1 am I had a slight disturbance in my room. I sat up tentatively and saw my father standing in the room, looking blankly at me.

“Dad…?” I said, making sure he wasn’t sleep walking. He didn’t say anything, he just stood there mute, his hands at his side. Staring blankly at me. I shook my head, and told myself I was imagining things. I drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, my father seemed his usual jovial self. He cracked his jokes, and was affectionate and happy as he’s wont to be.
I opened my mouth to ask him about the previous night, but I decided against it. Silently, I ate my breakfast, curious about what the night would hold.

Midnight struck and again I was overcome by a restless sleep. Almost as if it was clockwork, at 2 am my father stood in my room, staring blankly at me. His eyes resembled huge white orbs in the pitch blackness of the night, and thus he stood, unmoving and unnerving. This time I hadn’t heard him come in, but his presence was undeniable. I knew that I wasn’t asleep this time, so I called out softly, “that you dad?”
“Come to me, my son,” his voice was raspy and sounded like someone dragging nails across concrete. It had an echo to it, something I had never heard before. “Come to me my boy.”
My father began to move forward, his eyes unblinking. I instinctively reached for my bedside lamp and turned it on. Light illuminated my room, and standing in the doorway, was my mom, wrapping her night gown around her.

“Are you ok?” she asked.
“D-dad… he was in here!” my throat was dry and I could feel my sweat clinging to my nightshirt.
My mom’s eyes glazed over as she said, “I can assure you, that wasn’t your dad.”
She didn’t stay to chat and as I lay back down in the semi-light of my lamp I wondered what was happening.

It was business as normal over breakfast the next day. My parents talked as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night. I asked my mom about it, and she said I was merely having a nightmare.

Two weeks passed, with the same night terrors. This time, my dad edged closer and closer to the bed, and I was afraid of what would happen when he eventually reached it. I was tired and sluggish from all the fitful nights I had experienced.
As I had expected, he did reach my bed side one night, but I wasn’t unprepared. He stood over my side, eyes wide and unblinking, staring into space, as if he was seeing beyond me.

I scrambled out of bed, and deftly dodged him, as he tried to grab me. I slid into the landing, to find my mother and my actual father standing in the half light, the faces full of trepidation. My mom flung her arms around me, and sobbed, muttering thanks that I was ok. When I had managed to free myself from her grasp, my father held my shoulders and looked into my eyes.

There was something eerie about his action, his movements were slower, his eyes wider.
A garish smile crept over his face, and I smiled weakly back at him. He cackled.

“Didn’t I tell you never to smile at me in the middle of the night?”

A Book Review: The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd

Genre: historical fiction, biographical fiction.
My rating: 3/5
Summed up in a word: Daring.

Sue Monk Kidd stretches her imagination and writes a daring book that chronicles the life of Jesus Christ before he begins his ministry.

The story is actually told through the eyes of his fictional wife, Ana who fell in love with him at their very first meeting.

The telling of the story suspends traditional Christian beliefs and imagines Jesus as fully human.

” It feels important to point out that the character of Jesus in these pages provides a mere glimpse of the complexity and fullness of who he was, and that glimpse is based on my interpretation of him, which is woven into a fictional narrative.” Kidd wrote in her author’s notes.

 

The narrative of a human Jesus, as she explained, is not foreign. It is only at the Council of Nicaea and the Council of Chalcedon in which Jesus was pronounced as both fully divine and fully human. Thus, it does not make it completely illogical for Jesus to have had a wife.

Named A Most Anticipated Book of 2020 by O, The Oprah Magazine and many other notable publications, the book is a gutsy retelling that doubles as a fascinating history lesson, an undertoned feminist manifesto and a heart warming fiction, filled with both highs and lows.

While it starts as a happy enough narrative, the book has many moments of tragedy, that are well woven into the story. They highlight the sufferings of Jesus and his family, thus showing us his story in the most human way.

“It was something of a wonder to discover that the human Jesus has so many different faces and that people, even historical Jesus scholars, tend to view him through the lens of their own needs and proclivities. For some he’s a political activist. For others, a miracle worker. He’s viewed as rabbi, social prophet, religious reformer, wisdom teacher, nonviolent revolutionary, philosopher, feminist, apocalyptic preacher, and on and on,” Kidd adds to her notes.

While there is some evidence (which is hotly contested) that Jesus may have had a wife, the Vatican refutes this. There is of course no Biblical evidence that Jesus did have a wife. In fact, many of the stories depicting women in the Bible often do not get the attention they deserve. This is a main theme in the novel, as Ana (the main protagonist) seeks to document the stories of the women of the Scriptures.

Ana is described as Little Thunder, and to a larger extent she is. She is fierce, hot-headed, determined and sometimes destructive.

The book was largely enjoyable, except sometimes I laboured through passages. Ana is designed to be a spirited character, but often comes across as flawed and irrational, in my opinion.

The most interesting parts of the novel are the parts that detail Jesus’s life, and a harrowing episode involving a tongue.

My deepest regret about the book is the lack of detailing of Jesus’s miracles. I feel it would have made a better transition from his humanity to his divinity. The book ends after Jesus’s death, and Ana flees Jerusalem, for reasons I cannot disclose lest I drop spoilers.

Of course there is no mention of his resurrection or any deep details of his ministry, but that of course  is not the focus of the book.

If you’re wondering how the author works around the difficulty of women not being mentioned in his preaching? Well, read the book and find out.

Would I recommend this book? Yes, actually. It’s a light read and can be engaging. It’s an enjoyable book and had quite a few quotables.

The research in the book is meticulous, and though the author does bend some timelines to suit her narration, it stays true to historical events and accurately reflects the culture of Jewish people living under Roman rule.

Something I respected was the reverential treatment of Jesus. His story was never written in a way that could be blasphemous, but gave me a new appreciation of the Man who changed the face of religion.

There might be a few slumps, but the strength of the plot carries it forward.

All in all, it’s a great read that I enjoyed.

 

16 Days of Activism Against Gender Based Violence #OrangeTheWorld

Zeroing in on sexual harassment
It’s unfortunately hard for me to talk about sexual harassment without feeling emotional. I don’t know of any girl who has never experienced some form of sexual harassment
.I know of far too many women who have experienced sexual assault.
It’s such a normalized part of our culture, that we begin to think it’s inevitable that a woman will get harassed when she does simple things like walk into school.

From the time I was young, I always somehow knew not to walk too close to where large groups of men were standing, to ensure that I was with friends when moving about. As I grew older, I got used to the lewd comments fronmem old enough to be my father. Let’s not even begin talking about the harassment at bus stations. It becomes too much for a girl to handle.

Sexual harassment is defined as “behaviour characterized by the making of unwelcome and inappropriate sexual remarks or physical advances in a workplace or other professional or social situation.” By Oxford Dictionary.
A lot of people expect women to take the mantle in ending sexual harassment, but an unfortunate fact is that majority of sexual harassment incidences are carried out by men.
It’s men that women are afraid of when we walk down the street, it’s men that women are afraid of when we weaponise our keys, it’s men that we’re afraid of when we get onto a bus.

So here’s a challenge; if you are a man and you are reading this. Call.oit your friends and family on their harassment and nonsense behaviour.
If you are a woman, don’t stop talking about it. Make as much noise as you can.

Worldwide, 35% of women experience some form of sexual harassment. This is a figure that is too large to exist.

 

I wish I could envision a future where no woman (or man) had to endure sexual harassment but as it stands more people need to raise their voices in protest .

I want to be hopeful, but for now I will continue to #OrangeTheWorld

 

 

 

 

 

Before The Shoreline

To say this year has been nothing short of nightmarish would be an understatement.

This year has thrown me challenges beyond what I thought I was capable of dealing with and piecing myself back together has been a continuous uphill battle.

Escaping my mind used to be my way of dealing with previous traumas, issues and challenges but eventually the things you pushed away come right back to the forefront. I’ve had to stop down with myself and have some very stern conversations.

I’ve also had to confront many fears, and part of that was taking up some leadership roles. I contested successfully for the University of Zambia Media Students Association as secretary general and applied for a role as sub-editor. I’m afraid of taking the limelight (somewhat unbelievable) yet, I chose to propel myself out of my comfort zone for two reasons

1. I genuinely want to make a difference

2. Difficult situations make us grow.

 

I’m really scared; what if I’ve made a bad choice?

What if I fail to deliver?

These questions only cover the tip of the iceberg of my fears and insecurities. 😅

I’m happy that people have seen my leadership abilities, but the fear of failure really looms at the back of my mind.

I’ve had so many mental break downs this term, and have more than once convinced myself to not do the unthinkable. It’s been so hard lately. But just as the night is always darkest before the dawn, the journey is always roughest before the shoreline I guess.

Maybe it gets better. And if it doesn’t, at least I’ve gotten stronger.

Photo via Reddit.

 

 

A girl, A cloud, A ruin.

Imagine a cloud.

No, a dark cloud.

No, a rain cloud.

No, a storm.

A large storm that’s brewing on the horizon

So big and scary and foreboding

And you’re so so sure that the rain

Will finally come

And quench the parched parched ground,

but the wind blows over and the sky is left unfeeling.

Imagine a building.

So close to the edge of collapse.

No imagine a ruin.

A shadow of a former building.

A shadow of a former self.

And there are feelings.

So many feelings.

So many feelings of nothing in the windows.

Imagine a girl,

No, a lady.

No. A woman?

Nah, a girl.

A girl that’s like a storm that refused to rain,

And a girl that’s like a building reduced to ruin.

A girl that’s like a shadow,

A girl that used to be a girl.

The Eyes At Midnight: Episodes 4 and 5

In the middle of the term, the school was a hive of activity. But for the first time, it was not the usual jovial activity that surrounded students moving in and out of the school. In fact, there was a distinct air of mourning that hung over the air in the school. News, that was now far spread and heavily exageerated now, had spread that there was a security crisis in the school. The students were a flurry of mourning and poorly concealed joy. An unexpected vacation was always welcome to students.

Sabine sat on the steps to the library watching students walk by, chattering amongst themselves. She wore a gloomy expression on her face, as she held a letter from the office of the dean of students, but undersigned by the secretary.

“hey sad face” Stacy said to her, sitting next to her companion. “ A ngwee for your thoughts?”

“it just feels like useless, you know Stace,” Sabine sighed heavily. “Students will go home for three months, there’ll be lots of social media hashtags, students will write long uninformed think pieces to gain political mileage and then the whole country will forget like it always does. Its frustrating Stacy. Its like no one cares about the students. 15 people missing and no one bats an eye until the dean goes missing too!”

‘What made you pursue all this in the first place?” Stacy asked, tucking her hair beyind her ear.  She too had decided to go home and wait for the dust to settle, but seeing the fire it had ignited in her friend made her feel bad, almost like she was giving in to the cowardice the rest of the school had displayed.

“My cousin’s roommate was one of the missing girls.’ Sabine said hollowly. “she was so sweet. Why was she kidnapped? Possibly even murdered. How ridiculous is it that we don’t even have the real figures?”

Stacy mulled over this fact and said, “have you been assigned to the room where you are staying this holiday? We have some sleuthing to do.”

***

Job Katuka paced around his office. Suddenly the plush carpets and comfortable chairs held no comfort for him. He was twenty minutes late for the extraordinary senate meeting, but he couldn’t bring himself to face his colleagues. How does one explain that all was his fault? He had to come up with a solution, and quickly.

A tentative knock at his door brought him out of his reverie. “come in!’ he boomed, gathering the little authority he had left.  He stood a little taller and gave the visitor his most quelling look.

“excuse me sir, but the senate have asked me to let you know they are waiting.” The young student said sheepishly.

“of course they are waiting. I know they’re waiting!” Job spat out irritably. He sighed heavily as he waved the young man away. Uncertainly, the student began to close the door behind him, when suddenly the vice chancellor called him back.

‘young man. Take a seat.” Job said, pointing at one of the chairs.

The student sank into the seat, bemused and slightly scared.

“you’ve taken a course in ethics right?” Job asked him, peering at him as if he was disciplining a wayward child.

“Yes, I have sir. Once in first year and again in third.” The student replied.

“Its good to know that they are still teaching you something useful.” Job laughed.

“Young man, if you knew that a disaster was imminent and you could stop it, but stopping it would make you look like the bad guy. Would you still stop the disaster?” Job asked, staring the young man down.

“Well. I would consider all things and then apply the school of thought I subscribe to. I personally am a deontologist, so I…’ the student said before Job cut him off.

“Ach, I don’t want that academic waffle. The question is simple. I have the power to change something, and it will benefit everyone except me. Should I go ahead?’ Job asked.

The student stared at the head of his university. The stress of the last few days had began to take a physical toll. His hair had been ripped out in uneven clumps. His face was suddenly more wrinkled than ever and his eyes were tired, so so tired.

“Of course you wouldn’t know. All you know how to do is repeat what the lecturer said in class. What a sham.” He said in disgust. “hurry up now, the senate is waiting.”

Job strode out his office, without a backward glance, as his confused student scrambled after him.

***
When Steven Phiri awoke, he immediately gagged and then immediately regretted it.

“Iwe, can’t you keep quiet?!” his captor yelled drunkenly from one end of the blackened room.

“it’s disgusting in here! A man can’t even breathe!’ he yelled back. He was seething with anger, at the fact that he too had fallen prey to this deranged murderer, the fact that he was tied up and had no way of escaping and the fact that every day he shared the same small room his murdered students had stayed in before they met their untimely end.

“you know, we can work this out my friend. We can talk things through. I’ll even slide you my next pay check.” Steven said pleadingly. He sighed at how low, he the vice chancellor of the University of Zambia had sunk. Begging for his life from someone he had long thought was his friend.

“maybe we can work something out? I know that by now, they are looking for me.  we should work this out.” Steven pleaded, his voice cracking pathetically.

“Steven.’ The captor, shook his head while clicking his tongue. “oh poor little steven. You really think that you and the vice chancellor can fix this? Cos you can’t!”