Once in Dar es Salaam, I was recuperating from a bout of malaria. The governor invited me to his home and gave me a room to stay in for as long as I liked. It was painfully dull in more ways than one. I was used to the excitement of being a game warden out in the field. My host must have sensed my spirits were low and so called upon a member of our mutual social circles. He was an old friend from The King's African Rifles. Together, we had done our best to beat back the Boche during the more chaotic days of the Great War, back when Tanganyika still belonged to the Kaiser and was jealously guarded by his askaris, locals trained as soldiers by the Germans.
I was lying on a sofa when a knock came at my door. In my weakened state, it was a struggle to get up, and I staggered to the door.
"Hello there, Stanley. I heard you were feeling a bit under the weather and thought I'd drop by. Don't worry, you'll be right as rain in a week or two. Rumor has it a gin and tonic makes a malaria fever more bearable. Something about the quinine in the tonic water. Well, I'm no chemist, but anything for the sake of science."
"Sounds like a smashing idea. By all means Oliver, come on in. I could use the company and a stiff drink, I suppose."
"You just lie on the sofa and make yourself comfortable. I'll fix the drinks for us."
I return to the sofa and adjust my pillows and robe before lying down again. Stanley returns and graciously hands me my drink.
"Well, old chum, how's that then? Feeling a bit better now, I hope?"
"Comfort is a relative term. I look forward to becoming tired and emotional this evening."
"Ah, myself as well. We have plenty of gin for that."
"Any news from the outside world? I've been too exhausted to read anything for at least a week."
"It's funny you mention that. I don't follow the papers much myself, but I do try to stay abreast of local affairs. Tell me, have you ever heard the word msukule? It's a Swahili word, as I understand it. I remember you having a knack for that language."
In truth, I didn't speak Swahili that well, but given the number of my countrymen in Tanganyika who couldn't speak a word of it, I gained a reputation as an expert of sorts. A missionary told me a joke once:
-What do you call a man who's spent 20 years in China and doesn't speak a word of Chinese?
-British.
"Well, Oliver, it's a bit hard to explain that word. There isn't quite an English equivalent for it. In this part of the world, there is still a strong belief in magic, and locals often consult an mchawi, or witch-doctor, for various problems. I first heard the word 'msukule' in a discussion with Saseeta, my guide and tracker, about magic. At the time, I was having trouble sleeping, but still doing my best as a new game warden. One night as we were relaxing and having dinner together, Saseeta looked me dead in the eye and said 'Bwana, you look so tired, half-dead almost. Maybe you have become an msukule.'. So of course I asked him what he meant by that. He explained that an msukule is a person who is put under the spell of an mchawi. The magic causes his soul to go to the afterlife for a while his body remains alive and under the complete control of the mchawi, who then forces the soulless body to toil in his fields all night. Just before dawn, the msukule is sent to his bed, where he wakes with no memory but feeling tired from his nocturnal servitude."
"By Jove, Stanley. How intriguing. And you're right. I can't think of anything in English or European folklore which is anything like that. The closest thing that comes to my mind are the Golems of Jewish folklore. But those are inanimate objects which are brought to life."
"Quite so. Saseeta was convinced I was cursed and insisted that I consult a witch-doctor in another village to lift it. Otherwise, I'd have nothing but trouble, or matata, as the locals say, for the rest of my days."
"Mad! Simply mad! So what did you do?"
"Saseeta and I made a trek to the village he spoke of. He showed me the hut of the mchawi. I must admit, that even after all we went through with The King's African Rifles, I was absolutely petrified to enter that hut. But Saseeta insisted, and we had come so far. I was desperate for whatever help I could get. I took a swig from my hip flask and entered the hut. There, I saw the mchawi working next to a bubbling cauldron. Some kind of strange smoke was coming out of it. It was like nothing I've ever seen. Without even looking up, the mchawi said 'Hello, Stanley. I've been waiting for you.'"
"Good lord, he knew your name?! But how?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Neither Saseeta nor I had ever set foot in that village, much less met that witch-doctor. I had only been a game warden in the area for a few weeks at the time. He asked me to have a seat next to him, then he rose and looked me over very carefully. He told me to hold out my hands so he could inspect them. Then he looked closely into my eyes. At long last, he said 'Sorry Bwana Stanley. You are most definitely an msukule'. I then asked him if there's anything I could do to lift the curse. To that he said 'Yes. There is something evil from your past you need to let go of. You know what it is. Put it in the cauldron now.' There was a copper bracelet in my pocket. I'd taken it off a dead askari during the war to keep as a souvenir. I decided that must be it, so I removed it and dropped it in the cauldron. As soon as I had done so, it boiled over and hissed in an unearthly way. Then, the mchawi took a cup and filled it in the cauldron. He handed me the cup and told me to drink it, so I did. As soon I had done so, I felt a terrible burning sensation, and the mchawi called for Saseeta to help me out. I had terrible nightmares that night but awoke feeling refreshed. I had wonderful health the next few months."
"There are some things we just can't explain, try as we might."
"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
"Indeed. I'll fix us another round of drinks."
No comments:
Post a Comment