Two Hangmen, One Scaffold Book I: Baiting the Hangman

Chapter 3

19 C Chapter 3 nticipating an uplifting, Binga Jochoma alighted from the bus about forty-five kilometres away at a small roadside rural village near Empress Mine. Through endless refresher courses, the army had taught him systematic self-improvement. In that vein, he pursued excellence and dominance in his line of work. In the village, clusters of sorrowful pole and clay huts, he inquired around and made for the homestead of a sorcerer. He had heard many people commending the diviner. Rumour had it that though the man’s treatment success rate was poor, he had devastating spells and goblins and good protective elixirs. Essentially, the man was a juju master of Malawian descent. Many people had dislocated mouths because of sorcerers. Most Malawian men were members of Gule Wamkulu, the Great Dance, or the Nyau brotherhood, a secret society and interface with the world of spirits that camped among the dead. Darkness shrouded the homestead of the Malawian when Binga arrived. He found the sorcerer, a childless widower of about sixty and seemingly a famine victim, standing expectantly at the entrance of a barbed-wire fenced homestead. The diviner addressed him first. “My name is Mjomba. I welcome you to my homestead. I’ll be of service to you, insha-Allah.”He was a rickety man in torn khaki trousers, commonly the uniform of canteen staff. He wore an old stripped jacket next to his skin. “Thank you,” Binga said. “My name is—” “Allahamdulilah!” The old man interjected in Arabic. “I greet you and welcome you, Binga. Your parents are late. Cholera killed them three years ago.” The accuracy of the man’s information stunned and mystified Binga. He shook Mjomba’s hand. A 20 “You heard about me, therefore you came. The works and acts of a good sorcerer can fly taller than a country’s flag. Don’t be afraid. Follow me.” Binga followed the man to a candle-lit consultation hut. “Allahamdulilah!” The old man repeated as he walked. “Rakmaan rahim. Riyasat alharakat albaiid. Malike yaumedini. Allah qarib wa baiid!” From the Islamic recitals, or declarations, Binga guessed the man was happy to see him. He wondered if the man sympathised with the late Osama bin Laden, or perceived Binga as an infidel. The shrivelled man appeared to be in a world of his own. There were chances he was a disgrace to whatever modern Muslims stood for. However, Binga wondered what would happened if Islamic fundamentalists discovered the sorcerer, given his said prowess in juju. The man could prove an asset in the establishment of a New World Islamic Order, the caliphate, by rendering suicide bombers invisible or making them look like White House interns. The old man recited more verses as he led him through a torn reed mat improvised as a door. The mat covered the entrance to a small grass-thatched detached hut of pole and clay that couldn’t sit more than five people. Mediumistic paraphernalia were in the room reeking of crushed or ground barks. Binga saw corked cattle and goat horns, gourds decorated with intricate beadwork consisting of various colours, small wooden idols with beads around their necks, animal skulls and many other ritualistic things. The items were on the floor and on the walls. A dead owl hung upside down on the apex. A cock roamed on the floor. Placed against the wall was a battered Saratoga trunk. A copy of the Holy Koran, equally worn out, was on the trunk. Mjomba sat on a low hewn stool, the only one in the room. Binga sat facing him on an animal hide on the floor. A mummified head of a hyena was at one end of the hide. Binga took a good look at the cock as it leisurely went over his spread-out legs. A small hand-sewn pillow-like amulet was around one of its legs. He guessed the cock 21 was a spirit-possessed live component testament of Mjomba’s harnessing powers. Binga was pleased and impressed beyond measure. Mjomba stared at the cock and exclaimed, “Allahamdulilah!” He looked at his visitor. “I’m glad you aren’t born-again. If you were a Christian, the cock would’ve kept its distance from you. My charms wouldn’t work for you. Insha-Allah, my charms will labour for you.” He pointed at the three candles in the room. “I was expecting you; hence...