Mandula Republic

The face of Badi'atul Jamal, maiden of pure incense, mermaid with the tail of the golden fish, lady of the lavender mist, princess of the light of the skies, queen plenipotentiary, invader of the hearts of men, of male demons, of male spirits, and androgynous ghosts, pops up before you.

You stare. The tongue of your heart protrudes like a chameleon's, licks at her smile and you kiss her dimples. A silent invisible spear emanates from the heart of her eye. The cast iron armor, a protective charm Audu Baduku, the half demon-half human, crippled cobbler wizard, gave you, is helpless as the spear drives through your heart with the ease of a needle piercing a lump of wool. As it journeys through the corridors of your heart, your countenance changes. A mere spear penetrating through a charm of Audu Baduku, the interpreter of the language of the invisible spirits, guardian of the shrine of blood and skulls, the master, profounder and discoverer of the seventy seven condensed mediums of sorcery?

Suddenly, tall shadows of soundless winds seize you, like a motherless chick in the mighty clutches of a predatory hawk, and fling you into the past.

"No substance, related, associated, connected to metals of old and new, past or present, dead or living shall, even in the turbulence of seas, quakes of earth, explosion of galaxies, dare, penetrate your heart," Audu Baduku said with force as he thrust the charm into your hands. His palms had felt like heavy, heated magnets. "Go!" He said.

As you huddled out of the twisted stems of the baobab tree, the wizard's shrine in an oasis in the middle of the Sahara surrounded by seven oceans, seven wild forests, seven black skies, and protected by seventy seven rows of Ifiritu, demons of the seventh grade, the voice of Audu Baduku rose again and thundered: "When the wild whispers of whirling winds nudge stubborn eyes to sleep in the invisible receptacles of the tenth night of the tenth moon of the year of warring tongues . . ." He paused, inhaled a sea of air, then, "inhale the incense of tubarkal, place the charm on your chest and recite in the language of the spirits of the metals the dark alphabet of the black verse, from the invisible chapter of the book of sorcery."

You staggered out of the baobab like a drunk, swam across the oceans with the amiability of a dolphin, charged through the forests like a fiery anger, and pierced through the rows of demons with the temerity of lightening, carrying about you a mountain load of fear, a load as heavy as a bad conscience and as mighty as the rocks of Kwatarkwashi.

You did not sleep that night; you placed the charm on your palm and stared at it. How could this piece of worthless wrought iron protect you? But when you remembered the ugly look on Audu Baduku's face, his red sullen eyes which, to you, resembled that of an Ifiritu, a demon of the seventh grade, even though you have never seen one, the frightening faces of lifeless masquerades, the transparent ghosts floating in the atmosphere of Baduku's shrine, and the ugly guttural rumblings that sent the earth vibrating in the name of incantations, you became a believer.

Your belief became steady, firm, fixed, and absolutely unflinching when a volcano of voices erupted like fast-flowing magma and solidified in the barren fields of your mind:

He outwitted Sarkin Bokaye Ayyana, the chief of wizards, in a sorcery duel.

He commands the loyalty of seventy thousand legions of Ifiritu, demons of the seventh grade.

He is the inventor of seventy seven sciences of geomancy, sorcery, and wizardry.

He is the father, husband, and mentor of Inna the wretched witch of witches. Inna the sorceress who sucks up the lymph of infants with her affliction, shan Inna, the suck of Inna.

Eddy Kamuanga Illunga, To deny cultural and identity value, 2015.

Image courtesy of Gabriela...