The Raped Amulet

Chapter Four

17 Chapter Four ack in his room, Dion took off his jacket, intending to have a nap before facing up to the demands of the evening. As he was unbuttoning his shirt he realized that the thing that hung on the string around his neck was gone. It was no longer there, the amulet. He held the string that held it and took it off his neck and half consciously asked “where’s the amulet that you were holding? Tell me before I harm you. The ecstasy that had radiated from his eyes was suddenly replaced by terror and agony. Like a bulldog struck by rabies, he rushed out of the room, forgetting even to close the door. He ran back to all the paths through which he had just walked. He ran along them, peering at every corner, in case his eyes fell on his cherished amulet. After he had combed the paths of Tocil, Westwood, Cryfield and Gibbet Hill to no avail, he rushed down to the lake. Still he could not see any sign of his lost object. He started shouting in spite of himself “ nchung, aah nchung, woh yie eh?” – his native language for “amulet, amulet, where can you possibly be now?” He waited for an answer but he got none. He made other desperate appeals to the amulet but still there was no response. He then realized that as long as he was still in the United Kingdom, he would get no answer, till thy kingdom come. He could not help breaking down in tears: “O look at me Ekpochaba, what carelessness, what misfortune, for me to lose my own soul. How could I have B 18 done this to myself? O it’s impossible, impossible, impossible.” As he rummaged around the lake weeping in despair, a tall strong-looking English man who was rambling around the lake with his dog noticed him. He was on the mature side of his sixties, although he still walked with sufficient firmness and gait. He was attracted by Dion’s behaviour and so decided to walk up to him, his dog faithfully trailing behind. “Are you all right?” he asked firmly. “Me? No, I’m not all right as you can notice,” Dion replied. “What’s the matter? Maybe I can be of help or at least some of it. By the way, my name’s Tom. Tom Jones, a retired military officer.” “I’m Dion, Dion Ekpochaba. A graduate student at the university. I’m a bit out of my mind right now because I’ve just run out of luck. I’ve lost something precious. In fact very precious to me.” “Your girlfriend or something?” “Girlfriend! You must be joking. How can I consider a girlfriend precious?” Dion asked. “Depends on how you regard friendship. I thought you had come rambling around the lake with your girlfriend and she had gone missing. Anyway, what might this precious thing be then?” Tom Jones inquired. “ Eh m, ehmmm, no use mentioning it to you. You know nothing about it and you won’t understand anything if I start explaining. It’s something very personal and traditional too. I 19 don’t know how to talk about it to an Englishman,” Dion said disappointedly. “Come on, say something. If you know something say it and it would be left for the person to whom you say it to understand or misunderstand you.” “That’s the point. I don’t want to be misunderstood.” “Not by me anyway,” said Tom Jones. I know quite a bit about your people and their traditions.” “My people! Who are my people?” Dion asked. “Your African people. I’ve lived and worked there.” “Well, it depends on where in Africa. Africa isn’t a country, it’s a continent. A vast one, at that. You might have lived and worked in Egypt, Morocco, Botswana and Burkina Faso, and that doesn’t bring you anywhere close to a resumé of Africa.” “To be specific young man, I worked in the highlands of Cameroon. I led the regiment that stayed at the old fort in Bamenda.” “Did I hear you say Cameroon?” “Yes, I said Cameroon and I worked in Bamenda.” “Can the world be this small?” Dion wondered aloud. “Imagine me in a sea of white people, with a sprinkle of blacks here and there, never hoping any of the whites had set...